{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_30756/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_30756","id":"gutenberg_30756","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30756","summary":null,"tags":["Architecture -- Italy -- Venice","Category: Architecture","Category: Art","Category: History - European","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Italy"],"text":"Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations and also\n      the index for all three volumes of the set with links\n      to the other two volumes.\n      See 30756-h.htm or 30756-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/30756/pg30756-images.html)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h.zip)\n\n      Volumes I and II are available in the Project Gutenberg\n      Library:\n      Volume I--see https://www.gutenberg.org/etext/30754\n      Volume II--see https://www.gutenberg.org/etext/30755\n\n\nTranscriber's note:\n\n      A few typographical errors have been corrected. They are\n      listed at the end of the text.\n\n      Characters following a caret were printed as superscript\n      in the original. For example, \"M^a,\"; here the \"a.\" is a\n      superscript.\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Complete Works of John Ruskin\n\nVolume IX\n\nSTONES OF VENICE\n\nVOLUME III\n\n\n[Illustration:\n     THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS\n     FROM A PHOTOGRAPH]\n\n\nLibrary Edition\n\nThe Complete Works of John Ruskin\n\nSTONES OF VENICE\n\nVOLUME III\n\nGiotto\nLectures on Architecture\nHarbours of England\nA Joy Forever\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNational Library Association\nNew York             Chicago\n\n\n\n\nTHE\nSTONES OF VENICE\n\nVOLUME III.\n\nTHE FALL\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n  THIRD, OR RENAISSANCE, PERIOD.\n\n                          CHAPTER I.\n                                                      PAGE\n    Early Renaissance,                                   1\n\n                         CHAPTER II.\n    Roman Renaissance,                                  32\n\n                         CHAPTER III.\n    Grotesque Renaissance,                             112\n\n                         CHAPTER IV.\n    Conclusion,                                        166\n\n\n  APPENDIX.\n\n     1. Architect of the Ducal Palace,                 199\n     2. Theology of Spenser,                           205\n     3. Austrian Government in Italy,                  209\n     4. Date of the Palaces of the Byzantine\n          Renaissance,                                 211\n     5. Renaissance Side of Ducal Palace,              212\n     6. Character of the Doge Michele Morosini,        213\n     7. Modern Education,                              214\n     8. Early Venetian Marriages,                      222\n     9. Character of the Venetian Aristocracy,         223\n    10. Final Appendix,                                224\n\n\n  INDICES.\n\n     I. Personal Index,                                263\n    II. Local Index,                                   268\n   III. Topical Index,                                 271\n    IV. Venetian Index,                                287\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF PLATES.\n\n                                                    Facing Page\n\n PLATE 1. Temperance and Intemperance in Ornament,            6\n   \"   2. Gothic Capitals,                                    8\n   \"   3. Noble and Ignoble Grotesque,                      125\n   \"   4. Mosaic of Olive Tree and Flowers,                 179\n   \"   5. Byzantine Bases,                                  225\n   \"   6. Byzantine Jambs,                                  229\n   \"   7. Gothic Jambs,                                     230\n   \"   8. Byzantine Archivolts,                             244\n   \"   9. Gothic Archivolts,                                245\n   \"  10. Cornices,                                         248\n   \"  11. Tracery Bars,                                     252\n   \"  12. Capitals of Fondaco de Turchi,                    304\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nSTONES OF VENICE.\n\nTHIRD, OR RENAISSANCE, PERIOD.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nEARLY RENAISSANCE.\n\n\n\u00a7 I. I trust that the reader has been enabled, by the preceding\nchapters, to form some conception of the magnificence of the streets of\nVenice during the course of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Yet\nby all this magnificence she was not supremely distinguished above the\nother cities of the middle ages. Her early edifices have been preserved\nto our times by the circuit of her waves; while continual recurrences of\nruin have defaced the glory of her sister cities. But such fragments as\nare still left in their lonely squares, and in the corners of their\nstreets, so far from being inferior to the buildings of Venice, are even\nmore rich, more finished, more admirable in invention, more exuberant in\nbeauty. And although, in the North of Europe, civilization was less\nadvanced, and the knowledge of the arts was more confined to the\necclesiastical orders, so that, for domestic architecture, the period of\nperfection must be there placed much later than in Italy, and considered\nas extending to the middle of the fifteenth century; yet, as each city\nreached a certain point in civilization, its streets became decorated\nwith the same magnificence, varied only in style according to the\nmaterials at hand, and temper of the people. And I am not aware of any\ntown of wealth and importance in the middle ages, in which some proof\ndoes not exist, that, at its period of greatest energy and prosperity,\nits streets were inwrought with rich sculpture, and even (though in\nthis, as before noticed, Venice always stood supreme) glowing with color\nand with gold. Now, therefore, let the reader,--forming for himself as\nvivid and real a conception as he is able, either of a group of Venetian\npalaces in the fourteenth century, or, if he likes better, of one of the\nmore fantastic but even richer street scenes of Rouen, Antwerp, Cologne,\nor Nuremberg, and keeping this gorgeous image before him,--go out into\nany thoroughfare, representative, in a general and characteristic way,\nof the feeling for domestic architecture in modern times; let him, for\ninstance, if in London, walk once up and down Harley Street, or Baker\nStreet, or Gower Street; and then, looking upon this picture and on\nthis, set himself to consider (for this is to be the subject of our\nfollowing and final inquiry) what have been the causes which have\ninduced so vast a change in the European mind.\n\n\u00a7 II. Renaissance architecture is the school which has conducted men's\ninventive and constructive faculties from the Grand Canal to Gower\nStreet; from the marble shaft, and the lancet arch, and the wreathed\nleafage, and the glowing and melting harmony of gold and azure, to the\nsquare cavity in the brick wall. We have now to consider the causes and\nthe steps of this change; and, as we endeavored above to investigate the\nnature of Gothic, here to investigate also the nature of Renaissance.\n\n\u00a7 III. Although Renaissance architecture assumes very different forms\namong different nations, it may be conveniently referred to three\nheads:--Early Renaissance, consisting of the first corruptions\nintroduced into the Gothic schools: Central or Roman Renaissance, which\nis the perfectly formed style: and Grotesque Renaissance, which is the\ncorruption of the Renaissance itself.\n\n\u00a7 IV. Now, in order to do full justice to the adverse cause, we will\nconsider the abstract _nature_ of the school with reference only to its\nbest or central examples. The forms of building which must be classed\ngenerally under the term _early_ Renaissance are, in many cases, only\nthe extravagances and corruptions of the languid Gothic, for whose\nerrors the classical principle is in no wise answerable. It was stated\nin the second chapter of the \"Seven Lamps,\" that, unless luxury had\nenervated and subtlety falsified the Gothic forms, Roman traditions\ncould not have prevailed against them; and, although these enervated and\nfalse conditions are almost instantly colored by the classical\ninfluence, it would be utterly unfair to lay to the charge of that\ninfluence the first debasement of the earlier schools, which had lost\nthe strength of their system before they could be struck by the plague.\n\n\u00a7 V. The manner, however, of the debasement of all schools of art, so\nfar as it is natural, is in all ages the same; luxuriance of ornament,\nrefinement of execution, and idle subtleties of fancy, taking the place\nof true thought and firm handling: and I do not intend to delay the\nreader long by the Gothic sick-bed, for our task is not so much to watch\nthe wasting of fever in the features of the expiring king, as to trace\nthe character of that Hazael who dipped the cloth in water, and laid it\nupon his face, Nevertheless, it is necessary to the completeness of our\nview of the architecture of Venice, as well as to our understanding of\nthe manner in which the Central Renaissance obtained its universal\ndominion, that we glance briefly at the principal forms into which\nVenetian Gothic first declined. They are two in number: one the\ncorruption of the Gothic itself; the other a partial return to Byzantine\nforms; for the Venetian mind having carried the Gothic to a point at\nwhich it was dissatisfied, tried to retrace its steps, fell back first\nupon Byzantine types, and through them passed to the first Roman. But in\nthus retracing its steps, it does not recover its own lost energy. It\nrevisits the places through which it had passed in the morning light,\nbut it is now with wearied limbs, and under the gloomy shadows of\nevening.\n\n\u00a7 VI. It has just been said that the two principal causes of natural\ndecline in any school, are over-luxuriance and over-refinement. The\ncorrupt Gothic of Venice furnishes us with a curious instance of the\none, and the corrupt Byzantine of the other. We shall examine them in\nsuccession.\n\nNow, observe, first, I do not mean by _luxuriance_ of ornament,\n_quantity_ of ornament. In the best Gothic in the world there is hardly\nan inch of stone left unsculptured. But I mean that character of\nextravagance in the ornament itself which shows that it was addressed to\njaded faculties; a violence and coarseness in curvature, a depth of\nshadow, a lusciousness in arrangement of line, evidently arising out of\nan incapability of feeling the true beauty of chaste form and restrained\npower. I do not know any character of design which may be more easily\nrecognized at a glance than this over-lusciousness; and yet it seems to\nme that at the present day there is nothing so little understood as the\nessential difference between chasteness and extravagance, whether in\ncolor, shade, or lines. We speak loosely and inaccurately of\n\"overcharged\" ornament, with an obscure feeling that there is indeed\nsomething in visible Form which is correspondent to Intemperance in\nmoral habits; but without any distinct detection of the character which\noffends us, far less with any understanding of the most important lesson\nwhich there can be no doubt was intended to be conveyed by the\nuniversality of this ornamental law.\n\n\u00a7 VII. In a word, then, the safeguard of highest beauty, in all visible\nwork, is exactly that which is also the safeguard of conduct in the\nsoul,--Temperance, in the broadest sense; the Temperance which we have\nseen sitting on an equal throne with Justice amidst the Four Cardinal\nVirtues, and, wanting which, there is not any other virtue which may not\nlead us into desperate error. Now, observe: Temperance, in the nobler\nsense, does not mean a subdued and imperfect energy; it does not mean a\nstopping short in any good thing, as in Love or in Faith; but it means\nthe power which governs the most intense energy, and prevents its acting\nin any way but as it ought. And with respect to things in which there\nmay be excess, it does not mean imperfect enjoyment of them; but the\nregulation of their quantity, so that the enjoyment of them shall be\ngreatest. For instance, in the matter we have at present in hand,\ntemperance in color does not mean imperfect or dull enjoyment of color;\nbut it means that government of color which shall bring the utmost\npossible enjoyment out of all hues. A bad colorist does not _love_\nbeautiful color better than the best colorist does, nor half so much.\nBut he indulges in it to excess; he uses it in large masses, and\nunsubdued; and then it is a law of Nature, a law as universal as that of\ngravitation, that he shall not be able to enjoy it so much as if he had\nused it in less quantity. His eye is jaded and satiated, and the blue\nand red have life in them no more. He tries to paint them bluer and\nredder, in vain: all the blue has become grey, and gets greyer the more\nhe adds to it; all his crimson has become brown, and gets more sere and\nautumnal the more he deepens it. But the great painter is sternly\ntemperate in his work; he loves the vivid color with all his heart; but\nfor a long time he does not allow himself anything like it, nothing but\nsober browns and dull greys, and colors that have no conceivable beauty\nin them; but these by his government become lovely: and after bringing\nout of them all the life and power they possess, and enjoying them to\nthe uttermost,--cautiously, and as the crown of the work, and the\nconsummation of its music, he permits the momentary crimson and azure,\nand the whole canvas is in a flame.\n\n\u00a7 VIII. Again, in curvature, which is the cause of loveliness in all\nform; the bad designer does not enjoy it more than the great designer,\nbut he indulges in it till his eye is satiated, and he cannot obtain\nenough of it to touch his jaded feeling for grace. But the great and\ntemperate designer does not allow himself any violent curves; he works\nmuch with lines in which the curvature, though always existing, is long\nbefore it is perceived. He dwells on all these subdued curvatures to the\nuttermost, and opposes them with still severer lines to bring them out\nin fuller sweetness; and, at last, he allows himself a momentary curve\nof energy, and all the work is, in an instant, full of life and grace.\n\nThe curves drawn in Plate VII. of the first volume, were chosen entirely\nto show this character of dignity and restraint, as it appears in the\nlines of nature, together with the perpetual changefulness of the\ndegrees of curvature in one and the same line; but although the purpose\nof that plate was carefully explained in the chapter which it\nillustrates, as well as in the passages of \"Modern Painters\" therein\nreferred to (vol. ii. pp. 43, 79), so little are we now in the habit of\nconsidering the character of abstract lines, that it was thought by many\npersons that this plate only illustrated Hogarth's reversed line of\nbeauty, even although the curve of the salvia leaf, which was the one\ntaken from that plate for future use, in architecture, was not a\nreversed or serpentine curve at all. I shall now, however, I hope, be\nable to show my meaning better.\n\n\u00a7 IX. Fig. 1 in Plate I., opposite, is a piece of ornamentation from a\nNorman-French manuscript of the thirteenth century, and fig. 2 from an\nItalian one of the fifteenth. Observe in the first its stern moderation\nin curvature; the gradually united lines _nearly straight_, though none\nquite straight, used for its main limb, and contrasted with the bold but\nsimple offshoots of its leaves, and the noble spiral from which it\nshoots, these in their turn opposed by the sharp trefoils and thorny\ncusps. And see what a reserve of resource there is in the whole; how\neasy it would have been to make the curves more palpable and the foliage\nmore rich, and how the noble hand has stayed itself, and refused to\ngrant one wave of motion more.\n\n[Illustration: Plate I.\n               TEMPERANCE AND INTEMPERANCE.\n               IN CURVATURE.]\n\n\u00a7 X. Then observe the other example, in which, while the same idea is\ncontinually repeated, excitement and interest are sought for by means of\nviolent and continual curvatures wholly unrestrained, and rolling hither\nand thither in confused wantonness. Compare the character of the\nseparate lines in these two examples carefully, and be assured that\nwherever this redundant and luxurious curvature shows itself in\nornamentation, it is a sign of jaded energy and failing invention. Do\nnot confuse it with fulness or richness. Wealth is not necessarily\nwantonness: a Gothic moulding may be buried half a foot deep in thorns\nand leaves, and yet will be chaste in every line; and a late Renaissance\nmoulding may be utterly barren and poverty-stricken, and yet will show\nthe disposition to luxury in every line.\n\n\u00a7 XI. Plate XX., in the second volume, though prepared for the special\nillustration of the notices of capitals, becomes peculiarly interesting\nwhen considered in relation to the points at present under\nconsideration. The four leaves in the upper row are Byzantine; the two\nmiddle rows are transitional, all but fig. 11, which is of the formed\nGothic; fig. 12 is perfect Gothic of the finest time (Ducal Palace,\noldest part), fig. 13 is Gothic beginning to decline, fig. 14 is\nRenaissance Gothic in complete corruption.\n\nNow observe, first, the Gothic naturalism advancing gradually from the\nByzantine severity; how from the sharp, hard, formalized conventionality\nof the upper series the leaves gradually expand into more free and\nflexible animation, until in fig. 12 we have the perfect living leaf as\nif fresh gathered out of the dew. And then, in the last two examples and\npartly in fig. 11, observe how the forms which can advance no longer in\nanimation, advance, or rather decline, into luxury and effeminacy as the\nstrength of the school expires.\n\n\u00a7 XII. In the second place, note that the Byzantine and Gothic schools,\nhowever differing in degree of life, are both alike in _temperance_,\nthough the temperance of the Gothic is the nobler, because it consists\nwith entire animation. Observe how severe and subtle the curvatures are\nin all the leaves from fig. 1 to fig. 12, except only in fig. 11; and\nobserve especially the firmness and strength obtained by the close\napproximation to the straight line in the lateral ribs of the leaf, fig.\n12. The longer the eye rests on these temperate curvatures the more it\nwill enjoy them, but it will assuredly in the end be wearied by the\nmorbid exaggeration of the last example.\n\n[Illustration: Plate II.\n               GOTHIC CAPITALS.]\n\n\u00a7 XIII. Finally, observe--and this is very important--how one and the\nsame character in the work may be a sign of totally different states of\nmind, and therefore in one case bad, and in the other good. The\nexamples, fig. 3. and fig. 12., are both equally pure in line; but one\nis subdivided in the extreme, the other broad in the extreme, and both\nare beautiful. The Byzantine mind delighted in the delicacy of\nsubdivision which nature shows in the fern-leaf or parsley-leaf; and so,\nalso, often the Gothic mind, much enjoying the oak, thorn, and thistle.\nBut the builder of the Ducal Palace used great breadth in his foliage,\nin order to harmonize with the broad surface of his mighty wall, and\ndelighted in this breadth as nature delights in the sweeping freshness\nof the dock-leaf or water-lily. Both breadth and subdivision are thus\nnoble, when they are contemplated or conceived by a mind in health; and\nboth become ignoble, when conceived by a mind jaded and satiated. The\nsubdivision in fig. 13 as compared with the type, fig. 12, which it was\nintended to improve, is the sign, not of a mind which loved intricacy,\nbut of one which could not relish simplicity, which had not strength\nenough to enjoy the broad masses of the earlier leaves, and cut them to\npieces idly, like a child tearing the book which, in its weariness, it\ncannot read. And on the other hand, we shall continually find, in other\nexamples of work of the same period, an unwholesome breadth or\nheaviness, which results from the mind having no longer any care for\nrefinement or precision, nor taking any delight in delicate forms, but\nmaking all things blunted, cumbrous, and dead, losing at the same time\nthe sense of the elasticity and spring of natural curves. It is as if\nthe soul of man, itself severed from the root of its health, and about\nto fall into corruption, lost the perception of life in all things\naround it; and could no more distinguish the wave of the strong\nbranches, full of muscular strength and sanguine circulation, from the\nlax bending of a broken cord, nor the sinuousness of the edge of the\nleaf, crushed into deep folds by the expansion of its living growth,\nfrom the wrinkled contraction of its decay.[1] Thus, in morals, there\nis a care for trifles which proceeds from love and conscience, and is\nmost holy; and a care for trifles which comes of idleness and frivolity,\nand is most base. And so, also, there is a gravity proceeding from\nthought, which is most noble; and a gravity proceeding from dulness and\nmere incapability of enjoyment, which is most base. Now, in the various\nforms assumed by the later Gothic of Venice, there are one or two\nfeatures which, under other circumstances, would not have been signs of\ndecline; but, in the particular manner of their occurrence here,\nindicate the fatal weariness of decay. Of all these features the most\ndistinctive are its crockets and finials.