In Venice.
_From the land we went
As to a floating city--steering in,
And gliding up her streets as in a dream
By many a pile in more than eastern pride,
Of old the residence of merchant-kings:
The fronts of some, tho' time had shattered them,
Still gleaming with the richest hues of art,
As though the wealth within them had run o'er._
--ROGERS.
[Illustration: SAN MARCO, VENICE.]
Just after sunset the following evening they approached Venice. The long
black train glided along above a sea flushed with purple and crimson and
gold. Like a mirage the fair city--Longfellow's "white water-lily,
cradled and caressed"--arose, lifting her spires--those "filaments of
gold"--above the waters.
"Can it be real?" murmured Bettina. "It seems as if all must fade away
before we reach it."
But in a few minutes the _facchini_ seized their hand-luggage, and they
alighted as at any commonplace railway-station. But oh! the revelation
when they went out upon the platform, up to which, not carriages, but
gondolas were drawn, and from which stretched, not a dusty pavement, but
the same gold and crimson and purple of sky reflected in the waters at
their feet.
"Is it true that we are mortal beings still on the earth, and that we
are seeking merely a hotel?" exclaimed Malcom, as they floated on
between two skies to the music of lapping oars. "Madge, you ought to
have some poetry to fit this."
"I know enough verses about Venice," replied Margery, whose eyes were
dancing with joyous excitement, and who was trailing her little hot hand
through the cool water, "but nothing fits. Nothing can fit; for who
could ever put into words the beauty of all this?"
By and by they left the Grand Canal, passed through narrower ones, with
such high walls on either side that twilight rapidly succeeded the
sunset glow; floated beneath the Bridge of Sighs, and were at the steps
of their hotel.
The next few days were devoted wholly to drinking in the spirit of
Venice. Mr. Sumner hired gondolas which should be at the service of his
party during the month they were to spend there, and morning, noon, and
night found them revelling in this delight. They went to San Marco in
early morning and late afternoon; fed the pigeons in the Piazza; ate
ice-cream under its Colonnade; went to the Lido, and floated along the
Grand Canal beside the music and beneath the moonlight for hours at
night, and longed to be there until the morning.
Barbara grew stronger, the color returned to her cheeks, and though she
often felt unhappy, she was better able to conceal it. She began to hope
that her secret was safe; that it would never be discovered by any one;
that Mr. Sumner would never dream of it. If only that dreadful
suggestion of Malcom's might be wholly without foundation; and perhaps,
after all, it was. She thought she would surely know when Lucile Sherman
should come to Venice, as she would do soon.
At length Mr. Sumner suggested that they begin to study Venetian
painting, and that, for it, they should first visit the Accademia delle
Belle Arti. He advised them to read what they could about early Venetian
painting.
"You will find," he said, "that the one strongest characteristic of all
the painting that has emanated from Venice is beauty and strength of
color, the keynote of which seems to have been struck in the first
mosaic decorations of San Marco, more than eight centuries ago. And how
could it be otherwise in a city so flooded with radiance of color and
light!"
"I have brought you here," said he one morning, as they left their
gondolas at the steps of the Academy, "for the special study of
Carpaccio's and the Bellinis' works.
"But," he added, as they entered the building and stepped into the
first room, "I would like you to stop for a few minutes and look at
these quaint pictures by the Vivarini, Basaiti, Bissolo, and others of
the early Venetian painters. Here you will notice the first
characteristics of the school. This academy is particularly interesting
to students of Venetian art, because it contains few other than Venetian
paintings."
Passing on, they soon reached a hall whose walls were lined with large
pictures. Here Mr. Sumner paused, saying:--
"We find in this room quite a number of paintings by Vittore Carpaccio.
Here is his most noted series, illustrating scenes in the legendary life
of St. Ursula, the maiden princess of Brittany, who, with her eleven
thousand companions, visited the holy shrines of the old world; and on
their return all were martyred just outside the city of Cologne. You
have read the story, I know. Look first at the general scheme of
composition and color before going near enough to study details.
Carpaccio had felt the flood of Venetian color, and here we see the
beginnings of that wonderful richness found in works by the later
Venetian masters. He was a born story-teller, and delighted especially
in tales of a legendary, poetic character. His works possess a peculiar
fascinating quaintness. The formal composition, by means of which we see
several scenes crowded into one picture; the singular perspective
effects; the figures with earnest faces beneath such heavy blond
tresses, and with their too short bodies, enable us easily to recognize
his pictures."
