effect, partly on account of its graceful line, partly because the shade
it casts is varied in depth, becoming deeper and deeper as the grotto
retires, and partly because it gives great apparent elevation to the
walls which it supports. The grottoes themselves are agreeable objects
seen near, because they give an impression of coolness to the eye; and
they echo all sounds with great melody; small streams are often
conducted through them, occasioning slight breezes by their motion. Then
the statue and the urn are graceful in their outline, classical in their
meaning, and correct in their position, for where could they be more
appropriate than here; the one ministering to memory, and the other to
mourning. The terraces themselves are dignified in their character (a
necessary effect, as we saw above), and even the formal rows of trees
are right in this climate, for a peculiar reason. Effect is always to be
considered, in Italy, as if the sun were always to shine, for it does
nine days out of ten. Now the shadows of foliage regularly disposed,
fall with a grace which it is impossible to describe, running up and
down across the marble steps, and casting alternate statues into
darkness; and checkering the white walls with a "method in their
madness," altogether unattainable by loose grouping of trees; and
therefore, for the sake of this kind of shade, to which the eye, as well
as the feeling, is attracted, the long row of cypresses or orange trees
is allowable.
109. But there is a still more important reason for it, of a directly
contrary nature to that which its formality would seem to require. In
all beautiful designs of exterior descent, a certain regularity is
necessary; the lines should be graceful, but they must balance each
other, slope answering to slope, statue to statue. Now this mathematical
regularity would hurt the eye excessively in the midst of scenes of
natural grace, were it executed in bare stone; but, if we make part of
the design itself foliage, and put in touches of regular shade,
alternating with the stone, whose distances and darkness are as
mathematically limited as the rest of the grouping, but whose nature is
changeful and varied in individual forms, we have obtained a link
between nature and art, a step of transition, leading the feelings
gradually from the beauty of regularity to that of freedom. And this
effect would not be obtained, as might at first appear, by intermingling
trees of different kinds, at irregular distances, or wherever they chose
to grow; for then the design and the foliage would be instantly
separated by the eye, the symmetry of the one would be interrupted, the
grace of the other lost; the nobility of the design would not be seen,
but its formality would be felt; and the wildness of the trees would be
injurious, because it would be felt to be out of place. On principles of
composition, therefore, the regular disposition of decorative foliage is
right, when such foliage is mixed with architecture; but it requires
great taste, and long study, to design this disposition properly. Trees
of dark leaf and little color should be invariably used, for they are to
be considered, it must be remembered, rather as free touches of shade
than as trees.
110. Take, for instance, the most simple bit of design, such as a hollow
balustrade, and suppose that it is found to look cold or raw, when
executed, and to want depth. Then put small pots, with any dark shrub,
the darker the better, at fixed places behind them, at the same distance
as the balustrades, or between every two or three, and keep them cut
down to a certain height, and we have immediate depth and increased
ease, with undiminished symmetry. But the great difficulty is to keep
the thing within proper limits, since too much of it will lead to
paltriness, as is the case in a slight degree in Isola Bella, on Lago
Maggiore; and not to let it run into small details: for, be it
remembered, that it is only in the majesty of art, in its large and
general effects, that this regularity is allowable; nothing but variety
should be studied in detail, and therefore there can be no barbarism
greater than the lozenge borders and beds of the French garden. The
scenery around must be naturally rich, that its variety of line may
relieve the slight stiffness of the architecture itself: and the climate
must always be considered; for, as we saw, the chief beauty of these
flights of steps depends upon the presence of the sun; and, if they are
to be in shade half the year, the dark trees will only make them gloomy,
the grass will grow between the stones of the steps, black weeds will
flicker from the pedestals, damp mosses discolor the statues and urns,
and the whole will become one incongruous ruin, one ridiculous decay.
Besides, the very dignity of its character, even could it be kept in
proper order, would be out of place in any country but Italy. Busts of
Virgil or Ariosto would look astonished in an English snowstorm; statues
of Apollo and Diana would be no more divine, where the laurels of the
one would be weak, and the crescent of the other would never gleam in
pure moonlight. The whole glory of the design consists in its unison
with the dignity of the landscape, and with the classical tone of the
country. Take it away from its concomitant circumstances, and, instead
of conducting the eye to it by a series of lofty and dreamy impressions,
bring it through green lanes, or over copse-covered crags, as would be
the case in England, and the whole system becomes utterly and absolutely
absurd, ugly in outline, worse than useless in application, unmeaning in
design, and incongruous in association.
111. It seems, then, that in the approach to the Italian villa, we have
discovered great nationality and great beauty, which was more than we
could have expected, but a beauty utterly untransferable from its own
settled habitation. In our next paper we shall proceed to the building
itself, which will not detain us long, as it is generally simple in its
design, and take a general view of villa architecture over Italy.