\n\n\u00a7 XIV. There is not to be found a single crocket or finial upon any part\nof the Ducal Palace built during the fourteenth century; and although\nthey occur on contemporary, and on some much earlier, buildings, they\neither indicate detached examples of schools not properly Venetian, or\nare signs of incipient decline.\n\nThe reason of this is, that the finial is properly the ornament of\ngabled architecture; it is the compliance, in the minor features of the\nbuilding, with the spirit of its towers, ridged roof, and spires.\nVenetian building is not gabled, but horizontal in its roots and general\nmasses; therefore the finial is a feature contradictory to its spirit,\nand adopted only in that search for morbid excitement which is the\ninfallible indication of decline. When it occurs earlier, it is on\nfragments of true gabled architecture, as, for instance, on the porch of\nthe Carmini.\n\nIn proportion to the unjustifiableness of its introduction was the\nextravagance of the form it assumed; becoming, sometimes, a tuft at the\ntop of the ogee windows, half as high as the arch itself, and\nconsisting, in the richest examples, of a human figure, half emergent\nout of a cup of leafage, as, for instance, in the small archway of the\nCampo San Zaccaria: while the crockets, as being at the side of the\narch, and not so strictly connected with its balance and symmetry,\nappear to consider themselves at greater liberty even than the finials,\nand fling themselves, hither and thither, in the wildest contortions.\nFig. 4. in Plate I, is the outline of one, carved in stone, from the\nlater Gothic of St. Mark's; fig. 3. a crocket from the fine Veronese\nGothic; in order to enable the reader to discern the Renaissance\ncharacter better by comparison with the examples of curvature above\nthem, taken from the manuscripts. And not content with this exuberance\nin the external ornaments of the arch, the finial interferes with its\ntraceries. The increased intricacy of these, as such, being a natural\nprocess in the developement of Gothic, would have been no evil; but they\nare corrupted by the enrichment of the finial at the point of the\ncusp,--corrupted, that is to say, in Venice: for at Verona the finial,\nin the form of a fleur-de-lis, appears long previously at the cusp\npoint, with exquisite effect; and in our own best Northern Gothic it is\noften used beautifully in this place, as in the window from Salisbury,\nPlate XII. (Vol. II.), fig. 2. But in Venice, such a treatment of it was\nutterly contrary to the severe spirit of the ancient traceries; and the\nadoption of a leafy finial at the extremity of the cusps in the door of\nSan Stefano, as opposed to the simple ball which terminates those of the\nDucal Palace, is an unmistakable indication of a tendency to decline.\n\nIn like manner, the enrichment and complication of the jamb mouldings,\nwhich, in other schools, might and did take place in the healthiest\nperiods, are, at Venice, signs of decline, owing to the entire\ninconsistency of such mouldings with the ancient love of the single\nsquare jamb and archivolt. The process of enrichment in them is shown by\nthe successive examples given in Plate VII., below. They are numbered,\nand explained in the Appendix.\n\n\u00a7 XV. The date at which this corrupt form of Gothic first prevailed over\nthe early simplicity of the Venetian types can be determined in an\ninstant, on the steps of the choir of the Church of St. John and Paul.\nOn our left hand, as we enter, is the tomb of the Doge Marco Cornaro,\nwho died in 1367. It is rich and fully developed Gothic, with crockets\nand finials, but not yet attaining any extravagant developement.\nOpposite to it is that of the Doge Andrea Morosini, who died in 1382.\nIts Gothic is voluptuous, and over-wrought; the crockets are bold and\nflorid, and the enormous finial represents a statue of St. Michael.\nThere is no excuse for the antiquaries who, having this tomb before\nthem, could have attributed the severe architecture of the Ducal Palace\nto a later date; for every one of the Renaissance errors is here in\ncomplete developement, though not so grossly as entirely to destroy the\nloveliness of the Gothic forms. In the Porta della Carta, 1423, the vice\nreaches its climax.\n\n\u00a7 XVI. Against this degraded Gothic, then, came up the Renaissance\narmies; and their first assault was in the requirement of universal\nperfection. For the first time since the destruction of Rome, the world\nhad seen, in the work of the greatest artists of the fifteenth\ncentury,--in the painting of Ghirlandajo, Masaccio, Francia, Perugino,\nPinturicchio, and Bellini; in the sculpture of Mino da Fiesole, of\nGhiberti, and Verrocchio,--a perfection of execution and fulness of\nknowledge which cast all previous art into the shade, and which, being\nin the work of those men united with all that was great in that of\nformer days, did indeed justify the utmost enthusiasm with which their\nefforts were, or could be, regarded. But when this perfection had once\nbeen exhibited in anything, it was required in everything; the world\ncould no longer be satisfied with less exquisite execution, or less\ndisciplined knowledge. The first thing that it demanded in all work was,\nthat it should be done in a consummate and learned way; and men\naltogether forgot that it was possible to consummate what was\ncontemptible, and to know what was useless. Imperatively requiring\ndexterity of touch, they gradually forgot to look for tenderness of\nfeeling; imperatively requiring accuracy of knowledge, they gradually\nforgot to ask for originality of thought. The thought and the feeling\nwhich they despised departed from them, and they were left to\nfelicitate themselves on their small science and their neat fingering.\nThis is the history of the first attack of the Renaissance upon the\nGothic schools, and of its rapid results, more fatal and immediate in\narchitecture than in any other art, because there the demand for\nperfection was less reasonable, and less consistent with the\ncapabilities of the workman; being utterly opposed to that rudeness or\nsavageness on which, as we saw above, the nobility of the elder schools\nin great part depends. But inasmuch as the innovations were founded on\nsome of the most beautiful examples of art, and headed by some of the\ngreatest men that the world ever saw, and as the Gothic with which they\ninterfered was corrupt and valueless, the first appearance of the\nRenaissance feeling had the appearance of a healthy movement. A new\nenergy replaced whatever weariness or dulness had affected the Gothic\nmind; an exquisite taste and refinement, aided by extended knowledge,\nfurnished the first models of the new school; and over the whole of\nItaly a style arose, generally now known as cinque-cento, which in\nsculpture and painting, as I just stated, produced the noblest masters\nwhich the world ever saw, headed by Michael Angelo, Raphael, and\nLeonardo; but which failed of doing the same in architecture, because,\nas we have seen above, perfection is therein not possible, and failed\nmore totally than it would otherwise have done, because the classical\nenthusiasm had destroyed the best types of architectural form.\n\n\u00a7 XVII. For, observe here very carefully, the Renaissance principle, as\nit consisted in a demand for universal perfection, is quite distinct\nfrom the Renaissance principle as it consists in a demand for classical\nand Roman _forms_ of perfection. And if I had space to follow out the\nsubject as I should desire, I would first endeavor to ascertain what\nmight have been the course of the art of Europe if no manuscripts of\nclassical authors had been recovered, and no remains of classical\narchitecture left, in the fifteenth century; so that the executive\nperfection to which the efforts of all great men had tended for five\nhundred years, and which now at last was reached, might have been\nallowed to develope itself in its own natural and proper form, in\nconnexion with the architectural structure of earlier schools. This\nrefinement and perfection had indeed its own perils, and the history of\nlater Italy, as she sank into pleasure and thence into corruption, would\nprobably have been the same whether she had ever learned again to write\npure Latin or not. Still the inquiry into the probable cause of the\nenervation which might naturally have followed the highest exertion of\nher energies, is a totally distinct one from that into the particular\nform given to this enervation by her classical learning; and it is\nmatter of considerable regret to me that I cannot treat these two\nsubjects separately: I must be content with marking them for separation\nin the mind of the reader.\n\n\u00a7 XVIII. The effect, then, of the sudden enthusiasm for classical\nliterature, which gained strength during every hour of the fifteenth\ncentury, was, as far as respected architecture, to do away with the\nentire system of Gothic science. The pointed arch, the shadowy vault,\nthe clustered shaft, the heaven-pointing spire, were all swept away; and\nno structure was any longer permitted but that of the plain cross-beam\nfrom pillar to pillar, over the round arch, with square or circular\nshafts, and a low-gabled roof and pediment: two elements of noble form,\nwhich had fortunately existed in Rome, were, however, for that reason,\nstill permitted; the cupola, and, internally, the waggon vault.\n\n\u00a7 XIX. These changes in form were all of them unfortunate; and it is\nalmost impossible to do justice to the occasionally exquisite\nornamentation of the fifteenth century, on account of its being placed\nupon edifices of the cold and meagre Roman outline. There is, as far as\nI know, only one Gothic building in Europe, the Duomo of Florence, in\nwhich, though the ornament be of a much earlier school, it is yet so\nexquisitely finished as to enable us to imagine what might have been the\neffect of the perfect workmanship of the Renaissance, coming out of the\nhands of men like Verrocchio and Ghiberti, had it been employed on the\nmagnificent framework of Gothic structure. This is the question which,\nas I shall note in the concluding chapter, we ought to set ourselves\npractically to solve in modern times.\n\n\u00a7 XX. The changes effected in form, however, were the least part of the\nevil principles of the Renaissance. As I have just said, its main\nmistake, in its early stages, was the unwholesome demand for\n_perfection_, at any cost. I hope enough has been advanced, in the\nchapter on the Nature of Gothic, to show the reader that perfection is\n_not_ to be had from the general workman, but at the cost of\neverything,--of his whole life, thought, and energy. And Renaissance\nEurope thought this a small price to pay for manipulative perfection.\nMen like Verrocchio and Ghiberti were not to be had every day, nor in\nevery place; and to require from the common workman execution or\nknowledge like theirs, was to require him to become their copyist. Their\nstrength was great enough to enable them to join science with invention,\nmethod with emotion, finish with fire; but, in them, the invention and\nthe fire were first, while Europe saw in them only the method and the\nfinish. This was new to the minds of men, and they pursued it to the\nneglect of everything else. \"This,\" they cried, \"we must have in all our\nwork henceforward:\" and they were obeyed. The lower workman secured\nmethod and finish, and lost, in exchange for them, his soul.\n\n\u00a7 XXI. Now, therefore, do not let me be misunderstood when I speak\ngenerally of the evil spirit of the Renaissance. The reader may look\nthrough all I have written, from first to last, and he will not find one\nword but of the most profound reverence for those mighty men who could\nwear the Renaissance armor of proof, and yet not feel it encumber their\nliving limbs,[2]--Leonardo and Michael Angelo, Ghirlandajo and Masaccio,\nTitian and Tintoret. But I speak of the Renaissance as an evil time,\nbecause, when it saw those men go burning forth into the battle, it\nmistook their armor for their strength: and forthwith encumbered with\nthe painful panoply every stripling who ought to have gone forth only\nwith his own choice of three smooth stones out of the brook.\n\n\u00a7 XXII. This, then, the reader must always keep in mind when he is\nexamining for himself any examples of cinque-cento work. When it has\nbeen done by a truly great man, whose life and strength could not be\noppressed, and who turned to good account the whole science of his day,\nnothing is more exquisite. I do not believe, for instance, that there is\na more glorious work of sculpture existing in the world than that\nequestrian statue of Bartolomeo Colleone, by Verrocchio, of which, I\nhope, before these pages are printed, there will be a cast in England.\nBut when the cinque-cento work has been done by those meaner men, who,\nin the Gothic times, though in a rough way, would yet have found some\nmeans of speaking out what was in their hearts, it is utterly\ninanimate,--a base and helpless copy of more accomplished models; or, if\nnot this, a mere accumulation of technical skill, in gaining which the\nworkman had surrendered all other powers that were in him.\n\nThere is, therefore, of course, an infinite gradation in the art of the\nperiod, from the Sistine Chapel down to modern upholstery; but, for the\nmost part, since in architecture the workman must be of an inferior\norder, it will be found that this cinque-cento painting and higher\nreligious sculpture is noble, while the cinque-cento architecture, with\nits subordinate sculpture, is universally bad; sometimes, however,\nassuming forms, in which the consummate refinement almost atones for the\nloss of force.\n\n\u00a7 XXIII. This is especially the case with that second branch of the\nRenaissance which, as above noticed, was engrafted at Venice on the\nByzantine types. So soon as the classical enthusiasm required the\nbanishment of Gothic forms, it was natural that the Venetian mind should\nturn back with affection to the Byzantine models in which the round\narches and simple shafts, necessitated by recent law, were presented\nunder a form consecrated by the usage of their ancestors. And,\naccordingly, the first distinct school of architecture[3] which arose\nunder the new dynasty, was one in which the method of inlaying marble,\nand the general forms of shaft and arch, were adopted from the buildings\nof the twelfth century, and applied with the utmost possible refinements\nof modern skill. Both at Verona and Venice the resulting architecture is\nexceedingly beautiful. At Verona it is, indeed, less Byzantine, but\npossesses a character of richness and tenderness almost peculiar to that\ncity. At Venice it is more severe, but yet adorned with sculpture which,\nfor sharpness of touch and delicacy of minute form, cannot be rivalled,\nand rendered especially brilliant and beautiful by the introduction of\nthose inlaid circles of colored marble, serpentine, and porphyry, by\nwhich Phillippe de Commynes was so much struck on his first entrance\ninto the city. The two most refined buildings in this style in Venice\nare, the small Church of the Miracoli, and the Scuola di San Marco\nbeside the Church of St. John and St. Paul. The noblest is the Rio\nFa\u00e7ade of the Ducal Palace. The Casa Dario, and Casa Manzoni, on the\nGrand Canal, are exquisite examples of the school, as applied to\ndomestic architecture; and, in the reach of the canal between the Casa\nFoscari and the Rialto, there are several palaces, of which the Casa\nContarini (called \"delle Figure\") is the principal, belonging to the\nsame group, though somewhat later, and remarkable for the association of\nthe Byzantine principles of color with the severest lines of the Roman\npediment, gradually superseding the round arch. The precision of\nchiselling and delicacy of proportion in the ornament and general lines\nof these palaces cannot be too highly praised; and I believe that the\ntraveller in Venice, in general, gives them rather too little attention\nthan too much. But while I would ask him to stay his gondola beside each\nof them long enough to examine their every line, I must also warn him to\nobserve, most carefully, the peculiar feebleness and want of soul in the\nconception of their ornament, which mark them as belonging to a period\nof decline; as well as the absurd mode of introduction of their pieces\nof colored marble: these, instead of being simply and naturally inserted\nin the masonry, are placed in small circular or oblong frames of\nsculpture, like mirrors or pictures, and are represented as suspended by\nribands against the wall; a pair of wings being generally fastened on to\nthe circular tablets, as if to relieve the ribands and knots from their\nweight, and the whole series tied under the chin of a little cherub at\nthe top, who is nailed against the fa\u00e7ade like a hawk on a barn door.\n\nBut chiefly let him notice, in the Casa Contarini delle Figure, one most\nstrange incident, seeming to have been permitted, like the choice of the\nsubjects at the three angles of the Ducal Palace, in order to teach us,\nby a single lesson, the true nature of the style in which it occurs. In\nthe intervals of the windows of the first story, certain shields and\ntorches are attached, in the form of trophies, to the stems of two trees\nwhose boughs have been cut off, and only one or two of their faded\nleaves left, scarcely observable, but delicately sculptured here and\nthere, beneath the insertions of the severed boughs.\n\nIt is as if the workman had intended to leave us an image of the\nexpiring naturalism of the Gothic school. I had not seen this sculpture\nwhen I wrote the passage referring to its period, in the first volume of\nthis work (Chap. XX. \u00a7 XXXI.):--\"Autumn came,--the leaves were\nshed,--and the eye was directed to the extremities of the delicate\nbranches. _The Renaissance frosts came, and all perished!_\"\n\n\u00a7 XXIV. And the hues of this autumn of the early Renaissance are the\nlast which appear in architecture. The winter which succeeded was\ncolorless as it was cold; and although the Venetian painters struggled\nlong against its influence, the numbness of the architecture prevailed\nover them at last, and the exteriors of all the latter palaces were\nbuilt only in barren stone. As at this point of our inquiry, therefore,\nwe must bid farewell to color, I have reserved for this place the\ncontinuation of the history of chromatic decoration, from the Byzantine\nperiod, when we left it in the fifth chapter of the second volume, down\nto its final close.\n\n\u00a7 XXV. It was above stated, that the principal difference in general\nform and treatment between the Byzantine and Gothic palaces was the\ncontraction of the marble facing into the narrow spaces between the\nwindows, leaving large fields of brick wall perfectly bare. The reason\nfor this appears to have been, that the Gothic builders were no longer\nsatisfied with the faint and delicate hues of the veined marble; they\nwished for some more forcible and piquant mode of decoration,\ncorresponding more completely with the gradually advancing splendor of\nchivalric costume and heraldic device. What I have said above of the\nsimple habits of life of the thirteenth century, in no wise refers\neither to costumes of state, or of military service; and any\nillumination of the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries (the great\nperiod being, it seems to me, from 1250 to 1350), while it shows a\npeculiar majesty and simplicity in the fall of the robes (often worn\nover the chain armor), indicates, at the same time, an exquisite\nbrilliancy of color and power of design in the hems and borders, as well\nas in the armorial bearings with which they are charged; and while, as\nwe have seen, a peculiar simplicity is found also in the _forms_ of the\narchitecture, corresponding to that of the folds of the robes, its\n_colors_ were constantly increasing in brilliancy and decision,\ncorresponding to those of the quartering of the shield, and of the\nembroidery of the mantle.\n\n\u00a7 XXVI. Whether, indeed, derived from the quarterings of the knights'\nshields, or from what other source, I know not; but there is one\nmagnificent attribute of the coloring of the late twelfth, the whole\nthirteenth, and the early fourteenth century, which I do not find\ndefinitely in any previous work, nor afterwards in general art, though\nconstantly, and necessarily, in that of great colorists, namely, the\nunion of one color with another by reciprocal interference: that is to\nsay, if a mass of red is to be set beside a mass of blue, a piece of the\nred will be carried into the blue, and a piece of the blue carried into\nthe red; sometimes in nearly equal portions, as in a shield divided into\nfour quarters, of which the uppermost on one side will be of the same\ncolor as the lowermost on the other; sometimes in smaller fragments,\nbut, in the periods above named, always definitely and grandly, though\nin a thousand various ways. And I call it a magnificent principle, for\nit is an eternal and universal one, not in art only,[4] but in human\nlife. It is the great principle of Brotherhood, not by equality, nor by\nlikeness, but by giving and receiving; the souls that are unlike, and\nthe nations that are unlike, and the natures that are unlike, being\nbound into one noble whole by each receiving something from, and of, the\nothers' gifts and the others' glory. I have not space to follow out this\nthought,--it is of infinite extent and application,--but I note it for\nthe reader's pursuit, because I have long believed, and the whole second\nvolume of \"Modern Painters\" was written to prove, that in whatever has\nbeen made by the Deity externally delightful to the human sense of\nbeauty, there is some type of God's nature or of God's laws; nor are any\nof His laws, in one sense, greater than the appointment that the most\nlovely and perfect unity shall be obtained by the taking of one nature\ninto another. I trespass upon too high ground; and yet I cannot fully\nshow the reader the extent of this law, but by leading him thus far. And\nit is just because it is so vast and so awful a law, that it has rule\nover the smallest things; and there is not a vein of color on the\nlightest leaf which the spring winds are at this moment unfolding in the\nfields around us, but it is an illustration of an ordainment to which\nthe earth and its creatures owe their continuance, and their Redemption.