"I think I shall choose St. Ursula to be my patron saint," said Margery,
thoughtfully, after they had turned from the purely artistic study of
the pictures to their sentiment. "I have read somewhere that she is the
especial patroness of young girls, as well as of those who teach young
girls,--so she can rightfully belong to me, you see."
"What do you think she will do for you?" asked Malcom, with a quizzical
smile.
"Oh! I don't know. Perhaps if I think enough about her life I shall be a
better girl," and the blue eyes grew very earnest.
"That is wholly unnecessary, Madge _mia_," tenderly replied her brother.
"I will tell you a singular thing that I read not long ago," said
Bettina, going over to Margery, who was standing close in front of that
sweet sleeping face of St. Ursula in one of the pictures. "It was in the
life of Mr. Ruskin. His biographer says that Mr. Ruskin is wonderfully
fond of the legend of St. Ursula; that he has often come from England to
Venice just to look again on these pictures by old Carpaccio; that he
has thought so much about her character that he really is influenced
greatly by it. And he goes on to say that some person who has perhaps
received a calm, kind letter from Mr. Ruskin instead of the curt,
brusque, or impatient one that he had looked for, on account of the
irascible nature of the writer, would be altogether surprised could he
know that the reason of the unexpected quietness was that Mr. Ruskin had
stopped to ask himself, 'What would St. Ursula say? What would St.
Ursula do?'"
"I think that is a pretty story about Mr. Ruskin, don't you?" she added,
turning to Malcom and the others.
"It is a pretty enough story," replied Malcom. "But I confess I do not
wish Madge always to stop and ask the mind of this leader of the 'eleven
thousand virgins.' Only consult your own dear self, my sister. You are
good enough as you are."
"I think it is the feminine quality in St. Ursula's ways of thought and
action that appeals so strongly to Mr. Ruskin's rugged nature," replied
Mr. Sumner, in answer to a rather appealing glance from Margery's eyes.
"The tale of a gentle life influences for good a somewhat embittered,
but grandly noble man. As to our little Madge," with a smile that drew
her at once close to him, "the best influence she can gain from the old
legend will grow out of the unwavering purpose of the saint, and her
inflexibility of action when once the motive was felt to be a noble one.
Her needs are not the same as are Mr. Ruskin's."
Margery slipped her hand into that of the uncle who so well understood
her, and gave it a tender little squeeze. As Mr. Sumner turned quickly
to call attention to one or two other pictures, with different subjects,
by Carpaccio, he caught for an instant the old-time sympathetic look in
Barbara's eyes, which gladdened his heart, and gave a new ring to his
voice.
"Here are two or three historical pictures by Carpaccio and Gentile
Bellini that put ancient Venice before our eyes, and, on this account,
are most interesting. Their color is fine, but in all other art
qualities they are weak."
"I must tell you," he went on, "about the Bellini brothers, Gentile and
Giovanni. Their father, who was also an artist, came from Padua to
Venice in the early part of the fifteenth century, bringing his two
young sons, both of whom grew to be greater painters than the father.
They opened a school, and Giorgione and Titian, who, you well know, are
two supreme names in Venetian painting, were among their pupils. The
Bellini paintings are the natural precursors of the glory of Venetian
art. Even in these historical paintings by Gentile Bellini we feel the
palpitating sunshine which floods and vivifies the rich colors of
palaces and costumes. You can readily see the difference between his
work and that of Carpaccio. While Carpaccio has treated the historic
scene in a poetic way, with quaint formality, Bellini's picture is full
of truth and detail.
"But," he continued, "Gentile Bellini's work, as art, fades in
importance before that of his brother, Giovanni, who gave himself almost
wholly to religious painting. If you will try to shut your eyes for a
few minutes to the other pictures about you, I would like to take you
immediately to one of this artist's Madonna pictures.
"And, by the way," he interpolated, as they walked straight on through
several rooms, "I am delighted to see that you have learned to go into a
gallery for the express study of a few pictures, and can refuse to allow
your attention to be distracted by any others, however alluring. I am
sure this is the only way in which really to study. Go as often or as
seldom as you choose or can, but always go with a definite purpose, and
do not be distracted by the effort to see the works of many artists at a
single visit; least of all, by the endeavor to look at all there are
about you. For him who does this, I predict an inevitable and incurable
art-dyspepsia. The reason of my express caution now is that I am taking
you into the most attractive room of the gallery, and wish you to see
nothing but one picture.