112. We have bestowed considerable attention on this style of Garden
Architecture, because it has been much abused by persons of high
authority, and general good taste, who forgot, in their love of grace
and ideal beauty, the connection with surrounding circumstances so
manifest even in its formality. Eustace, we think, is one of these; and,
although it is an error of a kind he is perpetually committing, he is so
far right, that this mannerism is frequently carried into excess even in
its own peculiar domain, then becoming disagreeable, and is always a
dangerous style in inexperienced hands. We think, however, paradoxical
as the opinion may appear, that every one who is a true lover of nature,
and has been bred in her wild school, will be an admirer of this
symmetrical designing, in its place; and will feel, as often as he
contemplates it, that the united effect of the wide and noble steps,
with the pure water dashing over them like heated crystal, the long
shadows of the cypress groves, the golden leaves and glorious light of
blossom of the glancing aloes, the pale statues gleaming along the
heights in their everlasting death in life, their motionless brows
looking down forever on the loveliness in which their beings once dwelt,
marble forms of more than mortal grace lightening along the green
arcades, amidst dark cool grottoes, full of the voice of dashing waters,
and of the breath of myrtle blossoms, with the blue of the deep lake and
the distant precipice mingling at every opening with the eternal snows
glowing in their noontide silence, is one not unworthy of Italy's most
noble remembrances.
II.
THE MOUNTAIN VILLA--LAGO DI COMO (Continued).
113. Having considered the propriety of the approach, it remains for us
to investigate the nature of the feelings excited by the villas of the
Lago di Como in particular, and of Italy in general.
We mentioned that the bases of the mountains bordering the Lake of Como
were chiefly composed of black marble; black, at least, when polished,
and very dark gray in its general effect. This is very finely stratified
in beds varying in thickness from an inch to two or three feet; and
these beds, taken of a medium thickness, form flat slabs, easily broken
into rectangular fragments, which, being excessively compact in their
grain, are admirably adapted for a building material. There is a little
pale limestone[17] among the hills to the south; but this marble, or
primitive limestone (for it is not highly crystalline), is not only more
easy of access, but a more durable stone. Of this, consequently, almost
all the buildings on the lake shore are built; and, therefore, were
their material unconcealed, would be of a dark monotonous and melancholy
gray tint, equally uninteresting to the eye, and depressing to the mind.
To prevent this result, they are covered with different compositions,
sometimes white, more frequently cream-colored, and of varying depth;
the moldings and pilasters being frequently of deeper tones than the
walls. The insides of the grottoes, however, when not cut in the rock
itself, are left uncovered, thus forming a strong contrast with the
whiteness outside; giving great depth, and permitting weeds and flowers
to root themselves on the roughnesses, and rock streams to distill
through the fissures of the dark stones; while all parts of the building
to which the eye is drawn, by their form or details (except the capitals
of the pilasters), such as the urns, the statues, the steps, or
balustrades, are executed in very fine white marble, generally from the
quarries of Carrara, which supply quantities of fragments of the finest
quality, which nevertheless, owing to their want of size, or to the
presence of conspicuous veins, are unavailable for the higher purposes
of sculpture.
[Footnote 17: Pale limestone, with dolomite. A coarse dolomite forms the
mass of mountains on the east of Lake Lecco, Monte Campione, etc., and
part of the other side, as well as the Monte del Novo, above Cadenabbia;
but the bases of the hills, along the _shore_ of the Lake of Lecco, and
all the mountains on both sides of the lower limb of Como are black
limestone. The whole northern half of the lake is bordered by gneiss or
mica slate, with tertiary deposit where torrents enter it. So that the
dolomite is only obtainable by ascending the hills, and incurring
considerable expense of carriage; while the rocks of the shore split
into blocks of their own accord, and are otherwise an excellent
material.]
114. Now, the first question is, is this very pale color desirable? It
is to be hoped so, or else the whole of Italy must be pronounced full of
impropriety. The first circumstance in its favor is one which, though
connected only with lake scenery, we shall notice at length, as it is a
point of high importance in our own country. When a small piece of quiet
water reposes in a valley, or lies embosomed among crags, its chief
beauty is derived from our perception of crystalline depth, united with
excessive slumber. In its limited surface we cannot get the sublimity of
extent, but we may have the beauty of peace, and the majesty of depth.