\n\n\u00a7 XXVII. It is perfectly inconceivable, until it has been made a subject\nof special inquiry, how perpetually Nature employs this principle in the\ndistribution of her light and shade; how by the most extraordinary\nadaptations, apparently accidental, but always in exactly the right\nplace, she contrives to bring darkness into light, and light into\ndarkness; and that so sharply and decisively, that at the very instant\nwhen one object changes from light to dark, the thing relieved upon it\nwill change from dark to light, and yet so subtly that the eye will not\ndetect the transition till it looks for it. The secret of a great part\nof the grandeur in all the noblest compositions is the doing of this\ndelicately in _degree_, and broadly in _mass_; in color it may be done\nmuch more decisively than in light and shade, and, according to the\nsimplicity of the work, with greater frankness of confession, until, in\npurely decorative art, as in the illumination, glass-painting, and\nheraldry of the great periods, we find it reduced to segmental accuracy.\nIts greatest masters, in high art, are Tintoret, Veronese, and Turner.\n\n\u00a7 XXVIII. Together with this great principle of quartering is introduced\nanother, also of very high value as far as regards the delight of the\neye, though not of so profound meaning. As soon as color began to be\nused in broad and opposed fields, it was perceived that the mass of it\ndestroyed its brilliancy, and it was _tempered_ by chequering it with\nsome other color or colors in smaller quantities, mingled with minute\nportions of pure white. The two moral principles of which this is the\ntype, are those of Temperance and Purity; the one requiring the fulness\nof the color to be subdued, and the other that it shall be subdued\nwithout losing either its own purity or that of the colors with which it\nis associated.\n\n\u00a7 XXIX. Hence arose the universal and admirable system of the diapered\nor chequered background of early ornamental art. They are completely\ndeveloped in the thirteenth century, and extend through the whole of\nthe fourteenth gradually yielding to landscape, and other pictorial\nbackgrounds, as the designers lost perception of the purpose of their\nart, and of the value of color. The chromatic decoration of the Gothic\npalaces of Venice was of course founded on these two great principles,\nwhich prevailed constantly wherever the true chivalric and Gothic spirit\npossessed any influence. The windows, with their intermediate spaces of\nmarble, were considered as the objects to be relieved, and variously\nquartered with vigorous color. The whole space of the brick wall was\nconsidered as a background; it was covered with stucco, and painted in\nfresco, with diaper patterns.\n\n\u00a7 XXX. What? the reader asks in some surprise,--Stucco! and in the great\nGothic period? Even so, but _not stucco to imitate stone_. Herein lies\nall the difference; it is stucco confessed and understood, and laid on\nthe bricks precisely as gesso is laid on canvas, in order to form them\ninto a ground for receiving color from the human hand,--color which, if\nwell laid on, might render the brick wall more precious than if it had\nbeen built of emeralds. Whenever we wish to paint, we may prepare our\npaper as we choose; the value of the ground in no wise adds to the value\nof the picture. A Tintoret on beaten gold would be of no more value than\na Tintoret on coarse canvas; the gold would merely be wasted. All that\nwe have to do is to make the ground as good and fit for the color as\npossible, by whatever means.\n\n\u00a7 XXXI. I am not sure if I am right in applying the term \"stucco\" to the\nground of fresco; but this is of no consequence; the reader will\nunderstand that it was white, and that the whole wall of the palace was\nconsidered as the page of a book to be illuminated: but he will\nunderstand also that the sea winds are bad librarians; that, when once\nthe painted stucco began to fade or to fall, the unsightliness of the\ndefaced color would necessitate its immediate restoration; and that\ntherefore, of all the chromatic decoration of the Gothic palaces, there\nis hardly a fragment left.\n\nHappily, in the pictures of Gentile Bellini, the fresco coloring of the\nGothic palaces is recorded, as it still remained in his time; not with\nrigid accuracy, but quite distinctly enough to enable us, by comparing\nit with the existing colored designs in the manuscripts and glass of the\nperiod, to ascertain precisely what it must have been.\n\n\u00a7 XXXII. The walls were generally covered with chequers of very warm\ncolor, a russet inclining to scarlet, more or less relieved with white,\nblack, and grey; as still seen in the only example which, having been\nexecuted in marble, has been perfectly preserved, the front of the Ducal\nPalace. This, however, owing to the nature of its materials, was a\npeculiarly simple example; the ground is white, crossed with double bars\nof pale red, and in the centre of each chequer there is a cross,\nalternately black with a red centre and red with a black centre where\nthe arms cross. In painted work the grounds would be, of course, as\nvaried and complicated as those of manuscripts; but I only know of one\nexample left, on the Casa Sagredo, where, on some fragments of stucco, a\nvery early chequer background is traceable, composed of crimson\nquatrefoils interlaced, with cherubim stretching their wings filling the\nintervals. A small portion of this ground is seen beside the window\ntaken from the palace, Vol. II. Plate XIII. fig. 1.\n\n\u00a7 XXXIII. It ought to be especially noticed, that, in all chequered\npatterns employed in the colored designs of these noble periods, the\ngreatest care is taken to mark that they are _grounds_ of design rather\nthan designs themselves. Modern architects, in such minor imitations as\nthey are beginning to attempt, endeavor to dispose the parts in the\npatterns so as to occupy certain symmetrical positions with respect to\nthe parts of the architecture. A Gothic builder never does this: he cuts\nhis ground into pieces of the shape he requires with utter\nremorselessness, and places his windows or doors upon it with no regard\nwhatever to the lines in which they cut the pattern: and, in\nilluminations of manuscripts, the chequer itself is constantly changed\nin the most subtle and arbitrary way, wherever there is the least chance\nof its regularity attracting the eye, and making it of importance. So\n_intentional_ is this, that a diaper pattern is often set obliquely to\nthe vertical lines of the designs, for fear it should appear in any way\nconnected with them.\n\n\u00a7 XXXIV. On these russet or crimson backgrounds the entire space of the\nseries of windows was relieved, for the most part, as a subdued white\nfield of alabaster; and on this delicate and veined white were set the\ncircular disks of purple and green. The arms of the family were of\ncourse blazoned in their own proper colors, but I think generally on a\npure azure ground; the blue color is still left behind the shields in\nthe Casa Priuli and one or two more of the palaces which are unrestored,\nand the blue ground was used also to relieve the sculptures of religious\nsubject. Finally, all the mouldings, capitals, cornices, cusps, and\ntraceries, were either entirely gilded or profusely touched with gold.\n\nThe whole front of a Gothic palace in Venice may, therefore, be simply\ndescribed as a field of subdued russet, quartered with broad sculptured\nmasses of white and gold; these latter being relieved by smaller inlaid\nfragments of blue, purple, and deep green.\n\n\u00a7 XXXV. Now, from the beginning of the fourteenth century, when painting\nand architecture were thus united, two processes of change went on\nsimultaneously to the beginning of the seventeenth. The merely\ndecorative chequerings on the walls yielded gradually to more elaborate\npaintings of figure-subject; first small and quaint, and then enlarging\ninto enormous pictures filled by figures generally colossal. As these\npaintings became of greater merit and importance, the architecture with\nwhich they were associated was less studied; and at last a style was\nintroduced in which the framework of the building was little more\ninteresting than that of a Manchester factory, but the whole space of\nits walls was covered with the most precious fresco paintings. Such\nedifices are of course no longer to be considered as forming an\narchitectural school; they were merely large preparations of artists'\npanels; and Titian, Giorgione, and Veronese no more conferred merit on\nthe later architecture of Venice, as such, by painting on its fa\u00e7ades,\nthan Landseer or Watts could confer merit on that of London by first\nwhitewashing and then painting its brick streets from one end to the\nother.\n\n\u00a7 XXXVI. Contemporarily with this change in the relative values of the\ncolor decoration and the stone-work, one equally important was taking\nplace in the opposite direction, but of course in another group of\nbuildings. For in proportion as the architect felt himself thrust aside\nor forgotten in one edifice, he endeavored to make himself principal in\nanother; and, in retaliation for the painter's entire usurpation of\ncertain fields of design, succeeded in excluding him totally from those\nin which his own influence was predominant. Or, more accurately\nspeaking, the architects began to be too proud to receive assistance\nfrom the colorists; and these latter sought for ground which the\narchitect had abandoned, for the unrestrained display of their own\nskill. And thus, while one series of edifices is continually becoming\nfeebler in design and richer in superimposed paintings, another, that of\nwhich we have so often spoken as the earliest or Byzantine Renaissance,\nfragment by fragment rejects the pictorial decoration; supplies its\nplace first with marbles, and then, as the latter are felt by the\narchitect, daily increasing in arrogance and deepening in coldness, to\nbe too bright for his dignity, he casts even these aside one by one: and\nwhen the last porphyry circle has vanished from the fa\u00e7ade, we find two\npalaces standing side by side, one built, so far as mere masonry goes,\nwith consummate care and skill, but without the slightest vestige of\ncolor in any part of it; the other utterly without any claim to interest\nin its architectural form, but covered from top to bottom with paintings\nby Veronese. At this period, then, we bid farewell to color, leaving the\npainters to their own peculiar field; and only regretting that they\nwaste their noblest work on walls, from which in a couple of centuries,\nif not before, the greater part of their labor must be effaced. On the\nother hand, the architecture whose decline we are tracing, has now\nassumed an entirely new condition, that of the Central or True\nRenaissance, whose nature we are to examine in the next chapter.\n\n\u00a7 XXXVII. But before leaving these last palaces over which the Byzantine\ninfluence extended itself, there is one more lesson to be learned from\nthem of much importance to us. Though in many respects debased in style,\nthey are consummate in workmanship, and unstained in honor; there is no\nimperfection in them, and no dishonesty. That there is absolutely _no_\nimperfection, is indeed, as we have seen above, a proof of their being\nwanting in the highest qualities of architecture; but, as lessons in\nmasonry, they have their value, and may well be studied for the\nexcellence they display in methods of levelling stones, for the\nprecision of their inlaying, and other such qualities, which in them are\nindeed too principal, yet very instructive in their particular way.\n\n\u00a7 XXXVIII. For instance, in the inlaid design of the dove with the olive\nbranch, from the Casa Trevisan (Vol. I. Plate XX. p. 369), it is\nimpossible for anything to go beyond the precision with which the olive\nleaves are cut out of the white marble; and, in some wreaths of laurel\nbelow, the rippled edge of each leaf is as finely and easily drawn, as\nif by a delicate pencil. No Florentine table is more exquisitely\nfinished than the fa\u00e7ade of this entire palace; and as ideals of an\nexecutive perfection, which, though we must not turn aside from our main\npath to reach it, may yet with much advantage be kept in our sight and\nmemory, these palaces are most notable amidst the architecture of\nEurope. The Rio Fa\u00e7ade of the Ducal Palace, though very sparing in\ncolor, is yet, as an example of finished masonry in a vast building, one\nof the finest things, not only in Venice, but in the world. It differs\nfrom other work of the Byzantine Renaissance, in being on a very large\nscale; and it still retains one pure Gothic character, which adds not a\nlittle to its nobleness, that of perpetual variety. There is hardly one\nwindow of it, or one panel, that is like another; and this continual\nchange so increases its apparent size by confusing the eye, that, though\npresenting no bold features, or striking masses of any kind, there are\nfew things in Italy more impressive than the vision of it overhead, as\nthe gondola glides from beneath the Bridge of Sighs. And lastly (unless\nwe are to blame these buildings for some pieces of very childish\nperspective), they are magnificently honest, as well as perfect. I do\nnot remember even any gilding upon them; all is pure marble, and of the\nfinest kind.[5]\n\nAnd therefore, in finally leaving the Ducal Palace,[6] let us take with\nus one more lesson, the last which we shall receive from the Stones of\nVenice, except in the form of a warning.\n\n\u00a7 XXXIX. The school of architecture which we have just been examining\nis, as we have seen above, redeemed from severe condemnation by its\ncareful and noble use of inlaid marbles as a means of color. From that\ntime forward, this art has been unknown, or despised; the frescoes of\nthe swift and daring Venetian painters long contended with the inlaid\nmarbles, outvying them with color, indeed more glorious than theirs, but\nfugitive as the hues of woods in autumn; and, at last, as the art itself\nof painting in this mighty manner failed from among men,[7] the modern\ndecorative system established itself, which united the meaninglessness\nof the veined marble with the evanescence of the fresco, and completed\nthe harmony by falsehood.\n\n\u00a7 XL. Since first, in the second chapter of the \"Seven Lamps,\" I\nendeavored to show the culpableness, as well as the baseness, of our\ncommon modes of decoration by painted imitation of various woods or\nmarbles, the subject has been discussed in various architectural works,\nand is evidently becoming one of daily increasing interest. When it is\nconsidered how many persons there are whose means of livelihood consist\naltogether in these spurious arts, and how difficult it is, even for the\nmost candid, to admit a conviction contrary both to their interests and\nto their inveterate habits of practice and thought, it is rather a\nmatter of wonder, that the cause of Truth should have found even a few\nmaintainers, than that it should have encountered a host of adversaries.\nIt has, however, been defended repeatedly by architects themselves, and\nso successfully, that I believe, so far as the desirableness of this or\nthat method of ornamentation is to be measured by the fact of its simple\nhonesty or dishonesty, there is little need to add anything to what has\nbeen already urged upon the subject. But there are some points connected\nwith the practice of imitating marble, which I have been unable to touch\nupon until now, and by the consideration of which we may be enabled to\nsee something of the _policy_ of honesty in this matter, without in the\nleast abandoning the higher ground of principle.\n\n\u00a7 XLI. Consider, then, first, what marble seems to have been made for.\nOver the greater part of the surface of the world, we find that a rock\nhas been providentially distributed, in a manner particularly pointing\nit out as intended for the service of man. Not altogether a common rock,\nit is yet rare enough to command a certain degree of interest and\nattention wherever it is found; but not so rare as to preclude its use\nfor any purpose to which it is fitted. It is exactly of the consistence\nwhich is best adapted for sculpture: that is to say, neither hard nor\nbrittle, nor flaky nor splintery, but uniform, and delicately, yet not\nignobly, soft,--exactly soft enough to allow the sculptor to work it\nwithout force, and trace on it the finest lines of finished form; and\nyet so hard as never to betray the touch or moulder away beneath the\nsteel; and so admirably crystallized, and of such permanent elements,\nthat no rains dissolve it, no time changes it, no atmosphere decomposes\nit: once shaped, it is shaped for ever, unless subjected to actual\nviolence or attrition. This rock, then, is prepared by Nature for the\nsculptor and architect, just as paper is prepared by the manufacturer\nfor the artist, with as great--nay, with greater--care, and more perfect\nadaptation of the material to the requirements. And of this marble\npaper, some is white and some colored; but more is colored than white,\nbecause the white is evidently meant for sculpture, and the colored for\nthe covering of large surfaces.\n\n\u00a7 XLII. Now, if we would take Nature at her word, and use this precious\npaper which she has taken so much care to provide for us (it is a long\nprocess, the making of that paper; the pulp of it needing the subtlest\npossible solution, and the pressing of it--for it is all\nhot-pressed--having to be done under the saw, or under something at\nleast as heavy); if, I say, we use it as Nature would have us, consider\nwhat advantages would follow. The colors of marble are mingled for us\njust as if on a prepared palette. They are of all shades and hues\n(except bad ones), some being united and even, some broken, mixed, and\ninterrupted, in order to supply, as far as possible, the want of the\npainter's power of breaking and mingling the color with the brush. But\nthere is more in the colors than this delicacy of adaptation. There is\nhistory in them. By the manner in which they are arranged in every piece\nof marble, they record the means by which that marble has been produced,\nand the successive changes through which it has passed. And in all their\nveins and zones, and flame-like stainings, or broken and disconnected\nlines, they write various legends, never untrue, of the former political\nstate of the mountain kingdom to which they belonged, of its infirmities\nand fortitudes, convulsions and consolidations, from the beginning of\ntime.\n\nNow, if we were never in the habit of seeing anything but real marbles,\nthis language of theirs would soon begin to be understood; that is to\nsay, even the least observant of us would recognize such and such stones\nas forming a peculiar class, and would begin to inquire where they came\nfrom, and, at last, take some feeble interest in the main question, Why\nthey were only to be found in that or the other place, and how they\ncame to make a part of this mountain, and not of that? And in a little\nwhile, it would not be possible to stand for a moment at a shop door,\nleaning against the pillars of it, without remembering or questioning of\nsomething well worth the memory or the inquiry, touching the hills of\nItaly, or Greece, or Africa, or Spain; and we should be led on from\nknowledge to knowledge, until even the unsculptured walls of our streets\nbecame to us volumes as precious as those of our libraries.\n\n\u00a7 XLIII. But the moment we admit imitation of marble, this source of\nknowledge is destroyed. None of us can be at the pains to go through the\nwork of verification. If we knew that every colored stone we saw was\nnatural, certain questions, conclusions, interests, would force\nthemselves upon us without any effort of our own; but we have none of us\ntime to stop in the midst of our daily business, to touch and pore over,\nand decide with painful minuteness of investigation, whether such and\nsuch a pillar be stucco or stone. And the whole field of this knowledge,\nwhich Nature intended us to possess when we were children, is hopelessly\nshut out from us. Worse than shut out, for the mass of coarse imitations\nconfuses our knowledge acquired from other sources; and our memory of\nthe marbles we have perhaps once or twice carefully examined, is\ndisturbed and distorted by the inaccuracy of the imitations which are\nbrought before us continually.