"Here it is!" and they paused before a large altar-piece. "You at once
feel the unique character of the Madonna; the stateliness of the
composition, the exquisite harmony and strength of the color.--What is
it, Betty?"
"I was only whispering to Barbara that these lovely angels, with musical
instruments, who are sitting on the steps of the throne are those that
we have seen so often in Boston art-shops."
"And they are indeed lovely!" replied Mr. Sumner. "I will allow you to
look at another picture in this room which I had forgotten as we came
hither--for it is by Carpaccio--turn, and look! this _Presentation in
the Temple_! See those musical angels also, sitting on the steps of the
Madonna's throne! I am sure the middle one is familiar to you all, for
it is continually reproduced, and a great favorite. Of what other
painter do these angels remind you?"
"Of Fra Bartolommeo," quickly replied two or three voices.
"And I am sure," continued Mr. Sumner, "that Fra Bartolommeo never
painted them until after he had visited Venice, and had learned from the
study of these Venetian masters how great an aid to composition and
what beautiful features in a picture they are. And Raphael never painted
them until he had seen Fra Bartolommeo's work.
"But now look at Bellini's _Madonna_" as he turned again to the picture,
"for she is as individual as Botticelli's, and is as easily
recognizable. Note her stately pride of beauty, produced chiefly by the
way in which her neck rises from her shoulders, and in which her head is
poised upon it. Everything else, however, is in perfect keeping--from
the general attitude and lifted hand to the half-drooping eyelids. Of
what is she so proud? She is holding her Child that the world may
worship Him. Of herself she has no thought. Botticelli's Madonna is
brooding over the sorrows of herself and Son: Bellini's is lost in the
noble pride that He has come to save man. The color of the picture is
wondrously beautiful.
"Please note in your little books this artist's _Madonnas_ in San
Zaccaria and Church of the Frari, and go to see them to-morrow morning
if you can; they are his masterpieces. I will not talk any more now. If
you wish to stay here longer, it will be well to go back and look at the
very earliest pictures again, or others that you will find by Carpaccio
and the Bellini brothers."
Not long after, they got together one evening to talk about Titian and
Giorgione. They had seen, of course, their pictures in the Florentine
galleries, and Titian's _Sacred and Profane Love_ in the Borghese
Gallery, Rome; and were familiar with the rich color and superb Venetian
figures and faces.
"What a pity that Giorgione died so young!" exclaimed Margery.
"Yes," replied her uncle. "He would doubtless have given to the world
many pictures fully equal to Titian's. Indeed, to me, he seems to have
been gifted with even a superior quality of refinement. We may see it in
the contrast between his _Venus_ in the Dresden Gallery, whose
photograph you know, and Titian's two _Venuses_ in the Uffizi, which you
studied so carefully when in Florence. But there are very few examples
of Giorgione's paintings in existence, and critics are still quarrelling
over almost all that are attributed to him. Probably the most popular
are the Dresden _Venus_, which has only recently been rescued from
Titian and given to its rightful author, and the _Concert_, which you
remember in the Pitti Gallery, Florence, about which there is
considerable dispute, some critics thinking it an early work by Titian."
"Why did the artists not sign their pictures?" rather impatiently
interrupted Malcom.
"Even a signature does not always settle questions," replied his uncle,
"for it is by no means an unknown occurrence for a gallery itself to
christen some doubtful picture. But to go on:--
"In Venice there is but one painting by Giorgione which is undoubtedly
authentic. I will take you to the Giovanelli Palace, where it is. It is
called _Family of Giorgione_. He was fond of introducing three figures
into his compositions,--you remember the Pitti _Concert_,--there are
also three in this Giovanelli picture--a gypsy woman, a child, and a
warrior. The landscape setting is exceedingly beautiful, and the whole
glows with Giorgione's own color.
"About Titian," continued he, "you have read, and can easily read so
much that I shall not talk long. His whole story is like a romance; his
success and fame boundless; his pictures scattered among all important
galleries."
"Has Venice a great many?" queried Malcom.
"No, Venice possesses comparatively few; and, strangely enough, these
are not most characteristic of the painter. His name, you know, is
almost indissolubly connected with noble portraits, magnificent
mythological representations, and those ideal pictures of beautiful
women of which he painted so many, and which wrought such a revolution
in the character of succeeding art. Hardly any of these, though so
entirely in keeping with the brilliant city, are in Venice to-day; we
must go elsewhere, to Madrid, to Paris, Florence, Rome, Dresden, and
Berlin to find them. One mythological picture only, _Venus and Adonis_,
is in the Academy, and one portrait of a Doge, doubtfully ascribed to
Titian, is in the Ducal Palace."
