_Torcello--S. Francesco del Deserto_
The poor and almost desolate island of Torcello lies N.E. of Murano and
may be reached by steamer, or by gondola with two rowers.
The ride by gondola is a delightful experience. As we are urged along
the channels by the stalwart gondoliers with rhythmic strokes, lagoons,
islands and mainland villages unfold themselves to our sight. A little
group of cottages amid some poplars to the N.W. is all that remains of
the once great and rich Roman city of Altinum. To the N.E., among the
islands and groups of trees that seem to float mysteriously poised in
the soft grey vaporous atmosphere, is S. Francesco del Deserto, with its
cypress groves and solitary stone pine, where St Francis bade his little
sisters the birds keep silence while he prayed (p. 73).
The tall, square campanile of Torcello has long been in view. We pass St
James of the Marshes (S. Giacomo della Palude), now a powder magazine,
then Burano, and at length enter a canal, pass under a decayed
bridge,[119] and are landed at the edge of a sloping plot of grass, once
the busy market-place of an important city. The cathedral of S. Maria
has been twice restored or rebuilt (864 and 1088), but much of the
material and probably the apse of the original basilica still survive in
the actual fabric. Less than fifteen years since could be seen the old
episcopal throne and semi-circular tiers of seats worn by generations of
Christian pastors[120] as they sat amid their clergy facing the people.
But the seats have been rebuilt and the throne partly restored with
ill-fitting slabs of cheap Carrara marble. We remember visiting the
cathedral shortly after the renewal with a young Italian architect, who,
to our expression of pained surprise, replied, _Ma signore, era in
disordine_ (but, sir, it was so untidy). There is no _disordine_ now in
the scraped and restored interior. Many of the original marbles, with
beautiful and virile designs, however, still remain in the chancel; and
in the facings of the pulpit stairs, hewn into blocks and placed in
position by the old builders with small regard for continuity of design,
we may perhaps gaze on the very stones brought from the mainland at the
time of the great migration under Bishop Paul. The restored
thirteenth-century mosaic of the Last Judgment on the W. wall, with its
ingenuous realism and grim humour, is unrelated in style to anything in
St Mark’s, and is the analogue of many a sculptured Gothic west front in
northern Europe. The mosaic in the apse, the Virgin and the Twelve
Apostles, with an Annunciation on the spandrils, is Byzantine in style,
and believed by Saccardo to be late seventh-century work.
We note the old stone shutters of the windows as we pass to the
campanile, which lost one-third of its height by a lightning stroke in
1640. A magnificent view of the lagoons and the mainland is obtained
from the summit. The remarkable little church of S. Fosca, with its
picturesque portico round the apse, is Byzantine in plan, and was in
existence before 1011. It was restored in 1247 and again later. The
cupola has disappeared and is replaced by a low tiled roof, but the four
arches which carried the old dome still remain. A rudely-carved font of
alabaster is worth notice. On our way back we may touch at the island of
S. Francesco del Deserto. The friars give a gracious welcome, but true
followers of the _poverello_ that they are, will accept no gifts in
return save reverence and courtesy. A little church and monastery were
built around the spot where St Francis prayed, and a small brotherhood
have for seven centuries kept unbroken the traditions of their gentle
father.