\n\n\u00a7 XLIV. But it will be said, that it is too expensive to employ real\nmarbles in ordinary cases. It may be so: yet not always more expensive\nthan the fitting windows with enormous plate glass, and decorating them\nwith elaborate stucco mouldings and other useless sources of expenditure\nin modern building; nay, not always in the end more expensive than the\nfrequent repainting of the dingy pillars, which a little water dashed\nagainst them would refresh from day to day, if they were of true stone.\nBut, granting that it be so, in that very costliness, checking their\ncommon use in certain localities, is part of the interest of marbles,\nconsidered as history. Where they are not found, Nature has supplied\nother materials,--clay for brick, or forest for timber,--in the working\nof which she intends other characters of the human mind to be developed,\nand by the proper use of which certain local advantages will assuredly\nbe attained, while the delightfulness and meaning of the precious\nmarbles will be felt more forcibly in the districts where they occur, or\non the occasions when they may be procured.\n\n\u00a7 XLV. It can hardly be necessary to add, that, as the imitation of\nmarbles interferes with and checks the knowledge of geography and\ngeology, so the imitation of wood interferes with that of botany; and\nthat our acquaintance with the nature, uses, and manner of growth of the\ntimber trees of our own and of foreign countries, would probably, in the\nmajority of cases, become accurate and extensive, without any labor or\nsacrifice of time, were not all inquiry checked, and all observation\nbetrayed, by the wretched labors of the \"Grainer.\"\n\n\u00a7 XLVI. But this is not all. As the practice of imitation retards\nknowledge, so also it retards art.\n\nThere is not a meaner occupation for the human mind than the imitation\nof the stains and stri\u00e6 of marble and wood. When engaged in any easy and\nsimple mechanical occupation, there is still some liberty for the mind\nto leave the literal work; and the clash of the loom or the activity of\nthe fingers will not always prevent the thoughts from some happy\nexpatiation in their own domains. But the grainer must think of what he\nis doing; and veritable attention and care, and occasionally\nconsiderable skill, are consumed in the doing of a more absolute nothing\nthan I can name in any other department of painful idleness. I know not\nanything so humiliating as to see a human being, with arms and limbs\ncomplete, and apparently a head, and assuredly a soul, yet into the\nhands of which when you have put a brush and pallet, it cannot do\nanything with them but imitate a piece of wood. It cannot color, it has\nno ideas of color; it cannot draw, it has no ideas of form; it cannot\ncaricature, it has no ideas of humor. It is incapable of anything beyond\nknots. All its achievement, the entire result of the daily application\nof its imagination and immortality, is to be such a piece of texture as\nthe sun and dew are sucking up out of the muddy ground, and weaving\ntogether, far more finely, in millions of millions of growing branches,\nover every rood of waste woodland and shady hill.\n\n\u00a7 XLVII. But what is to be done, the reader asks, with men who are\ncapable of nothing else than this? Nay, they may be capable of\neverything else, for all we know, and what we are to do with them I will\ntry to say in the next chapter; but meanwhile one word more touching the\nhigher principles of action in this matter, from which we have descended\nto those of expediency. I trust that some day the language of Types will\nbe more read and understood by us than it has been for centuries; and\nwhen this language, a better one than either Greek or Latin, is again\nrecognized amongst us, we shall find, or remember, that as the other\nvisible elements of the universe--its air, its water, and its flame--set\nforth, in their pure energies, the life-giving, purifying, and\nsanctifying influences of the Deity upon His creatures, so the earth, in\nits purity, sets forth His eternity and His TRUTH. I have dwelt above on\nthe historical language of stones; let us not forget this, which is\ntheir theological language; and, as we would not wantonly pollute the\nfresh waters when they issue forth in their clear glory from the rock,\nnor stay the mountain winds into pestilential stagnancy, nor mock the\nsunbeams with artificial and ineffective light; so let us not by our own\nbase and barren falsehoods, replace the crystalline strength and burning\ncolor of the earth from which we were born, and to which we must return;\nthe earth which, like our own bodies, though dust in its degradation, is\nfull of splendor when God's hand gathers its atoms; and which was for\never sanctified by Him, as the symbol no less of His love than of His\ntruth, when He bade the high priest bear the names of the Children of\nIsrael on the clear stones of the Breastplate of Judgment.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [1] There is a curious instance of this in the modern imitations of\n    the Gothic capitals of the Casa d' Oro, employed in its\n    restorations. The old capitals look like clusters of leaves, the\n    modern ones like kneaded masses of dough with holes in them.\n\n  [2] Not that even these men were able to wear it altogether without\n    harm, as we shall see in the next chapter.\n\n  [3] Appendix 4, \"Date of Palaces of Byzantine Renaissance.\"\n\n  [4] In the various works which Mr. Prout has written on light and\n    shade, no principle will be found insisted on more strongly than\n    this carrying of the dark into the light, and _vice versa_. It is\n    curious to find the untaught instinct of a merely picturesque artist\n    in the nineteenth century, fixing itself so intensely on a principle\n    which regulated the entire sacred composition of the thirteenth. I\n    say \"untaught\" instinct, for Mr. Prout was, throughout his life, the\n    discoverer of his own principles; fortunately so, considering what\n    principles were taught in his time, but unfortunately in the\n    abstract, for there were gifts in him, which, had there been any\n    wholesome influences to cherish them, might have made him one of the\n    greatest men of his age. He was great, under all adverse\n    circumstances, but the mere wreck of what he might have been, if,\n    after the rough training noticed in my pamphlet on Pre-Raphaelitism,\n    as having fitted him for his great function in the world, he had met\n    with a teacher who could have appreciated his powers, and directed\n    them.\n\n  [5] There may, however, be a kind of dishonesty even in the use of\n    marble, if it is attempted to make the marble look like something\n    else. See the final or Venetian Index under head \"Scalzi.\"\n\n  [6] Appendix 5, \"Renaissance Side of Ducal Palace.\"\n\n  [7] We have, as far as I _know_, at present among us, only one\n    painter, G. F. Watts, who is capable of design in color on a large\n    scale. He stands alone among our artists of the old school, in his\n    perception of the value of breadth in distant masses, and in the\n    vigor of invention by which such breadth must be sustained; and his\n    power of expression and depth of thought are not less remarkable\n    than his bold conception of color effect. Very probably some of the\n    Pre-Raphaelites have the gift also; I am nearly certain that Rosetti\n    has it, and I think also Millais; but the experiment has yet to be\n    tried. I wish it could be made in Mr. Hope's church in Margaret\n    Street.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nROMAN RENAISSANCE.\n\n\n\u00a7 I. Of all the buildings in Venice, later in date than the final\nadditions to the Ducal Palace, the noblest is, beyond all question, that\nwhich, having been condemned by its proprietor, not many years ago, to\nbe pulled down and sold for the value of its materials, was rescued by\nthe Austrian government, and appropriated--the government officers\nhaving no other use for it--to the business of the Post-Office; though\nstill known to the gondolier by its ancient name, the Casa Grimani. It\nis composed of three stories of the Corinthian order, at once simple,\ndelicate, and sublime; but on so colossal a scale, that the\nthree-storied palaces on its right and left only reach to the cornice\nwhich marks the level of its first floor. Yet it is not at first\nperceived to be so vast; and it is only when some expedient is employed\nto hide it from the eye, that by the sudden dwarfing of the whole reach\nof the Grand Canal, which it commands, we become aware that it is to the\nmajesty of the Casa Grimani that the Rialto itself, and the whole group\nof neighboring buildings, owe the greater part of their impressiveness.\nNor is the finish of its details less notable than the grandeur of their\nscale. There is not an erring line, nor a mistaken proportion,\nthroughout its noble front; and the exceeding fineness of the chiselling\ngives an appearance of lightness to the vast blocks of stone out of\nwhose perfect union that front is composed. The decoration is sparing,\nbut delicate: the first story only simpler than the rest, in that it has\npilasters instead of shafts, but all with Corinthian capitals, rich in\nleafage, and fruited delicately; the rest of the walls flat and smooth,\nand the mouldings sharp and shallow, so that the bold shafts look like\ncrystals of beryl running through a rock of quartz.\n\n\u00a7 II. This palace is the principal type at Venice, and one of the best\nin Europe, of the central architecture of the Renaissance schools; that\ncarefully studied and perfectly executed architecture to which those\nschools owe their principal claims to our respect, and which became the\nmodel of most of the important works subsequently produced by civilized\nnations. I have called it the Roman Renaissance, because it is founded,\nboth in its principles of superimposition, and in the style of its\nornament, upon the architecture of classic Rome at its best period. The\nrevival of Latin literature both led to its adoption, and directed its\nform; and the most important example of it which exists is the modern\nRoman basilica of St. Peter's. It had, at its Renaissance or new birth,\nno resemblance either to Greek, Gothic, or Byzantine forms, except in\nretaining the use of the round arch, vault, and dome; in the treatment\nof all details, it was exclusively Latin; the last links of connexion\nwith medi\u00e6val tradition having been broken by its builders in their\nenthusiasm for classical art, and the forms of true Greek or Athenian\narchitecture being still unknown to them. The study of these noble Greek\nforms has induced various modifications of the Renaissance in our own\ntimes; but the conditions which are found most applicable to the uses of\nmodern life are still Roman, and the entire style may most fitly be\nexpressed by the term \"Roman Renaissance.\"\n\n\u00a7 III. It is this style, in its purity and fullest form,--represented by\nsuch buildings as the Casa Grimani at Venice (built by San Micheli), the\nTown Hall at Vicenza (by Palladio), St. Peter's at Rome (by Michael\nAngelo), St. Paul's and Whitehall in London (by Wren and Inigo\nJones),--which is the true antagonist of the Gothic school. The\nintermediate, or corrupt conditions of it, though multiplied over\nEurope, are no longer admired by architects, or made the subjects of\ntheir study; but the finished work of this central school is still, in\nmost cases, the model set before the student of the nineteenth century,\nas opposed to those Gothic, Romanesque, or Byzantine forms which have\nlong been considered barbarous, and are so still by most of the leading\nmen of the day. That they are, on the contrary, most noble and\nbeautiful, and that the antagonistic Renaissance is, in the main,\nunworthy and unadmirable, whatever perfection of a certain kind it may\npossess, it was my principal purpose to show, when I first undertook the\nlabor of this work. It has been attempted already to put before the\nreader the various elements which unite in the Nature of Gothic, and to\nenable him thus to judge, not merely of the beauty of the forms which\nthat system has produced already, but of its future applicability to the\nwants of mankind, and endless power over their hearts. I would now\nendeavor, in like manner, to set before the reader the Nature of\nRenaissance, and thus to enable him to compare the two styles under the\nsame light, and with the same enlarged view of their relations to the\nintellect, and capacities for the service, of man.\n\n\u00a7 IV. It will not be necessary for me to enter at length into any\nexamination of its external form. It uses, whether for its roofs of\naperture or roofs proper, the low gable or circular arch: but it differs\nfrom Romanesque work in attaching great importance to the horizontal\nlintel or architrave _above_ the arch; transferring the energy of the\nprincipal shafts to the supporting of this horizontal beam, and thus\nrendering the arch a subordinate, if not altogether a superfluous,\nfeature. The type of this arrangement has been given already at _c_,\nFig. XXXVI., p. 145, Vol. I.: and I might insist at length upon the\nabsurdity of a construction in which the shorter shaft, which has the\nreal weight of wall to carry, is split into two by the taller one, which\nhas nothing to carry at all,--that taller one being strengthened,\nnevertheless, as if the whole weight of the building bore upon it; and\non the ungracefulness, never conquered in any Palladian work, of the two\nhalf-capitals glued, as it were, against the slippery round sides of the\ncentral shaft. But it is not the form of this architecture against which\nI would plead. Its defects are shared by many of the noblest forms of\nearlier building, and might have been entirely atoned for by excellence\nof spirit. But it is the moral nature of it which is corrupt, and which\nit must, therefore, be our principal business to examine and expose.\n\n\u00a7 V. The moral, or immoral, elements which unite to form the spirit of\nCentral Renaissance architecture are, I believe, in the main,\ntwo,--Pride and Infidelity; but the pride resolves itself into three\nmain branches,--Pride of Science, Pride of State, and Pride of System:\nand thus we have four separate mental conditions which must be examined\nsuccessively.\n\n\u00a7 VI. 1. PRIDE OF SCIENCE. It would have been more charitable, but more\nconfusing, to have added another element to our list, namely the _Love_\nof Science; but the love is included in the pride, and is usually so\nvery subordinate an element that it does not deserve equality of\nnomenclature. But, whether pursued in pride or in affection (how far by\neither we shall see presently), the first notable characteristic of the\nRenaissance central school is its introduction of accurate knowledge\ninto all its work, so far as it possesses such knowledge; and its\nevident conviction, that such science is necessary to the excellence of\nthe work, and is the first thing to be expressed therein. So that all\nthe forms introduced, even in its minor ornament, are studied with the\nutmost care; the anatomy of all animal structure is thoroughly\nunderstood and elaborately expressed, and the whole of the execution\nskilful and practised in the highest degree. Perspective, linear and\naerial, perfect drawing and accurate light and shade in painting, and\ntrue anatomy in all representations of the human form, drawn or\nsculptured, are the first requirements in all the work of this school.\n\n\u00a7 VII. Now, first considering all this in the most charitable light, as\npursued from a real love of truth, and not from vanity, it would, of\ncourse, have been all excellent and admirable, had it been regarded as\nthe aid of art, and not as its essence. But the grand mistake of the\nRenaissance schools lay in supposing that science and art are the same\nthings, and that to advance in the one was necessarily to perfect the\nother. Whereas they are, in reality, things not only different, but so\nopposed, that to advance in the one is, in ninety-nine cases out of the\nhundred, to retrograde in the other. This is the point to which I would\nat present especially bespeak the reader's attention.\n\n\u00a7 VIII. Science and art are commonly distinguished by the nature of\ntheir actions; the one as knowing, the other as changing, producing, or\ncreating. But there is a still more important distinction in the nature\nof the things they deal with. Science deals exclusively with things as\nthey are in themselves; and art exclusively with things as they affect\nthe human senses and human soul.[8] Her work is to portray the\nappearance of things, and to deepen the natural impressions which they\nproduce upon living creatures. The work of science is to substitute\nfacts for appearances, and demonstrations for impressions. Both,\nobserve, are equally concerned with truth; the one with truth of aspect,\nthe other with truth of essence. Art does not represent things falsely,\nbut truly as they appear to mankind. Science studies the relations of\nthings to each other: but art studies only their relations to man; and\nit requires of everything which is submitted to it imperatively this,\nand only this,--what that thing is to the human eyes and human heart,\nwhat it has to say to men, and what it can become to them: a field of\nquestion just as much vaster than that of science, as the soul is larger\nthan the material creation.\n\n\u00a7 IX. Take a single instance. Science informs us that the sun is\nninety-five millions of miles distant from, and 111 times broader than,\nthe earth; that we and all the planets revolve round it; and that it\nrevolves on its own axis in 25 days, 14 hours and 4 minutes. With all\nthis, art has nothing whatsoever to do. It has no care to know anything\nof this kind. But the things which it does care to know, are these: that\nin the heavens God hath set a tabernacle for the sun, \"which is as a\nbridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to\nrun a race. His going forth is from the end of the heaven, and his\ncircuit unto the ends of it, and there is nothing hid from the heat\nthereof.\"\n\n\u00a7 X. This, then, being the kind of truth with which art is exclusively\nconcerned, how is such truth as this to be ascertained and accumulated?\nEvidently, and only, by perception and feeling. Never either by\nreasoning, or report. Nothing must come between Nature and the artist's\nsight; nothing between God and the artist's soul. Neither calculation\nnor hearsay,--be it the most subtle of calculations, or the wisest of\nsayings,--may be allowed to come between the universe, and the witness\nwhich art bears to its visible nature. The whole value of that witness\ndepends on its being _eye_-witness; the whole genuineness,\nacceptableness, and dominion of it depend on the personal assurance of\nthe man who utters it. All its victory depends on the veracity of the\none preceding word, \"Vidi.\"\n\nThe whole function of the artist in the world is to be a seeing and\nfeeling creature; to be an instrument of such tenderness and\nsensitiveness, that no shadow, no hue, no line, no instantaneous and\nevanescent expression of the visible things around him, nor any of the\nemotions which they are capable of conveying to the spirit which has\nbeen given him, shall either be left unrecorded, or fade from the book\nof record. It is not his business either to think, to judge, to argue,\nor to know. His place is neither in the closet, nor on the bench, nor at\nthe bar, nor in the library. They are for other men and other work. He\nmay think, in a by-way; reason, now and then, when he has nothing better\nto do; know, such fragments of knowledge as he can gather without\nstooping, or reach without pains; but none of these things are to be his\ncare. The work of his life is to be twofold only: to see, to feel.\n\n\u00a7 XI. Nay, but, the reader perhaps pleads with me, one of the great uses\nof knowledge is to open the eyes; to make things perceivable which,\nnever would have been seen, unless first they had been known.\n\nNot so. This could only be said or believed by those who do not know\nwhat the perceptive faculty of a great artist is, in comparison with\nthat of other men. There is no great painter, no great workman in any\nart, but he sees more with the glance of a moment than he could learn by\nthe labor of a thousand hours. God has made every man fit for his work;\nHe has given to the man whom he means for a student, the reflective,\nlogical, sequential faculties; and to the man whom He means for an\nartist, the perceptive, sensitive, retentive faculties. And neither of\nthese men, so far from being able to do the other's work, can even\ncomprehend the way in which it is done. The student has no understanding\nof the vision, nor the painter of the process; but chiefly the student\nhas no idea of the colossal grasp of the true painter's vision and\nsensibility.\n\nThe labor of the whole Geological Society, for the last fifty years, has\nbut now arrived at the ascertainment of those truths respecting mountain\nform which Turner saw and expressed with a few strokes of a camel's hair\npencil fifty years ago, when he was a boy. The knowledge of all the laws\nof the planetary system, and of all the curves of the motion of\nprojectiles, would never enable the man of science to draw a waterfall\nor a wave; and all the members of Surgeons' Hall helping each other\ncould not at this moment see, or represent, the natural movement of a\nhuman body in vigorous action, as a poor dyer's son did two hundred\nyears ago.