"Then what pictures are here?" asked Bettina, as Mr. Sumner paused.
"His greatest religious paintings, those gorgeous church pictures, most
of which were painted in his youth, are here."
"May I interrupt a moment," queried Barbara, "to ask what you meant when
you said that some of Titian's pictures wrought a revolution in art?"
"This is a good time in which to explain my meaning. Titian's nature was
not devout. You will see it in every one of these religious paintings
you are about to study. The subjects seem only pretexts, or foundations,
for the gorgeous display of a rare artistic ability. To paint beauty for
beauty's sake only, in form, features, costumes, and accessories was
Titian's native sphere, and gloriously did he fill it. In these church
pictures, the Madonna and Child are almost always entirely secondary in
interest. In many, the family of the donor, with their aristocratic
faces and magnificent costumes, and the saints with waving banners, are
far more important. A fine example of this is the _Madonna of the
Pesaro family_ in the Church of the Frari. With such a _motif_
underlying his work, the great painter fell easily into the habit of
portraying ideal figures, especially of women,--'fancy female figures,'
one writer has termed them,--whose sole merit lies in the superb
rendering of rosy flesh, heavy tresses of auburn hair, lovely eyes, and
rich garments. Such are his _Flora_, _Venuses_, _Titian's Daughter_--of
which there are several examples--_Magdalens_, etc.; together with many
so called portraits, such as his _La Donna Bella_ in the Pitti,
Florence.
"Titian could paint such pictures so free from coarseness, so
magnificent in all art qualities, that the world was delighted with
them. After him, however, the lowered aim had its influence; poorer
artists tried to follow in his footsteps, and the world of art soon
became flooded with mediocre examples of these meaningless pictures. All
this hastened rapidly the decay of Italian art.
"But you must remember," Mr. Sumner hastened to say, as he watched the
faces about him, "that I am giving you my own personal thoughts. To me,
the purity of sentiment and the lofty _motif_ of a picture mean so much
that they always influence my judgment of it. With many other people it
is not so. They revel in the color, the line, the tone, the grouping,
the purely art qualities. In these Titian, as I have said, is perfect,
and worthy of the high place he holds in the art-world.
"I hope you will take great pains to study him here by yourselves,--in
the Academy and in the various churches,--wherever there are examples of
his work. Let each form his own judgment, founded on that which he finds
in the pictures. The work of any artist of the High Renaissance, whose
aim is purely artistic, is not difficult to understand. His means of
expression were so ample that it is easy indeed to read that which he
says, compared with the earlier masters. You will find two of Titian's
most notable pictures in the Academy,--the _Assumption of the Virgin_,
one of the few in which the Madonna has due prominence, and which shows
the artist's best qualities, and _Presentation of the Virgin_."
"What other Venetian Masters ought we particularly to study?" asked
Barbara.
"Look out for Crivelli's _Madonnas_, and all of Paul Veronese's work. He
was really the most utterly Venetian painter who ever lived. He painted
Venice into everything: its motion, its color, its intoxicating fulness
are all found in his mythological and banquet scenes. You will find his
pictures in the Ducal Palace, in the Academy, and a fine series in San
Sebastiano, which represents legendary scenes in the life of St.
Sebastian. Go to Santa Maria Formosa and look at Palma Vecchio's _St.
Barbara_, his masterpiece. You will also find several of this artist's
pictures in the Academy worth looking at. His style at its best is
grand, as in the _St. Barbara_, but he did not always paint up to it, by
any means.
"As to the rest, study them as a whole. The Venice Academy is an epitome
of Venetian painting, from its earliest work down through the High
Renaissance into the Decadence. It was full of pure and devotional
sentiment, rendered with good, oftentimes rich, color, until after the
Bellini. Then the portrayal of purely physical beauty, with refinement
of line and gorgeousness of color, became preëminent. The works of
several artists of note, Palma Vecchio, Palma Giovine, Bonifazio
Veronese, and Bordone, so resemble each other and Titian's less
important works, that there has been much uncertainty as to the true
authorship of many of them."
"And Tintoretto?" questioned Barbara.
"I will take you to see Tintoretto's pictures--or many of them at
least," added Mr. Sumner. "He stands alone by himself."