The object must therefore be, to get the eye off its surface, and to
draw it down, to beguile it into that fairy land underneath, which is
more beautiful than what it repeats, because it is all full of dreams
unattainable, and illimitable. This can only be done by keeping its edge
out of sight, and guiding the eye off the land into the reflection, as
if it were passing into a mist, until it finds itself swimming into the
blue sky, with a thrill of unfathomable falling. (If there be not a
touch of sky at the bottom, the water will be disagreeably black, and
the clearer the more fearful.) Now, one touch of _white_ reflection of
an object at the edge will destroy the whole illusion, for it will come
like the flash of light on armor, and will show the surface, not the
depth: it will tell the eye whereabouts it is; will define the limit of
the edge; and will turn the dream of limitless depth into a small,
uninteresting, reposeless piece of water. In all small lakes or pools,
therefore, steep borders of dark crag, or of thick foliage, are to be
obtained, if possible; even a shingly shore will spoil them: and this
was one reason, it will be remembered for our admiration of the color of
the Westmoreland cottage, because it never broke the repose of water by
its reflection.
115. But this principle applies only to small pieces of water, on which
we look down, as much as along the surface. As soon as we get a sheet,
even if only a mile across, we lose depth; first, because it is almost
impossible to get the surface without a breeze on some part of it; and,
again, because we look along it, and get a great deal of sky in the
reflection, which, when occupying too much space, tells as mere flat
light. But we may have the beauty of extent in a very high degree; and
it is therefore desirable to know how far the water goes, that we may
have a clear conception of its space. Now, its border, at a great
distance, is always lost, unless it be defined by a very distinct line;
and such a line is harsh, flat, and cutting on the eye. To avoid this,
the border itself should be dark, as in the other case, so that there
may be no continuous horizontal line of demarcation; but one or two
bright white objects should be set here and there along or near the
edge: their reflections will flash on the dark water, and will inform
the eye in a moment of the whole distance and transparency of the
surface it is traversing. When there is a slight swell on the water,
they will come down in long, beautiful, perpendicular lines, mingling
exquisitely with the streaky green of reflected foliage; when there is
none, they become a distant image of the object they repeat, endowed
with infinite repose.
116. These remarks, true of small lakes whose edges are green, apply
with far greater force to sheets of water on which the eye passes over
ten or twenty miles in one long glance, and the prevailing color of
whose borders is, as we noticed when speaking of the Italian cottage,
blue. The white reflections are here excessively valuable, giving space,
brilliancy, and transparency; and furnish one very powerful apology,
even did other objections render an apology necessary, for the pale tone
of the color of the villas, whose reflections, owing to their size and
conspicuous situations, always take a considerable part in the scene,
and are therefore things to be attentively considered in the erection of
such buildings, particularly in a climate whose calmness renders its
lakes quiet for the greater part of the day. Nothing, in fact, can be
more beautiful than the intermingling of these bright lines with the
darkness of the reversed cypresses seen against the deep azure of the
distant hills in the crystalline waters of the lake, of which some one
aptly says, "Deep within its azure rest, white villages sleep
silently;"[18] or than their columnar perspective, as village after
village catches the light, and strikes the image to the very quietest
recess of the narrow water, and the very farthest hollow of the folded
hills.
[Footnote 18: [A reminiscence of two lines from a poem on the "Lago di
Como" written by the author in 1833.]]
117. From all this, it appears that the effect of the white villa in
water is delightful. On land it is quite as important, but more
doubtful. The first objection, which strikes us instantly when we
_imagine_ such a building, is the want of repose, the startling glare of
effect, induced by its unsubdued tint. But this objection does not
strike us when we _see_ the building; a circumstance which was partly
accounted for before, in speaking of the cottage, and which we shall
presently see farther cause not to be surprised at. A more important
objection is, that such whiteness destroys a great deal of venerable
character, and harmonizes ill with the melancholy tones of surrounding
landscape: and this requires detailed consideration.
118. Paleness of color destroys the majesty of a building; first, by
hinting at a disguised and humble material; and, secondly, by taking
away all appearance of age. We shall speak of the effect of the material
presently; but the deprivation of apparent antiquity is dependent in a
great degree on the color; and in Italy, where, as we saw before,
everything ought to point to the past, is serious injury, though, for
several reasons, not so fatal as might be imagined; for we do not
require, in a building raised as a light summer-house, wherein to while
away a few pleasure hours, the evidence of ancestral dignity, without
which the château or palace can possess hardly any beauty. We know that
it is originally built more as a plaything than as a monument; as the
delight of an individual, not the possession of a race; and that the
very lightness and carelessness of feeling with which such a domicile is
entered and inhabited by its first builder would demand, to sympathize
and keep in unison with them, not the kind of building adapted to excite
the veneration of ages, but that which can most gayly minister to the
amusement of hours. For all men desire to have memorials of their
actions, but none of their recreations; inasmuch as we only wish that to
be remembered which others will not, or cannot perform or experience;
and we know that all men can enjoy recreation as much as ourselves. We
wish succeeding generations to admire our energy, but not even to be
aware of our lassitude; to know when we moved, but not when we rested;
how we ruled, not how we condescended; and, therefore, in the case of
the triumphal arch, or the hereditary palace, if we are the builders, we
desire stability; if the beholders, we are offended with novelty: but in
the case of the villa, the builder desires only a correspondence with
his humor; the beholder, evidence of such correspondence; for he feels
that the villa is most beautiful when it ministers most to pleasure;
that it cannot minister to pleasure without perpetual change, so as to
suit the varying ideas, and humors, and imaginations of its inhabitant,
and that it cannot possess this light and variable habit with any
appearance of antiquity.