[9]\n\n\u00a7 XII. But surely, it is still insisted, granting this peculiar faculty\nto the painter, he will still see more as he knows more, and the more\nknowledge he obtains, therefore, the better. No; not even so. It is\nindeed true, that, here and there, a piece of knowledge will enable the\neye to detect a truth which might otherwise have escaped it; as, for\ninstance, in watching a sunrise, the knowledge of the true nature of the\norb may lead the painter to feel more profoundly, and express more\nfully, the distance between the bars of cloud that cross it, and the\nsphere of flame that lifts itself slowly beyond them into the infinite\nheaven. But, for one visible truth to which knowledge thus opens the\neyes, it seals them to a thousand: that is to say, if the knowledge\noccur to the mind so as to occupy its powers of contemplation at the\nmoment when the sight work is to be done, the mind retires inward, fixes\nitself upon the known fact, and forgets the passing visible ones; and a\n_moment_ of such forgetfulness loses more to the painter than a day's\nthought can gain. This is no new or strange assertion. Every person\naccustomed to careful reflection of any kind, knows that its natural\noperation is to close his eyes to the external world. While he is\nthinking deeply, he neither sees nor feels, even though naturally he may\npossess strong powers of sight and emotion. He who, having journeyed all\nday beside the Leman Lake, asked of his companions, at evening, where it\nwas,[10] probably was not wanting in sensibility; but he was generally a\nthinker, not a perceiver. And this instance is only an extreme one of\nthe effect which, in all cases, knowledge, becoming a subject of\nreflection, produces upon the sensitive faculties. It must be but poor\nand lifeless knowledge, if it has no tendency to force itself forward,\nand become ground for reflection, in despite of the succession of\nexternal objects. It will not obey their succession. The first that\ncomes gives it food enough for its day's work; it is its habit, its\nduty, to cast the rest aside, and fasten upon that. The first thing that\na thinking and knowing man sees in the course of the day, he will not\neasily quit. It is not his way to quit anything without getting to the\nbottom of it, if possible. But the artist is bound to receive all things\non the broad, white, lucid field of his soul, not to grasp at one. For\ninstance, as the knowing and thinking man watches the sunrise, he sees\nsomething in the color of a ray, or the change of a cloud, that is new\nto him; and this he follows out forthwith into a labyrinth of optical\nand pneumatical laws, perceiving no more clouds nor rays all the\nmorning. But the painter must catch all the rays, all the colors that\ncome, and see them all truly, all in their real relations and\nsuccession; therefore, everything that occupies room in his mind he must\ncast aside for the time, as completely as may be. The thoughtful man is\ngone far away to seek; but the perceiving man must sit still, and open\nhis heart to receive. The thoughtful man is knitting and sharpening\nhimself into a two-edged sword, wherewith to pierce. The perceiving man\nis stretching himself into a four-cornered sheet wherewith to catch. And\nall the breadth to which he can expand himself, and all the white\nemptiness into which he can blanch himself, will not be enough to\nreceive what God has to give him.\n\n\u00a7 XIII. What, then, it will be indignantly asked, is an utterly ignorant\nand unthinking man likely to make the best artist? No, not so neither.\nKnowledge is good for him so long as he can keep it utterly, servilely,\nsubordinate to his own divine work, and trample it under his feet, and\nout of his way, the moment it is likely to entangle him.\n\nAnd in this respect, observe, there is an enormous difference between\nknowledge and education. An artist need not be a _learned_ man, in all\nprobability it will be a disadvantage to him to become so; but he ought,\nif possible, always to be an _educated_ man: that is, one who has\nunderstanding of his own uses and duties in the world, and therefore of\nthe general nature of the things done and existing in the world; and who\nhas so trained himself, or been trained, as to turn to the best and most\ncourteous account whatever faculties or knowledge he has. The mind of an\neducated man is greater than the knowledge it possesses; it is like the\nvault of heaven, encompassing the earth which lives and flourishes\nbeneath it: but the mind of an educated and learned man is like a\ncaoutchouc band, with an everlasting spirit of contraction in it,\nfastening together papers which it cannot open, and keeps others from\nopening.\n\nHalf our artists are ruined for want of education, and by the possession\nof knowledge; the best that I have known have been educated, and\nilliterate. The ideal of an artist, however, is not that he should be\nilliterate, but well read in the best books, and thoroughly high bred,\nboth in heart and in bearing. In a word, he should be fit for the best\nsociety, _and should keep out of it_.[11]\n\n\u00a7 XIV. There are, indeed, some kinds of knowledge with which an artist\nought to be thoroughly furnished; those, for instance, which enable him\nto express himself; for this knowledge relieves instead of encumbering\nhis mind, and permits it to attend to its purposes instead of wearying\nitself about means. The whole mystery of manipulation and manufacture\nshould be familiar to the painter from a child. He should know the\nchemistry of all colors and materials whatsoever, and should prepare all\nhis colors himself, in a little laboratory of his own. Limiting his\nchemistry to this one object, the amount of practical science necessary\nfor it, and such accidental discoveries as might fall in his way in the\ncourse of his work, of better colors or better methods of preparing\nthem, would be an infinite refreshment to his mind; a minor subject of\ninterest to which it might turn when jaded with comfortless labor, or\nexhausted with feverish invention, and yet which would never interfere\nwith its higher functions, when it chose to address itself to them. Even\na considerable amount of manual labor, sturdy color-grinding and\ncanvas-stretching, would be advantageous; though this kind of work ought\nto be in great part done by pupils. For it is one of the conditions of\nperfect knowledge in these matters, that every great master should have\na certain number of pupils, to whom he is to impart all the knowledge of\nmaterials and means which he himself possesses, as soon as possible; so\nthat, at any rate, by the time they are fifteen years old, they may know\nall that he knows himself in this kind; that is to say, all that the\nworld of artists know, and his own discoveries besides, and so never be\ntroubled about methods any more. Not that the knowledge even of his own\nparticular methods is to be of purpose confined to himself and his\npupils, but that necessarily it must be so in some degree; for only\nthose who see him at work daily can understand his small and\nmultitudinous ways of practice. These cannot verbally be explained to\neverybody, nor is it needful that they should, only let them be\nconcealed from nobody who cares to see them; in which case, of course,\nhis attendant scholars will know them best. But all that can be made\npublic in matters of this kind should be so with all speed, every artist\nthrowing his discovery into the common stock, and the whole body of\nartists taking such pains in this department of science as that there\nshall be no unsettled questions about any known material or method: that\nit shall be an entirely ascertained and indisputable matter which is the\nbest white, and which the best brown; which the strongest canvas, and\nsafest varnish; and which the shortest and most perfect way of doing\neverything known up to that time: and if any one discovers a better, he\nis to make it public forthwith. All of them taking care to embarrass\nthemselves with no theories or reasons for anything, but to work\nempirically only: it not being in any wise their business to know\nwhether light moves in rays or in waves; or whether the blue rays of the\nspectrum move slower or faster than the rest; but simply to know how\nmany minutes and seconds such and such a powder must be calcined, to\ngive the brightest blue.\n\n\u00a7 XV. Now it is perhaps the most exquisite absurdity of the whole\nRenaissance system, that while it has encumbered the artist with every\nspecies of knowledge that is of no use to him, this one precious and\nnecessary knowledge it has utterly lost. There is not, I believe, at\nthis moment, a single question which could be put respecting pigments\nand methods, on which the body of living artists would agree in their\nanswers. The lives of artists are passed in fruitless experiments;\nfruitless, because undirected by experience and uncommunicated in their\nresults. Every man has methods of his own, which he knows to be\ninsufficient, and yet jealously conceals from his fellow-workmen: every\ncolorman has materials of his own, to which it is rare that the artist\ncan trust: and in the very front of the majestic advance of chemical\nscience, the empirical science of the artist has been annihilated, and\nthe days which should have led us to higher perfection are passed in\nguessing at, or in mourning over, lost processes; while the so-called\nDark ages, possessing no more knowledge of chemistry than a village\nherbalist does now, discovered, established, and put into daily practice\nsuch methods of operation as have made their work, at this day, the\ndespair of all who look upon it.\n\n\u00a7 XVI. And yet even this, to the painter, the safest of sciences, and in\nsome degree necessary, has its temptations, and capabilities of abuse.\nFor the simplest means are always enough for a great man; and when once\nhe has obtained a few ordinary colors, which he is sure will stand, and\na white surface that will not darken nor moulder, nor rend, he is master\nof the world, and of his fellow-men. And, indeed, as if in these times\nwe were bent on furnishing examples of every species of opposite error,\nwhile we have suffered the traditions to escape us of the simple methods\nof doing simple things, which are enough for all the arts, and to all\nthe ages, we have set ourselves to discover fantastic modes of doing\nfantastic things,--new mixtures and manipulations of metal, and\nporcelain, and leather, and paper, and every conceivable condition of\nfalse substance and cheap work, to our own infinitely multiplied\nconfusion,--blinding ourselves daily more and more to the great,\nchangeless, and inevitable truth, that there is but one goodness in art;\nand that is one which the chemist cannot prepare, nor the merchant\ncheapen, for it comes only of a rare human hand, and rare human soul.\n\n\u00a7 XVII. Within its due limits, however, here is one branch of science\nwhich the artist may pursue; and, within limits still more strict,\nanother also, namely, the science of the appearances of things as they\nhave been ascertained and registered by his fellow-men. For no day\npasses but some visible fact is pointed out to us by others, which,\nwithout their help, we should not have noticed; and the accumulation and\ngeneralization of visible facts have formed, in the succession of ages,\nthe sciences of light and shade, and perspective, linear and aerial: so\nthat the artist is now at once put in possession of certain truths\nrespecting the appearances of things, which, so pointed out to him, any\nman may in a few days understand and acknowledge; but which, without\naid, he could not probably discover in his lifetime. I say, probably\ncould not, because the time which the history of art shows us to have\nbeen actually occupied in the discovery and systematization of such\ntruth, is no measure of the time _necessary_ for such discovery. The\nlengthened period which elapsed between the earliest and the perfect\ndevelopement of the science of light (if I may so call it) was not\noccupied in the actual effort to ascertain its laws, but in _acquiring\nthe disposition to make that effort_. It did not take five centuries to\nfind out the appearance of natural objects; but it took five centuries\nto make people care about representing them. An artist of the twelfth\ncentury did not desire to represent nature. His work was symbolical and\nornamental. So long as it was intelligible and lovely, he had no care to\nmake it like nature. As, for instance, when an old painter represented\nthe glory round a saint's head by a burnished plate of pure gold, he had\nno intention of imitating an effect of light. He meant to tell the\nspectator that the figure so decorated was a saint, and to produce\nsplendor of effect by the golden circle. It was no matter to him what\nlight was like. So soon as it entered into his intention to represent\nthe appearance of light, he was not long in discovering the natural\nfacts necessary for his purpose.\n\n\u00a7 XVIII. But, this being fully allowed, it is still true that the\naccumulation of facts now known respecting visible phenomena, is greater\nthan any man could hope to gather for himself, and that it is well for\nhim to be made acquainted with them; provided always, that he receive\nthem only at their true value, and do not suffer himself to be misled by\nthem. I say, at their true value; that is, an exceedingly small one. All\nthe information which men can receive from the accumulated experience of\nothers, is of no use but to enable them more quickly and accurately to\nsee for themselves. It will in no wise take the place of this personal\nsight. Nothing can be done well in art, except by vision. Scientific\nprinciples and experiences are helps to the eye, as a microscope is; and\nthey are of exactly as much use _without_ the eye. No science of\nperspective, or of anything else, will enable us to draw the simplest\nnatural line accurately, unless we see it and feel it. Science is soon\nat her wits' end. All the professors of perspective in Europe, could\nnot, by perspective, draw the line of curve of a sea beach; nay, could\nnot outline one pool of the quiet water left among the sand. The eye and\nhand can do it, nothing else. All the rules of aerial perspective that\never were written, will not tell me how sharply the pines on the\nhill-top are drawn at this moment on the sky. I shall know if I see\nthem, and love them; not till then. I may study the laws of atmospheric\ngradation for fourscore years and ten, and I shall not be able to draw\nso much as a brick-kiln through its own smoke, unless I look at it; and\nthat in an entirely humble and unscientific manner, ready to see all\nthat the smoke, my master, is ready to show me, and expecting to see\nnothing more.\n\n\u00a7 XIX. So that all the knowledge a man has must be held cheap, and\nneither trusted nor respected, the moment he comes face to face with\nNature. If it help him, well; if not, but, on the contrary, thrust\nitself upon him in an impertinent and contradictory temper, and venture\nto set itself in the slightest degree in opposition to, or comparison\nwith, his sight, let it be disgraced forthwith. And the slave is less\nlikely to take too much upon herself, if she has not been bought for a\nhigh price. All the knowledge an artist needs, will, in these days, come\nto him almost without his seeking; if he has far to look for it, he may\nbe sure he does not want it. Prout became Prout, without knowing a\nsingle rule of perspective to the end of his days; and all the\nperspective in the Encyclop\u00e6dia will never produce us another Prout.\n\n\u00a7 XX. And observe, also, knowledge is not only very often unnecessary,\nbut it is often _untrustworthy_. It is inaccurate, and betrays us where\nthe eye would have been true to us. Let us take the single instance of\nthe knowledge of aerial perspective, of which the moderns are so proud,\nand see how it betrays us in various ways. First by the conceit of it,\nwhich often prevents our enjoying work in which higher and better things\nwere thought of than effects of mist. The other day I showed a line\nimpression of Albert Durer's \"St. Hubert\" to a modern engraver, who had\nnever seen it nor any other of Albert Durer's works. He looked at it for\na minute contemptuously, then turned away: \"Ah, I see that man did not\nknow much about aerial perspective!\" All the glorious work and thought\nof the mighty master, all the redundant landscape, the living\nvegetation, the magnificent truth of line, were dead letters to him,\nbecause he happened to have been taught one particular piece of\nknowledge which Durer despised.\n\n\u00a7 XXI. But not only in the conceit of it, but in the inaccuracy of it,\nthis science betrays us. Aerial perspective, as given by the modern\nartist, is, in nine cases out of ten, a gross and ridiculous\nexaggeration, as is demonstrable in a moment. The effect of air in\naltering the hue and depth of color is of course great in the exact\nproportion of the volume of air between the observer and the object. It\nis not violent within the first few yards, and then diminished\ngradually, but it is equal for each foot of interposing air. Now in a\nclear day, and clear climate, such as that generally presupposed in a\nwork of fine color, objects are completely visible at a distance of ten\nmiles; visible in light and shade, with gradations between the two.\nTake, then, the faintest possible hue of shadow, or of any color, and\nthe most violent and positive possible, and set them side by side. The\ninterval between them is greater than the real difference (for objects\nmay often be seen clearly much farther than ten miles, I have seen Mont\nBlanc at 120) caused by the ten miles of intervening air between any\ngiven hue of the nearest, and most distant, objects; but let us assume\nit, in courtesy to the masters of aerial perspective, to be the real\ndifference. Then roughly estimating a mile at less than it really is,\nalso in courtesy to them, or at 5000 feet, we have this difference\nbetween tints produced by 50,000 feet of air. Then, ten feet of air\nwill produce the 5000th part of this difference. Let the reader take the\ntwo extreme tints, and carefully gradate the one into the other. Let him\ndivide this gradated shadow or color into 5000 successive parts; and the\ndifference in depth between one of these parts and the next is the exact\namount of aerial perspective between one object, and another, ten feet\nbehind it, on a clear day.\n\n\u00a7 XXII. Now, in Millais' \"Huguenot,\" the figures were standing about\nthree feet from the wall behind them; and the wise world of critics,\nwhich could find no other fault with the picture, professed to have its\neyes hurt by the want of an aerial perspective, which, had it been\naccurately given (as, indeed, I believe it was), would have amounted to\nthe 10/3-5000th, or less than the 15,000th part of the depth of any\ngiven color. It would be interesting to see a picture painted by the\ncritics, upon this scientific principle. The aerial perspective usually\nrepresented is entirely conventional and ridiculous; a mere struggle on\nthe part of the pretendedly well-informed, but really ignorant, artist,\nto express distances by mist which he cannot by drawing.\n\nIt is curious that the critical world is just as much offended by the\ntrue _presence_ of aerial perspective, over distances of fifty miles,\nand with definite purpose of representing mist, in the works of Turner,\nas by the true _absence_ of aerial perspective, over distances of three\nfeet, and in clear weather, in those of Millais.\n\n\u00a7 XXIII. \"Well but,\" still answers the reader, \"this kind of error may\nhere and there be occasioned by too much respect for undigested\nknowledge; but, on the whole, the gain is greater than the loss, and the\nfact is, that a picture of the Renaissance period, or by a modern\nmaster, does indeed represent nature more faithfully than one wrought in\nthe ignorance of old times.\" No, not one whit; for the most part less\nfaithfully. Indeed, the outside of nature is more truly drawn; the\nmaterial commonplace, which can be systematized, catalogued, and taught\nto all pains-taking mankind,--forms of ribs and scapul\u00e6,[12] of eyebrows\nand lips, and curls of hair. Whatever can be measured and handled,\ndissected and demonstrated,--in a word, whatever is of the body\nonly,--that the schools of knowledge do resolutely and courageously\npossess themselves of, and portray. But whatever is immeasurable,\nintangible, indivisible, and of the spirit, that the schools of\nknowledge do as certainly lose, and blot out of their sight, that is to\nsay, all that is worth art's possessing or recording at all; for\nwhatever can be arrested, measured, and systematized, we can contemplate\nas much as we will in nature herself. But what we want art to do for us\nis to stay what is fleeting, and to enlighten what is incomprehensible,\nto incorporate the things that have no measure, and immortalize the\nthings that have no duration. The dimly seen, momentary glance, the\nflitting shadow of faint emotion, the imperfect lines of fading thought,\nand all that by and through such things as these is recorded on the\nfeatures of man, and all that in man's person and actions, and in the\ngreat natural world, is infinite and wonderful; having in it that spirit\nand power which man may witness, but not weigh; conceive, but not\ncomprehend; love, but not limit; and imagine, but not define;--this, the\nbeginning and the end of the aim of all noble art, we have, in the\nancient art, by perception; and we have _not_, in the newer art, by\nknowledge. Giotto gives it us, Orcagna gives it us. Angelico, Memmi,\nPisano, it matters not who,--all simple and unlearned men, in their\nmeasure and manner,--give it us; and the learned men that followed them\ngive it us not, and we, in our supreme learning, own ourselves at this\nday farther from it than ever.\n\n\u00a7 XXIV. \"Nay,\" but it is still answered, \"this is because we have not\nyet brought our knowledge into right use, but have been seeking to\naccumulate it, rather than to apply it wisely to the ends of art. Let us\nnow do this, and we may achieve all that was done by that elder ignorant\nart, and infinitely more.\" No, not so; for as soon as we try to put our\nknowledge to good use, we shall find that we have much more than we can\nuse, and that what more we have is an encumbrance. All our errors in\nthis respect arise from a gross misconception as to the true nature of\nknowledge itself. We talk of learned and ignorant men, as if there were\na certain quantity of knowledge, which to possess was to be learned, and\nwhich not to possess was to be ignorant; instead of considering that\nknowledge is infinite, and that the man most learned in human estimation\nis just as far from knowing anything as he ought to know it, as the\nunlettered peasant. Men are merely on a lower or higher stage of an\neminence, whose summit is God's throne, infinitely above all; and there\nis just as much reason for the wisest as for the simplest man being\ndiscontented with his position, as respects the real quantity of\nknowledge he possesses. And, for both of them, the only true reasons for\ncontentment with the sum of knowledge they possess are these: that it is\nthe kind of knowledge they need for their duty and happiness in life;\nthat all they have is tested and certain, so far as it is in their\npower; that all they have is well in order, and within reach when they\nneed it; that it has not cost too much time in the getting; that none of\nit, once got, has been lost; and that there is not too much to be easily\ntaken care of.\n\n\u00a7 XXV. Consider these requirements a little, and the evils that result\nin our education and polity from neglecting them. Knowledge is mental\nfood, and is exactly to the spirit what food is to the body (except that\nthe spirit needs several sorts of food, of which knowledge is only one),\nand it is liable to the same kind of misuses. It may be mixed and\ndisguised by art, till it becomes unwholesome; it may be refined,\nsweetened, and made palatable, until it has lost all its power of\nnourishment; and, even of its best kind, it may be eaten to surfeiting,\nand minister to disease and death.\n\n\u00a7 XXVI. Therefore, with respect to knowledge, we are to reason and act\nexactly as with respect to food. We no more live to know, than we live\nto eat. We live to contemplate, enjoy, act, adore; and we may know all\nthat is to be known in this world, and what Satan knows in the other,\nwithout being able to do any of these. We are to ask, therefore, first,\nis the knowledge we would have fit food for us, good and simple, not\nartificial and decorated? and secondly, how much of it will enable us\nbest for our work; and will leave our hearts light, and our eyes clear?\nFor no more than that is to be eaten without the old Eve-sin.\n\n\u00a7 XXVII. Observe, also, the difference between tasting knowledge, and\nhoarding it. In this respect it is also like food; since, in some\nmeasure, the knowledge of all men is laid up in granaries, for future\nuse; much of it is at any given moment dormant, not fed upon or enjoyed,\nbut in store. And by all it is to be remembered, that knowledge in this\nform may be kept without air till it rots, or in such unthreshed\ndisorder that it is of no use; and that, however good or orderly, it is\nstill only in being tasted that it becomes of use; and that men may\neasily starve in their own granaries, men of science, perhaps, most of\nall, for they are likely to seek accumulation of their store, rather\nthan nourishment from it. Yet let it not be thought that I would\nundervalue them. The good and great among them are like Joseph, to whom\nall nations sought to buy corn; or like the sower going forth to sow\nbeside all waters, sending forth thither the feet of the ox and the ass:\nonly let us remember that this is not all men's work. We are not\nintended to be all keepers of granaries, nor all to be measured by the\nfilling of a storehouse; but many, nay, most of us, are to receive day\nby day our daily bread, and shall be as well nourished and as fit for\nour labor, and often, also, fit for nobler and more divine labor, in\nfeeding from the barrel of meal that does not waste, and from the cruse\nof oil that does not fail, than if our barns were filled with plenty,\nand our presses bursting out with new wine.\n\n\u00a7 XXVIII. It is for each man to find his own measure in this matter; in\ngreat part, also, for others to find it for him, while he is yet a\nyouth. And the desperate evil of the whole Renaissance system is, that\nall idea of measure is therein forgotten, that knowledge is thought the\none and the only good, and it is never inquired whether men are vivified\nby it or paralyzed. Let us leave figures. The reader may not believe the\nanalogy I have been pressing so far; but let him consider the subject in\nitself, let him examine the effect of knowledge in his own heart, and\nsee whether the trees of knowledge and of life are one now, any more\nthan in Paradise. He must feel that the real animating power of\nknowledge is only in the moment of its being first received, when it\nfills us with wonder and joy; a joy for which, observe, the previous\nignorance is just as necessary as the present knowledge. That man is\nalways happy who is in the presence of something which he cannot know to\nthe full, which he is always going on to know. This is the necessary\ncondition of a finite creature with divinely rooted and divinely\ndirected intelligence; this, therefore, its happy state,--but observe, a\nstate, not of triumph or joy in what it knows, but of joy rather in the\ncontinual discovery of new ignorance, continual self-abasement,\ncontinual astonishment. Once thoroughly our own, the knowledge ceases to\ngive us pleasure. It may be practically useful to us, it may be good for\nothers, or good for usury to obtain more; but, in itself, once let it be\nthoroughly familiar, and it is dead. The wonder is gone from it, and all\nthe fine color which it had when first we drew it up out of the infinite\nsea. And what does it matter how much or how little of it we have laid\naside, when our only enjoyment is still in the casting of that deep sea\nline? What does it matter? Nay, in one respect, it matters much, and not\nto our advantage. For one effect of knowledge is to deaden the force of\nthe imagination and the original energy of the whole man: under the\nweight of his knowledge he cannot move so lightly as in the days of his\nsimplicity. The pack-horse is furnished for the journey, the war-horse\nis armed for war; but the freedom of the field and the lightness of the\nlimb are lost for both. Knowledge is, at best, the pilgrim's burden or\nthe soldier's panoply, often a weariness to them both: and the\nRenaissance knowledge is like the Renaissance armor of plate, binding\nand cramping the human form; while all good knowledge is like the\ncrusader's chain mail, which throws itself into folds with the body, yet\nit is rarely so forged as that the clasps and rivets do not gall us. All\nmen feel this, though they do not think of it, nor reason out its\nconsequences. They look back to the days of childhood as of greatest\nhappiness, because those were the days of greatest wonder, greatest\nsimplicity, and most vigorous imagination. And the whole difference\nbetween a man of genius and other men, it has been said a thousand\ntimes, and most truly, is that the first remains in great part a child,\nseeing with the large eyes of children, in perpetual wonder, not\nconscious of much knowledge,--conscious, rather, of infinite ignorance,\nand yet infinite power; a fountain of eternal admiration, delight, and\ncreative force within him meeting the ocean of visible and governable\nthings around him.\n\nThat is what we have to make men, so far as we may. All are to be men of\ngenius in their degree,--rivulets or rivers, it does not matter, so that\nthe souls be clear and pure; not dead walls encompassing dead heaps of\nthings known and numbered, but running waters in the sweet wilderness of\nthings unnumbered and unknown, conscious only of the living banks, on\nwhich they partly refresh and partly reflect the flowers, and so pass\non.\n\n\u00a7 XXIX. Let each man answer for himself how far his knowledge has made\nhim this, or how far it is loaded upon him as the pyramid is upon the\ntomb. Let him consider, also, how much of it has cost him labor and time\nthat might have been spent in healthy, happy action, beneficial to all\nmankind; how many living souls may have been left uncomforted and\nunhelped by him, while his own eyes were failing by the midnight lamp;\nhow many warm sympathies have died within him as he measured lines or\ncounted letters; how many draughts of ocean air, and steps on\nmountain-turf, and openings of the highest heaven he has lost for his\nknowledge; how much of that knowledge, so dearly bought, is now\nforgotten or despised, leaving only the capacity of wonder less within\nhim, and, as it happens in a thousand instances, perhaps even also the\ncapacity of devotion. And let him,--if, after thus dealing with his own\nheart, he can say that his knowledge has indeed been fruitful to\nhim,--yet consider how many there are who have been forced by the\ninevitable laws of modern education into toil utterly repugnant to their\nnatures, and that in the extreme, until the whole strength of the young\nsoul was sapped away; and then pronounce with fearfulness how far, and\nin how many senses, it may indeed be true that the wisdom of this world\nis foolishness with God.\n\n\u00a7 XXX. Now all this possibility of evil, observe, attaches to knowledge\npursued for the noblest ends, if it be pursued imprudently. I have\nassumed, in speaking of its effect both on men generally and on the\nartist especially, that it was sought in the true love of it, and with\nall honesty and directness of purpose. But this is granting far too much\nin its favor. Of knowledge in general, and without qualification, it is\nsaid by the Apostle that \"it puffeth up;\" and the father of all modern\nscience, writing directly in its praise, yet asserts this danger even in\nmore absolute terms, calling it a \"venomousness\" in the very nature of\nknowledge itself.\n\n\u00a7 XXXI. There is, indeed, much difference in this respect between the\ntendencies of different branches of knowledge; it being a sure rule that\nexactly in proportion as they are inferior, nugatory, or limited in\nscope, their power of feeding pride is greater. Thus philology, logic,\nrhetoric, and the other sciences of the schools, being for the most part\nridiculous and trifling, have so pestilent an effect upon those who are\ndevoted to them, that their students cannot conceive of any higher\nsciences than these, but fancy that all education ends in the knowledge\nof words: but the true and great sciences, more especially natural\nhistory, make men gentle and modest in proportion to the largeness of\ntheir apprehension, and just perception of the infiniteness of the\nthings they can never know. And this, it seems to me, is the principal\nlesson we are intended to be caught by the book of Job; for there God\nhas thrown open to us the heart of a man most just and holy, and\napparently perfect in all things possible to human nature except\nhumility. For this he is tried: and we are shown that no suffering, no\nself-examination, however honest, however stern, no searching out of the\nheart by its own bitterness, is enough to convince man of his\nnothingness before God; but that the sight of God's creation will do it.\nFor, when the Deity himself has willed to end the temptation, and to\naccomplish in Job that for which it was sent, He does not vouchsafe to\nreason with him, still less does He overwhelm him with terror, or\nconfound him by laying open before his eyes the book of his iniquities.\nHe opens before him only the arch of the dayspring, and the fountains of\nthe deep; and amidst the covert of the reeds, and on the heaving waves,\nHe bids him watch the kings of the children of pride,--\"Behold now\nBehemoth, which I made with thee:\" And the work is done.\n\n\u00a7 XXXII. Thus, if, I repeat, there is any one lesson in the whole book\nwhich stands forth more definitely than another, it is this of the holy\nand humbling influence of natural science on the human heart. And yet,\neven here, it is not the science, but the perception, to which the good\nis owing; and the natural sciences may become as harmful as any others,\nwhen they lose themselves in classification and catalogue-making. Still,\nthe principal danger is with the sciences of words and methods; and it\nwas exactly into those sciences that the whole energy of men during the\nRenaissance period was thrown. They discovered suddenly that the world\nfor ten centuries had been living in an ungrammatical manner, and they\nmade it forthwith the end of human existence to be grammatical. And it\nmattered thenceforth nothing what was said, or what was done, so only\nthat it was said with scholarship, and done with system. Falsehood in a\nCiceronian dialect had no opposers; truth in patois no listeners. A\nRoman phrase was thought worth any number of Gothic facts. The sciences\nceased at once to be anything more than different kinds of\ngrammars,--grammar of language, grammar of logic, grammar of ethics,\ngrammar of art; and the tongue, wit, and invention of the human race\nwere supposed to have found their utmost and most divine mission in\nsyntax and syllogism, perspective and five orders.\n\nOf such knowledge as this, nothing but pride could come; and, therefore,\nI have called the first mental characteristic of the Renaissance\nschools, the \"pride\" of science. If they had reached any science worth\nthe name, they might have loved it; but of the paltry knowledge they\npossessed, they could only be proud. There was not anything in it\ncapable of being loved. Anatomy, indeed, then first made a subject of\naccurate study, is a true science, but not so attractive as to enlist\nthe affections strongly on its side: and therefore, like its meaner\nsisters, it became merely a ground for pride; and the one main purpose\nof the Renaissance artists, in all their work, was to show how much they\nknew.\n\n\u00a7 XXXIII. There were, of course, noble exceptions; but chiefly belonging\nto the earliest periods of the Renaissance, when its teaching had not\nyet produced its full effect. Raphael, Leonardo, and Michael Angelo were\nall trained in the old school; they all had masters who knew the true\nends of art, and had reached them; masters nearly as great as they were\nthemselves, but imbued with the old religious and earnest spirit, which\ntheir disciples receiving from them, and drinking at the same time\ndeeply from all the fountains of knowledge opened in their day, became\nthe world's wonders. Then the dull wondering world believed that their\ngreatness rose out of their new knowledge, instead of out of that\nancient religious root, in which to abide was life, from which to be\nsevered was annihilation. And from that day to this, they have tried to\nproduce Michael Angelos and Leonardos by teaching the barren sciences,\nand still have mourned and marvelled that no more Michael Angelos came;\nnot perceiving that those great Fathers were only able to receive such\nnourishment because they were rooted on the rock of all ages, and that\nour scientific teaching, nowadays, is nothing more nor less than the\nassiduous watering of trees whose stems are cut through. Nay, I have\neven granted too much in saying that those great men were able to\nreceive pure nourishment from the sciences; for my own conviction is,\nand I know it to be shared by most of those who love Raphael\ntruly,--that he painted best when he knew least. Michael Angelo was\nbetrayed, again and again, into such vain and offensive exhibition of\nhis anatomical knowledge as, to this day, renders his higher powers\nindiscernible by the greater part of men; and Leonardo fretted his life\naway in engineering, so that there is hardly a picture left to bear his\nname. But, with respect to all who followed, there can be no question\nthat the science they possessed was utterly harmful; serving merely to\ndraw away their hearts at once from the purposes of art and the power of\nnature, and to make, out of the canvas and marble, nothing more than\nmaterials for the exhibition of petty dexterity and useless knowledge.\n\n\u00a7 XXXIV. It is sometimes amusing to watch the na\u00efve and childish way in\nwhich this vanity is shown. For instance, when perspective was first\ninvented, the world thought it a mighty discovery, and the greatest men\nit had in it were as proud of knowing that retiring lines converge, as\nif all the wisdom of Solomon had been compressed into a vanishing point.\nAnd, accordingly, it became nearly impossible for any one to paint a\nNativity, but he must turn the stable and manger into a Corinthian\narcade, in order to show his knowledge of perspective; and half the best\narchitecture of the time, instead of being adorned with historical\nsculpture, as of old, was set forth with bas-relief of minor corridors\nand galleries, thrown into perspective.\n\nNow that perspective can be taught to any schoolboy in a week, we can\nsmile at this vanity. But the fact is, that all pride in knowledge is\nprecisely as ridiculous, whatever its kind, or whatever its degree.\nThere is, indeed, nothing of which man has any right to be proud; but\nthe very last thing of which, with any show of reason, he can make his\nboast is his knowledge, except only that infinitely small portion of it\nwhich he has discovered for himself. For what is there to be more proud\nof in receiving a piece of knowledge from another person, than in\nreceiving a piece of money? Beggars should not be proud, whatever kind\nof alms they receive. Knowledge is like current coin. A man may have\nsome right to be proud of possessing it, if he has worked for the gold\nof it, and assayed it, and stamped it, so that it may be received of\nall men as true; or earned it fairly, being already assayed: but if he\nhas done none of these things, but only had it thrown in his face by a\npasser-by, what cause has he to be proud? And though, in this mendicant\nfashion, he had heaped together the wealth of Croesus, would pride any\nmore, for this, become him, as, in some sort, it becomes the man who has\nlabored for his fortune, however small? So, if a man tells me the sun is\nlarger than the earth, have I any cause for pride in knowing it? or, if\nany multitude of men tell me any number of things, heaping all their\nwealth of knowledge upon me, have I any reason to be proud under the\nheap? And is not nearly all the knowledge of which we boast in these\ndays cast upon us in this dishonorable way; worked for by other men,\nproved by them, and then forced upon us, even against our wills, and\nbeaten into us in our youth, before we have the wit even to know if it\nbe good or not? (Mark the distinction between knowledge and thought.)\nTruly a noble possession to be proud of! Be assured, there is no part of\nthe furniture of a man's mind which he has a right to exult in, but that\nwhich he has hewn and fashioned for himself. He who has built himself a\nhut on a desert heath, and carved his bed, and table, and chair out of\nthe nearest forest, may have some right to take pride in the appliances\nof his narrow chamber, as assuredly he will have joy in them. But the\nman who has had a palace built, and adorned, and furnished for him, may,\nindeed, have many advantages above the other, but he has no reason to be\nproud of his upholsterer's skill; and it is ten to one if he has half\nthe joy in his couches of ivory that the other will have in his pallet\nof pine.\n\n\u00a7 XXXV. And observe how we feel this, in the kind of respect we pay to\nsuch knowledge as we are indeed capable of estimating the value of. When\nit is our own, and new to us, we cannot judge of it; but let it be\nanother's also, and long familiar to us, and see what value we set on\nit. Consider how we regard a schoolboy, fresh from his term's labor. If\nhe begin to display his newly acquired small knowledge to us, and plume\nhimself thereupon, how soon do we silence him with contempt! But it is\nnot so if the schoolboy begins to feel or see anything. In the strivings\nof his soul within him he is our equal; in his power of sight and\nthought he stands separate from us, and may be a greater than we. We are\nready to hear him forthwith. \"You saw that? you felt that? No matter for\nyour being a child; let us hear.\"\n\n\u00a7 XXXVI. Consider that every generation of men stands in this relation\nto its successors. It is as the schoolboy: the knowledge of which it is\nproudest will be as the alphabet to those who follow. It had better make\nno noise about its knowledge; a time will come when its utmost, in that\nkind, will be food for scorn. Poor fools! was that all they knew? and\nbehold how proud they were! But what we see and feel will never be\nmocked at. All men will be thankful to us for telling them that.