119. And, for a yet more important reason, such appearance is not
desirable. Melancholy, when it is productive of pleasure, is accompanied
either by loveliness in the object exciting it, or by a feeling of pride
in the mind experiencing it. Without one of these, it becomes absolute
pain, which all men throw off as soon as they can, and suffer under as
long as their minds are too weak for the effort. Now, when it is
accompanied by loveliness in the object exciting it, it forms beauty;
when by a feeling of pride, it constitutes the pleasure we experience in
tragedy, when we have the pride of endurance, or in contemplating the
ruin, or the monument, by which we are informed or reminded of the pride
of the past. Hence, it appears that age is beautiful only when it is the
decay of glory or of power, and memory only delightful when it reposes
upon pride.[19] All remains therefore of what was merely devoted to
pleasure; all evidence of lost enjoyment; all memorials of the
recreation and rest of the departed; in a word, all desolation of
delight is productive of mere pain, for there is no feeling of
exultation connected with it. Thus, in any ancient habitation, we pass
with reverence and pleasurable emotion through the ordered armory, where
the lances lie, with none to wield; through the lofty hall, where the
crested scutcheons glow with the honor of the dead: but we turn sickly
away from the arbor which has no hand to tend it, and the boudoir which
has no life to lighten it, and the smooth sward which has no light feet
to dance on it. So it is in the villa: the more memory, the more sorrow;
and, therefore, the less adaptation to its present purpose. But, though
cheerful, it should be ethereal in its expression: "spiritual" is a good
word, giving ideas of the very highest order of delight that can be
obtained in the mere present.
[Footnote 19: Observe, we are not speaking of emotions felt on
remembering what we ourselves have enjoyed, for then the imagination is
productive of pleasure by replacing us in enjoyment, but of the feelings
excited in the _indifferent_ spectator, by the evident decay of power or
desolation of enjoyment, of which the first ennobles, the other only
harrows, the spirit.]
120. It seems, then, that for all these reasons an appearance of age is
not desirable, far less necessary, in the villa; but its existing
character must be in unison with its country; and it must appear to be
inhabited by one brought up in that country, and imbued with its
national feelings. In Italy, especially, though we can even here
dispense with one component part of elevation of character,--age, we
must have all the others: we must have high feeling, beauty of form, and
depth of effect, or the thing will be a barbarism; the inhabitant must
be an Italian, full of imagination and emotion: a villa inhabited by an
Englishman, no matter how close its imitation of others, will always be
preposterous.
We find, therefore, that white is not to be blamed in the villa for
destroying its antiquity; neither is it reprehensible, as harmonizing
ill with the surrounding landscape: on the contrary, it adds to its
brilliancy, without taking away from its depth of tone. We shall
consider it as an element of landscape, more particularly, when we come
to speak of grouping.
121. There remains only one accusation to be answered; viz., that it
hints at a paltry and unsubstantial material: and this leads us to the
second question. Is this material allowable? If it were distinctly felt
by the eye to be stucco, there could be no question about the matter, it
would be decidedly disagreeable; but all the parts to which the eye is
attracted are executed in marble, and the stucco merely forms the dead
flat of the building, not a single wreath of ornament being formed of
it. Its surface is smooth and bright, and altogether avoids what a stone
building, when not built of large masses, and uncharged with ornament,
always forces upon the attention, the rectangular lines of the blocks,
which, however nicely fitted they may be, are "horrible! most horrible!"
There is also a great deal of ease and softness in the angular lines of
the stucco, which are never sharp or harsh, like those of stone; and it
receives shadows with great beauty, a point of infinite importance in
this climate; giving them lightness and transparency, without any
diminution of depth. It is also agreeable to the eye, to pass from the
sharp carving of the marble decorations to the ease and smoothness of
the stucco; while the utter want of interest in those parts which are
executed in it prevents the humility of the material from being
offensive: for this passage of the eye from the marble to the
composition is managed with the dexterity of the artist, who, that the
attention may be drawn to the single point of the picture which is his
subject, leaves the rest so obscured and slightly painted, that the mind
loses it altogether in its attention to the principal feature.