\n\"Indeed!\" they will say, \"they felt that in their day? saw that? Would\nGod we may be like them, before we go to the home where sight and\nthought are not!\"\n\nThis unhappy and childish pride in knowledge, then, was the first\nconstituent element of the Renaissance mind, and it was enough, of\nitself, to have cast it into swift decline: but it was aided by another\nform of pride, which was above called the Pride of State; and which we\nhave next to examine.\n\n\u00a7 XXXVII. II. PRIDE OF STATE. It was noticed in the second volume of\n\"Modern Painters,\" p. 122, that the principle which had most power in\nretarding the modern school of portraiture was its constant expression\nof individual vanity and pride. And the reader cannot fail to have\nobserved that one of the readiest and commonest ways in which the\npainter ministers to this vanity, is by introducing the pedestal or\nshaft of a column, or some fragment, however simple, of Renaissance\narchitecture, in the background of the portrait. And this is not merely\nbecause such architecture is bolder or grander than, in general, that of\nthe apartments of a private house. No other architecture would produce\nthe same effect in the same degree. The richest Gothic, the most massive\nNorman, would not produce the same sense of exaltation as the simple\nand meagre lines of the Renaissance.\n\n\u00a7 XXXVIII. And if we think over this matter a little, we shall soon feel\nthat in those meagre lines there is indeed an expression of aristocracy\nin its worst characters; coldness, perfectness of training, incapability\nof emotion, want of sympathy with the weakness of lower men, blank,\nhopeless, haughty self-sufficiency. All these characters are written in\nthe Renaissance architecture as plainly as if they were graven on it in\nwords. For, observe, all other architectures have something in them that\ncommon men can enjoy; some concession to the simplicities of humanity,\nsome daily bread for the hunger of the multitude. Quaint fancy, rich\nornament, bright color, something that shows a sympathy with men of\nordinary minds and hearts; and this wrought out, at least in the Gothic,\nwith a rudeness showing that the workman did not mind exposing his own\nignorance if he could please others. But the Renaissance is exactly the\ncontrary of all this. It is rigid, cold, inhuman; incapable of glowing,\nof stooping, of conceding for an instant. Whatever excellence it has is\nrefined, high-trained, and deeply erudite; a kind which the architect\nwell knows no common mind can taste. He proclaims it to us aloud. \"You\ncannot feel my work unless you study Vitruvius. I will give you no gay\ncolor, no pleasant sculpture, nothing to make you happy; for I am a\nlearned man. All the pleasure you can have in anything I do is in its\nproud breeding, its rigid formalism, its perfect finish, its cold\ntranquillity. I do not work for the vulgar, only for the men of the\nacademy and the court.\"\n\n\u00a7 XXXIX. And the instinct of the world felt this in a moment. In the new\nprecision and accurate law of the classical forms, they perceived\nsomething peculiarly adapted to the setting forth of state in an\nappalling manner: Princes delighted in it, and courtiers. The Gothic was\ngood for God's worship, but this was good for man's worship. The Gothic\nhad fellowship with all hearts, and was universal, like nature: it could\nframe a temple for the prayer of nations, or shrink into the poor man's\nwinding stair. But here was an architecture that would not shrink, that\nhad in it no submission, no mercy. The proud princes and lords rejoiced\nin it. It was full of insult to the poor in its every line. It would not\nbe built of the materials at the poor man's hand; it would not roof\nitself with thatch or shingle, and black oak beams; it would not wall\nitself with rough stone or brick; it would not pierce itself with small\nwindows where they were needed; it would not niche itself, wherever\nthere was room for it, in the street corners. It would be of hewn stone;\nit would have its windows and its doors, and its stairs and its pillars,\nin lordly order, and of stately size; it would have its wings and its\ncorridors, and its halls and its gardens, as if all the earth were its\nown. And the rugged cottages of the mountaineers, and the fantastic\nstreets of the laboring burgher were to be thrust out of its way, as of\na lower species.\n\n\u00a7 XL. It is to be noted also, that it ministered as much to luxury as to\npride. Not to luxury of the eye, that is a holy luxury; Nature ministers\nto that in her painted meadows, and sculptured forests, and gilded\nheavens; the Gothic builder ministered to that in his twisted traceries,\nand deep-wrought foliage, and burning casements. The dead Renaissance\ndrew back into its earthliness, out of all that was warm and heavenly;\nback into its pride, out of all that was simple and kind; back into its\nstateliness, out of all that was impulsive, reverent, and gay. But it\nunderstood the luxury of the body; the terraced and scented and grottoed\ngarden, with its trickling fountains and slumbrous shades; the spacious\nhall and lengthened corridor for the summer heat; the well-closed\nwindows, and perfect fittings and furniture, for defence against the\ncold; and the soft picture, and frescoed wall and roof, covered with the\nlast lasciviousness of Paganism;--this is understood and possessed to\nthe full, and still possesses. This is the kind of domestic architecture\non which we pride ourselves, even to this day, as an infinite and\nhonorable advance from the rough habits of our ancestors; from the time\nwhen the king's floor was strewn with rushes, and the tapestries swayed\nbefore the searching wind in the baron's hall.\n\n\u00a7 XLI. Let us hear two stories of those rougher times.\n\nAt the debate of King Edwin with his courtiers and priests, whether he\nought to receive the Gospel preached to him by Paulinus, one of his\nnobles spoke as follows:\n\n\"The present life, O king! weighed with the time that is unknown, seems\nto me like this. When you are sitting at a feast with your earls and\nthanes in winter time, and the fire is lighted, and the hall is warmed,\nand it rains and snows, and the storm is loud without, there comes a\nsparrow, and flies through the house. It comes in at one door and goes\nout at the other. While it is within, it is not touched by the winter's\nstorm; but it is but for the twinkling of an eye, for from winter it\ncomes and to winter it returns. So also this life of man endureth for a\nlittle space; what goes before or what follows after, we know not.\nWherefore, if this new lore bring anything more certain, it is fit that\nwe should follow it.\"[13]\n\nThat could not have happened in a Renaissance building. The bird could\nnot have dashed in from the cold into the heat, and from the heat back\nagain into the storm. It would have had to come up a flight of marble\nstairs, and through seven or eight antechambers; and so, if it had ever\nmade its way into the presence chamber, out again through loggias and\ncorridors innumerable. And the truth which the bird brought with it,\nfresh from heaven, has, in like manner, to make its way to the\nRenaissance mind through many antechambers, hardly, and as a despised\nthing, if at all.\n\n\u00a7 XLII. Hear another story of those early times.\n\nThe king of Jerusalem, Godfrey of Bouillon, at the siege of Asshur, or\nArsur, gave audience to some emirs from Samaria and Naplous. They found\nhim seated on the ground on a sack of straw. They expressing surprise,\nGodfrey answered them: \"May not the earth, out of which we came, and\nwhich is to be our dwelling after death, serve us for a seat during\nlife?\"\n\nIt is long since such a throne has been set in the reception chambers\nof Christendom, or such an answer heard from the lips of a king.\n\nThus the Renaissance spirit became base both in its abstinence and its\nindulgence. Base in its abstinence; curtailing the bright and playful\nwealth of form and thought, which filled the architecture of the earlier\nages with sources of delight for their hardy spirit, pure, simple, and\nyet rich as the fretwork of flowers and moss, watered by some strong and\nstainless mountain stream: and base in its indulgence; as it granted to\nthe body what it withdrew from the heart, and exhausted, in smoothing\nthe pavement for the painless feet, and softening the pillow for the\nsluggish brain, the powers of art which once had hewn rough ladders into\nthe clouds of heaven, and set up the stones by which they rested for\nhouses of God.\n\n\u00a7 XLIII. And just in proportion as this courtly sensuality lowered the\nreal nobleness of the men whom birth or fortune raised above their\nfellows, rose their estimate of their own dignity, together with the\ninsolence and unkindness of its expression, and the grossness of the\nflattery with which it was fed. Pride is indeed the first and the last\namong the sins of men, and there is no age of the world in which it has\nnot been unveiled in the power and prosperity of the wicked. But there\nwas never in any form of slavery, or of feudal supremacy, a\nforgetfulness so total of the common majesty of the human soul, and of\nthe brotherly kindness due from man to man, as in the aristocratic\nfollies in the Renaissance. I have not space to follow out this most\ninteresting and extensive subject; but here is a single and very curious\nexample of the kind of flattery with which architectural teaching was\nmingled when addressed to the men of rank of the day.\n\n\u00a7 XLIV. In St. Mark's library there is a very curious Latin manuscript\nof the twenty-five books of Averulinus, a Florentine architect, upon the\nprinciples of his art. The book was written in or about 1460, and\ntranslated into Latin, and richly illuminated for Corvinus, king of\nHungary, about 1483. I extract from the third book the following passage\non the nature of stones. \"As there are three genera of men,--that is to\nsay, nobles, men of the middle classes, and rustics,--so it appears that\nthere are of stones. For the marbles and common stones of which we have\nspoken above, set forth the rustics. The porphyries and alabasters, and\nthe other harder stones of mingled quality, represent the middle\nclasses, if we are to deal in comparisons: and by means of these the\nancients adorned their temples with incrustations and ornaments in a\nmagnificent manner. And after these come the chalcedonies and\nsardonyxes, &c., which are so transparent that there can be seen no spot\nin them.[14] Thus men endowed with nobility lead a life in which no spot\ncan be found.\"\n\nCanute or Coeur de Lion (I name not Godfrey or St. Louis) would have\ndashed their sceptres against the lips of a man who should have dared to\nutter to them flattery such as this. But in the fifteenth century it was\nrendered and accepted as a matter of course, and the tempers which\ndelighted in it necessarily took pleasure also in every vulgar or false\nmeans, of taking worldly superiority. And among such false means\nlargeness of scale in the dwelling-house was of course one of the\neasiest and most direct. All persons, however senseless or dull, could\nappreciate size: it required some exertion of intelligence to enter into\nthe spirit of the quaint carving of the Gothic times, but none to\nperceive that one heap of stones was higher than another.[15] And\ntherefore, while in the execution and manner of work the Renaissance\nbuilders zealously vindicated for themselves the attribute of cold and\nsuperior learning, they appealed for such approbation as they needed\nfrom the multitude, to the lowest possible standard of taste; and while\nthe older workman lavished his labor on the minute niche and narrow\ncasement, on the doorways no higher than the head, and the contracted\nangles of the turreted chamber, the Renaissance builder spared such cost\nand toil in his detail, that he might spend it in bringing larger stones\nfrom a distance; and restricted himself to rustication and five orders,\nthat he might load the ground with colossal piers, and raise an\nambitious barrenness of architecture, as inanimate as it was gigantic,\nabove the feasts and follies of the powerful or the rich. The Titanic\ninsanity extended itself also into ecclesiastical design: the principal\nchurch in Italy was built with little idea of any other admirableness\nthan that which was to result from its being huge; and the religious\nimpressions of those who enter it are to this day supposed to be\ndependent, in a great degree, on their discovering that they cannot span\nthe thumbs of the statues which sustain the vessels for holy water.\n\n\u00a7 XLV. It is easy to understand how an architecture which thus appealed\nnot less to the lowest instincts of dulness than to the subtlest pride\nof learning, rapidly found acceptance with a large body of mankind; and\nhow the spacious pomp of the new manner of design came to be eagerly\nadopted by the luxurious aristocracies, not only of Venice, but of the\nother countries of Christendom, now gradually gathering themselves into\nthat insolent and festering isolation, against which the cry of the poor\nsounded hourly in more ominous unison, bursting at last into thunder\n(mark where,--first among the planted walks and plashing fountains of\nthe palace wherein the Renaissance luxury attained its utmost height in\nEurope, Versailles); that cry, mingling so much piteousness with its\nwrath and indignation, \"Our soul is filled with the scornful reproof of\nthe wealthy, and with the despitefulness of the proud.\"\n\n\u00a7 XLVI. But of all the evidence bearing upon this subject presented by\nthe various arts of the fifteenth century, none is so interesting or so\nconclusive as that deduced from its tombs. For, exactly in proportion as\nthe pride of life became more insolent, the fear of death became more\nservile; and the difference in the manner in which the men of early and\nlater days adorned the sepulchre, confesses a still greater difference\nin their manner of regarding death. To those he came as the comforter\nand the friend, rest in his right hand, hope in his left; to these as\nthe humiliator, the spoiler, and the avenger. And, therefore, we find\nthe early tombs at once simple and lovely in adornment, severe and\nsolemn in their expression; confessing the power, and accepting the\npeace, of death, openly and joyfully; and in all their symbols marking\nthat the hope of resurrection lay only in Christ's righteousness; signed\nalways with this simple utterance of the dead, \"I will lay me down in\npeace, and take my rest; for it is thou, Lord, only that makest me dwell\nin safety.\" But the tombs of the later ages are a ghastly struggle of\nmean pride and miserable terror: the one mustering the statues of the\nVirtues about the tomb, disguising the sarcophagus with delicate\nsculpture, polishing the false periods of the elaborate epitaph, and\nfilling with strained animation the features of the portrait statue; and\nthe other summoning underneath, out of the niche or from behind the\ncurtain, the frowning skull, or scythed skeleton, or some other more\nterrible image of the enemy in whose defiance the whiteness of the\nsepulchre had been set to shine above the whiteness of the ashes.\n\n\u00a7 XLVII. This change in the feeling with which sepulchral monuments were\ndesigned, from the eleventh to the eighteenth centuries, has been common\nto the whole of Europe. But, as Venice is in other respects the centre\nof the Renaissance system, so also she exhibits this change in the\nmanner of the sepulchral monument under circumstances peculiarly\ncalculated to teach us its true character. For the severe guard which,\nin earlier times, she put upon every tendency to personal pomp and\nambition, renders the tombs of her ancient monarchs as remarkable for\nmodesty and simplicity as for their religious feeling; so that, in this\nrespect, they are separated by a considerable interval from the more\ncostly monuments erected at the same periods to the kings or nobles of\nother European states. In later times, on the other hand, as the piety\nof the Venetians diminished, their pride overleaped all limits, and the\ntombs which in recent epochs, were erected for men who had lived only to\nimpoverish or disgrace the state, were as much more magnificent than\nthose contemporaneously erected for the nobles of Europe, as the\nmonuments for the great Doges had been humbler. When, in addition to\nthis, we reflect that the art of sculpture, considered as expressive of\nemotion, was at a low ebb in Venice in the twelfth century, and that in\nthe seventeenth she took the lead in Italy in luxurious work, we shall\nat once see the chain of examples through which the change of feeling is\nexpressed, must present more remarkable extremes here than it can in any\nother city; extremes so startling that their impressiveness cannot be\ndiminished, while their intelligibility is greatly increased, by the\nlarge number of intermediate types which have fortunately been\npreserved.\n\nIt would, however, too much weary the general reader if, without\nillustrations, I were to endeavor to lead him step by step through the\naisles of St. John and Paul; and I shall therefore confine myself to a\nslight notice of those features in sepulchral architecture generally\nwhich are especially illustrative of the matter at present in hand, and\npoint out the order in which, if possible, the traveller should visit\nthe tombs in Venice, so as to be most deeply impressed with the true\ncharacter of the lessons they convey.\n\n\u00a7 XLVIII. I have not such an acquaintance with the modes of entombment\nor memorial in the earliest ages of Christianity as would justify me in\nmaking any general statement respecting them: but it seems to me that\nthe perfect type of a Christian tomb was not developed until toward the\nthirteenth century, sooner or later according to the civilization of\neach country; that perfect type consisting in the raised and perfectly\nvisible sarcophagus of stone, bearing upon it a recumbent figure, and\nthe whole covered by a canopy. Before that type was entirely developed,\nand in the more ordinary tombs contemporary with it, we find the simple\nsarcophagus, often with only a rough block of stone for its lid,\nsometimes with a low-gabled lid like a cottage roof, derived from\nEgyptian forms, and bearing, either on the sides or the lid, at least a\nsculpture of the cross, and sometimes the name of the deceased, and date\nof erection of the tomb. In more elaborate examples rich\nfigure-sculpture is gradually introduced; and in the perfect period the\nsarcophagus, even when it does not bear any recumbent figure, has\ngenerally a rich sculpture on its sides representing an angel presenting\nthe dead, in person and dress as he lived, to Christ or to the Madonna,\nwith lateral figures, sometimes of saints, sometimes--as in the tombs of\nthe Dukes of Burgundy at Dijon--of mourners; but in Venice almost always\nrepresenting the Annunciation, the angel being placed at one angle of\nthe sarcophagus, and the Madonna at the other. The canopy, in a very\nsimple foursquare form, or as an arch over a recess, is added above the\nsarcophagus, long before the life-size recumbent figure appears resting\nupon it. By the time that the sculptors had acquired skill enough to\ngive much expression to this figure, the canopy attains an exquisite\nsymmetry and richness; and, in the most elaborate examples, is\nsurmounted by a statue, generally small, representing the dead person in\nthe full strength and pride of life, while the recumbent figure shows\nhim as he lay in death. And, at this point, the perfect type of the\nGothic tomb is reached.\n\n\u00a7 XLIX. Of the simple sarcophagus tomb there are many exquisite examples\nboth at Venice and Verona; the most interesting in Venice are those\nwhich are set in the recesses of the rude brick front of the Church of\nSt. John and Paul, ornamented only, for the most part, with two crosses\nset in circles, and the legend with the name of the dead, and an \"Orate\npro anima\" in another circle in the centre. And in this we may note one\ngreat proof of superiority in Italian over English tombs; the latter\nbeing often enriched with quatrefoils, small shafts, and arches, and\nother ordinary architectural decorations, which destroy their\nseriousness and solemnity, render them little more than ornamental, and\nhave no religious meaning whatever; while the Italian sarcophagi are\nkept massive, smooth, and gloomy,--heavy-lidded dungeons of stone, like\nrock-tombs,--but bearing on their surface, sculptured with tender and\nnarrow lines, the emblem of the cross, not presumptuously nor proudly,\nbut dimly graven upon their granite, like the hope which the human heart\nholds, but hardly perceives in its heaviness.\n\n\u00a7 L. Among the tombs in front of the Church of St. John and Paul there\nis one which is peculiarly illustrative of the simplicity of these\nearlier ages. It is on the left of the entrance, a massy sarcophagus\nwith low horns as of an altar, placed in a rude recess of the outside\nwall, shattered and worn, and here and there entangled among wild grass\nand weeds. Yet it is the tomb of two Doges, Jacopo and Lorenzo Tiepolo,\nby one of whom nearly the whole ground was given for the erection of the\nnoble church in front of which his unprotected tomb is wasting away. The\nsarcophagus bears an inscription in the centre, describing the acts of\nthe Doges, of which the letters show that it was added a considerable\nperiod after the erection of the tomb: the original legend is still left\nin other letters on its base, to this effect,\n\n  \"Lord James, died 1251. Lord Laurence, died 1288.\"\n\nAt the two corners of the sarcophagus are two angels bearing censers;\nand on its lid two birds, with crosses like crests upon their heads. For\nthe sake of the traveller in Venice the reader will, I think, pardon me\nthe momentary irrelevancy of telling the meaning of these symbols.\n\n\u00a7 LI. The foundation of the church of St. John and Paul was laid by the\nDominicans about 1234, under the immediate protection of the Senate and\nthe Doge Giacomo Tiepolo, accorded to them in consequence of a\nmiraculous vision appearing to the Doge; of which the following account\nis given in popular tradition:\n\n\"In the year 1226, the Doge Giacomo Tiepolo dreamed a dream; and in his\ndream he saw the little oratory of the Dominicans, and, behold, the\nground all around it (now occupied by the church) was covered with\nroses of the color of vermilion, and the air was filled with their\nfragrance. And in the midst of the roses, there were seen flying to and\nfro a crowd of white doves, with golden crosses upon their heads. And\nwhile the Doge looked, and wondered, behold, two angels descended from\nheaven with golden censers, and passing through the oratory, and forth\namong the flowers, they filled the place with the smoke of their\nincense. Then the Doge heard suddenly a clear and loud voice which\nproclaimed, 'This is the place that I have chosen for my preachers;' and\nhaving heard it, straightway he awoke and went to the Senate, and\ndeclared to them the vision. Then the Senate decreed that forty paces of\nground should be given to enlarge the monastery; and the Doge Tiepolo\nhimself made a still larger grant afterwards.\"\n\nThere is nothing miraculous in the occurrence of such a dream as this to\nthe devout Doge; and the fact, of which there is no doubt, that the\ngreater part of the land on which the church stands was given by him, is\npartly a confirmation of the story. But, whether the sculptures on the\ntomb were records of the vision, or the vision a monkish invention from\nthe sculptures on the tomb, the reader will not, I believe, look upon\nits doves and crosses, or rudely carved angels, any more with disdain;\nknowing how, in one way or another, they were connected with a point of\ndeep religious belief.\n\n\u00a7 LII. Towards the beginning of the fourteenth century, in Venice, the\nrecumbent figure begins to appear on the sarcophagus, the first dated\nexample being also one of the most beautiful; the statue of the prophet\nSimeon, sculptured upon the tomb which was to receive his relics in the\nchurch dedicated to him under the name of San Simeone Grande. So soon as\nthe figure appears, the sarcophagus becomes much more richly sculptured,\nbut always with definite religious purpose. It is usually divided into\ntwo panels, which are filled with small bas-reliefs of the acts or\nmartyrdom of the patron saints of the deceased: between them, in the\ncentre, Christ, or the Virgin and Child, are richly enthroned, under a\ncurtained canopy; and the two figures representing the Annunciation are\nalmost always at the angles; the promise of the Birth of Christ being\ntaken as at once the ground and the type of the promise of eternal life\nto all men.\n\n\u00a7 LIII. These figures are always in Venice most rudely chiselled; the\nprogress of figure sculpture being there comparatively tardy. At Verona,\nwhere the great Pisan school had strong influence, the monumental\nsculpture is immeasurably finer; and, so early as about the year\n1335,[16] the consummate form of the Gothic tomb occurs in the monument\nof Can Grande della Scala at Verona. It is set over the portal of the\nchapel anciently belonging to the family. The sarcophagus is sculptured\nwith shallow bas-reliefs, representing (which is rare in the tombs with\nwhich I am acquainted in Italy, unless they are those of saints) the\nprincipal achievements of the warrior's life, especially the siege of\nVicenza and battle of Placenza; these sculptures, however, form little\nmore than a chased and roughened groundwork for the fully relieved\nstatues representing the Annunciation, projecting boldly from the front\nof the sarcophagus. Above, the Lord of Verona is laid in his long robe\nof civil dignity, wearing the simple bonnet, consisting merely of a\nfillet bound round the brow, knotted and falling on the shoulder. He is\nlaid as asleep; his arms crossed upon his body, and his sword by his\nside. Above him, a bold arched canopy is sustained by two projecting\nshafts, and on the pinnacle of its roof is the statue of the knight on\nhis war-horse; his helmet, dragon-winged and crested with the dog's\nhead, tossed back behind his shoulders, and the broad and blazoned\ndrapery floating back from his horse's breast,--so truly drawn by the\nold workman from the life, that it seems to wave in the wind, and the\nknight's spear to shake, and his marble horse to be evermore quickening\nits pace, and starting into heavier and hastier charge, as the silver\nclouds float past behind it in the sky.\n\n\u00a7 LIV. Now observe, in this tomb, as much concession is made to the\npride of man as may ever consist with honor, discretion, or dignity. I\ndo not enter into any question respecting the character of Can Grande,\nthough there can be little doubt that he was one of the best among the\nnobles of his time; but that is not to our purpose. It is not the\nquestion whether his wars were just, or his greatness honorably\nachieved; but whether, supposing them to have been so, these facts are\nwell and gracefully told upon his tomb. And I believe there can be no\nhesitation in the admission of its perfect feeling and truth. Though\nbeautiful, the tomb is so little conspicuous or intrusive, that it\nserves only to decorate the portal of the little chapel, and is hardly\nregarded by the traveller as he enters. When it is examined, the history\nof the acts of the dead is found subdued into dim and minute ornament\nupon his coffin; and the principal aim of the monument is to direct the\nthoughts to his image as he lies in death, and to the expression of his\nhope of resurrection; while, seen as by the memory far away, diminished\nin the brightness of the sky, there is set the likeness of his armed\nyouth, stately, as it stood of old, in the front of battle, and meet to\nbe thus recorded for us, that we may now be able to remember the dignity\nof the frame, of which those who once looked upon it hardly remembered\nthat it was dust.\n\n\u00a7 LV. This, I repeat, is as much as may ever be granted, but this ought\nalways to be granted, to the honor and the affection of men. The tomb\nwhich stands beside that of Can Grande, nearest it in the little field\nof sleep, already shows the traces of erring ambition. It is the tomb of\nMastino the Second, in whose reign began the decline of his family. It\nis altogether exquisite as a work of art; and the evidence of a less\nwise or noble feeling in its design is found only in this, that the\nimage of a virtue, Fortitude, as belonging to the dead, is placed on the\nextremity of the sarcophagus, opposite to the Crucifixion. But for this\nslight circumstance, of which the significance will only be appreciated\nas we examine the series of later monuments, the composition of this\nmonument of Can Mastino would have been as perfect as its decoration is\nrefined. It consists, like that of Can Grande, of the raised\nsarcophagus, bearing the recumbent statue, protected by a noble\nfoursquare canopy, sculptured with ancient Scripture history. On one\nside of the sarcophagus is Christ enthroned, with Can Mastino kneeling\nbefore Him; on the other, Christ is represented in the mystical form,\nhalf-rising from the tomb, meant, I believe, to be at once typical of\nHis passion and resurrection. The lateral panels are occupied by statues\nof saints. At one extremity of the sarcophagus is the Crucifixion; at\nthe other, a noble statue of Fortitude, with a lion's skin thrown over\nher shoulders, its head forming a shield upon her breast, her flowing\nhair bound with a narrow fillet, and a three-edged sword in her\ngauntleted right hand, drawn back sternly behind her thigh, while, in\nher left, she bears high the shield of the Scalas.\n\n\u00a7 LVI. Close to this monument is another, the stateliest and most\nsumptuous of the three; it first arrests the eye of the stranger, and\nlong detains it,--a many-pinnacled pile surrounded by niches with\nstatues of the warrior saints.\n\nIt is beautiful, for it still belongs to the noble time, the latter part\nof the fourteenth century; but its work is coarser than that of the\nother, and its pride may well prepare us to learn that it was built for\nhimself, in his own lifetime, by the man whose statue crowns it, Can\nSignorio della Scala. Now observe, for this is infinitely significant.\nCan Mastino II. was feeble and wicked, and began the ruin of his house;\nhis sarcophagus is the first which bears upon it the image of a virtue,\nbut he lays claim only to Fortitude. Can Signorio was twice a\nfratricide, the last time when he lay upon his death-bed: _his_ tomb\nbears upon its gables the images of six virtues,--Faith, Hope, Charity,\nPrudence, and (I believe) Justice and Fortitude.\n\n\u00a7 LVII. Let us now return to Venice, where, in the second chapel\ncounting from right to left, at the west end of the Church of the Frari,\nthere is a very early fourteenth, or perhaps late thirteenth, century\ntomb, another exquisite example of the perfect Gothic form. It is a\nknight's; but there is no inscription upon it, and his name is unknown.\nIt consists of a sarcophagus, supported on bold brackets against the\nchapel wall, bearing the recumbent figure, protected by a simple canopy\nin the form of a pointed arch, pinnacled by the knight's crest; beneath\nwhich the shadowy space is painted dark blue, and strewn with stars. The\nstatue itself is rudely carved; but its lines, as seen from the intended\ndistance, are both tender and masterly. The knight is laid in his mail,\nonly the hands and face being bare. The hauberk and helmet are of\nchain-mail, the armor for the limbs of jointed steel; a tunic, fitting\nclose to the breast, and marking the noble swell of it by two narrow\nembroidered lines, is worn over the mail; his dagger is at his right\nside; his long cross-belted sword, not seen by the spectator from below,\nat his left. His feet rest on a hound (the hound being his crest), which\nlooks up towards its master. In general, in tombs of this kind, the face\nof the statue is slightly turned towards the spectator; in this\nmonument, on the contrary, it is turned away from him, towards the depth\nof the arch: for there, just above the warrior's breast, is carved a\nsmall image of St. Joseph bearing the infant Christ, who looks down upon\nthe resting figure; and to this image its countenance is turned. The\nappearance of the entire tomb is as if the warrior had seen the vision\nof Christ in his dying moments, and had fallen back peacefully upon his\npillow, with his eyes still turned to it, and his hands clasped in\nprayer.\n\n\u00a7 LVIII. On the opposite side of this chapel is another very lovely\ntomb, to Duccio degli Alberti, a Florentine ambassador at Venice;\nnoticeable chiefly as being the first in Venice on which any images of\nthe Virtues appear. We shall return to it presently, but some account\nmust first be given of the more important among the other tombs in\nVenice belonging to the perfect period. Of these, by far the most\ninteresting, though not the most elaborate, is that of the great Doge\nFrancesco Dandolo, whose ashes, it might have been thought, were\nhonorable enough to have been permitted to rest undisturbed in the\nchapter-house of the Frari, where they were first laid. But, as if there\nwere not room enough, nor waste houses enough in the desolate city to\nreceive a few convent papers, the monks, wanting an \"archivio,\" have\nseparated the tomb into three pieces: the canopy, a simple arch\nsustained on brackets, still remains on the blank walls of the\ndesecrated chamber; the sarcophagus has been transported to a kind of\nmuseum of antiquities, established in what was once the cloister of\nSanta Maria della Salute; and the painting which filled the lunette\nbehind it is hung far out of sight, at one end of the sacristy of the\nsame church. The sarcophagus is completely charged with bas-reliefs: at\nits two extremities are the types of St. Mark and St. John; in front, a\nnoble sculpture of the death of the Virgin; at the angles, angels\nholding vases. The whole space is occupied by the sculpture; there are\nno spiral shafts or panelled divisions; only a basic plinth below, and\ncrowning plinth above, the sculpture being raised from a deep concave\nfield between the two, but, in order to give piquancy and\npicturesqueness to the mass of figures, two small trees are introduced\nat the head and foot of the Madonna's couch, an oak and a stone pine.\n\n\u00a7 LIX. It was said above,[17] in speaking of the frequent disputes of\nthe Venetians with the Pontifical power, which in their early days they\nhad so strenuously supported, that \"the humiliation of Francesco Dandolo\nblotted out the shame of Barbarossa.\" It is indeed well that the two\nevents should be remembered together. By the help of the Venetians,\nAlexander III. was enabled, in the twelfth century, to put his foot upon\nthe neck of the emperor Barbarossa, quoting the words of the Psalm,\n\"Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder.\" A hundred and fifty\nyears later, the Venetian ambassador, Francesco Dandolo, unable to\nobtain even an audience from the Pope, Clement V., to whom he had been\nsent to pray for a removal of the sentence of excommunication pronounced\nagainst the republic, concealed himself (according to the common\ntradition) beneath the Pontiff's dining-table; and thence coming out as\nhe sat down to meat, embraced his feet, and obtained, by tearful\nentreaties, the removal of the terrible sentence.\n\nI say, \"according to the common tradition;\" for there are some doubts\ncast upon the story by its supplement. Most of the Venetian historians\nassert that Francesco Dandolo's surname of \"Dog\" was given him first on\nthis occasion, in insult, by the cardinals; and that the Venetians, in\nremembrance of the grace which his humiliation had won for them, made it\na title of honor to him and to his race. It has, however, been\nproved[18] that the surname was borne by the ancestors of Francesco\nDandolo long before; and the falsity of this seal of the legend renders\nalso its circumstances doubtful. But the main fact of grievous\nhumiliation having been undergone, admits of no dispute; the existence\nof such a tradition at all is in itself a proof of its truth; it was not\none likely to be either invented or received without foundation: and it\nwill be well, therefore, that the reader should remember, in connection\nwith the treatment of Barbarossa at the door of the Church of St.\nMark's, that in the Vatican, one hundred and fifty years later, a\nVenetian noble, a future Doge, submitted to a degradation, of which the\ncurrent report among his people was, that he had crept on his hands and\nknees from beneath the Pontiff's table to his feet, and had been spurned\nas a \"dog\" by the cardinals present.\n\n\u00a7 LX. There are two principal conclusions to be drawn from this: the\nobvious one respecting the insolence of the Papal dominion in the\nthirteenth century; the second, that there were probably most deep piety\nand humility in the character of the man who could submit to this\ninsolence for the sake of a benefit to his country. Probably no motive\nwould have been strong enough to obtain such a sacrifice from most men,\nhowever unselfish; but it was, without doubt, made easier to Dandolo by\nhis profound reverence for the Pontifical office; a reverence which,\nhowever _we_ may now esteem those who claimed it, could not but have\nbeen felt by nearly all good and faithful men at the time of which we\nare speaking. This is the main point which I wish the reader to remember\nas we look at his tomb, this, and the result of it,--that, some years\nafterwards, when he was seated on the throne which his piety had saved,\n\"there were sixty princes' ambassadors in Venice at the same time,\nrequesting the judgment of the Senate on matters of various concernment,\n_so great was the fame of the uncorrupted justice of the Fathers_.\"[19]\n\nObserve, there are no virtues on this tomb. Nothing but religious\nhistory or symbols; the Death of the Virgin in front, and the types of\nSt. Mark and St. John at the extremities.\n\n\u00a7 LXI. Of the tomb of the Doge Andrea Dandolo, in St. Mark's, I have\nspoken before. It is one of the first in Venice which presents, in a\ncanopy, the Pisan idea of angels withdrawing curtains, as of a couch, to\nlook down upon the dead. The sarcophagus is richly decorated with\nflower-work; the usual figures of the Annunciation are at the sides; an\nenthroned Madonna in the centre; and two bas-reliefs, one of the\nmartyrdom of the Doge's patron saint, St. Andrew, occupy the\nintermediate spaces. All these tombs have been richly colored; the hair\nof the angels has here been gilded, their wings bedropped with silver,\nand their garments covered with the most exquisite arabesques. This\ntomb, and that of St. Isidore in another chapel of St. Mark's, which was\nbegun by this very Doge, Andrea Dandolo, and completed after his death\nin 1354, are both nearly alike in their treatment, and are, on the\nwhole, the best existing examples of Venetian monumental sculpture.\n\n\u00a7 LXII. Of much ruder workmanship, though still most precious, and\nsingularly interesting from its quaintness, is a sarcophagus in the\nnorthernmost chapel, beside the choir of St. John and Paul, charged with\ntwo bas-reliefs and many figures, but which bears no inscription. It\nhas, however, a shield with three dolphins on its brackets; and as at\nthe feet of the Madonna in its centre there is a small kneeling figure\nof a Doge, we know it to be the tomb of the Doge Giovanni Dolfino, who\ncame to the throne in 1356.\n\nHe was chosen Doge while, as provveditore, he was in Treviso, defending\nthe city against the King of Hungary. The Venetians sent to the\nbesiegers, praying that their newly elected Doge might be permitted to\npass the Hungarian lines. Their request was refused, the Hungarians\nexulting that they held the Doge of Venice prisoner in Treviso. But\nDolfino, with a body of two hundred horse, cut his way through their\nlines by night, and reached Mestre (Malghera) in safety, where he was\nmet by the Senate. His bravery could not avert the misfortunes which\nwere accumulating on the republic. The Hungarian war was ignominiously\nterminated by the surrender of Dalmatia: the Doge's heart was broken,\nhis eyesight failed him, and he died of the plague four years after he\nhad ascended the throne.\n\n\u00a7 LXIII. It is perhaps on this account, perhaps in consequence of later\ninjuries, that the tomb has neither effigy nor inscription: that it has\nbeen subjected to some violence is evident from the dentil which once\ncrowned its leaf-cornice being now broken away, showing the whole front.\nBut, fortunately, the sculpture of the sarcophagus itself is little\ninjured.\n\nThere are two saints, male and female, at its angles, each in a little\nniche; a Christ, enthroned in the centre, the Doge and Dogaressa\nkneeling at his feet; in the two intermediate panels, on one side the\nEpiphany, on the other the Death of the Virgin; the whole supported, as\nwell as crowned, by an elaborate leaf-plinth. The figures under the\nniches are rudely cut, and of little interest. Not so the central group.\nInstead of a niche, the Christ is seated under a square tent, or\ntabernacle, formed by curtains running on rods; the idea, of course, as\nusual, borrowed from the Pisan one, but here ingeniously applied. The\ncurtains are opened in front, showing those at the back of the tent,\nbehind the seated figure; the perspective of the two retiring sides\nbeing very tolerably suggested. Two angels, of half the size of the\nseated figure, thrust back the near curtains, and look up reverently to\nthe Christ; while again, at their feet, about one third of _their_ size,\nand half-sheltered, as it seems, by their garments, are the two kneeling\nfigures of the Doge and Dogaressa, though so small and carefully cut,\nfull of life. The Christ raising one hand as to bless, and holding a\nbook upright and open on the knees, does not look either towards them or\nto the angels, but forward; and there is a very noticeable effort to\nrepresent Divine abstraction in the countenance: the idea of the three\nmagnitudes of spiritual being,--the God, the Angel, and the Man,--is\nalso to be observed, aided as it is by the complete subjection of the\nangelic power to the Divine; for the angels are in attitudes of the most\nlowly watchfulness of the face of Christ, and appear unconscious of the\npresence of the human beings who are nestled in the folds of their\ngarments.\n\n\u00a7 LXIV. With this interesting but modest tomb of one of the kings of\nVenice, it is desirable to compare that of one of her senators, of\nexactly the same date, which is raised against the western wall of the\nFrari, at the end of the north aisle. It bears the following remarkable\ninscription:\n\n \"ANNO MCCCLX. prima die Julii Sepultura . Domini . Simonii Dandolo .\n   amador . de . Justisia . e . desiroso . de . acrese . el . ben .\n   chomum.\"\n\nThe \"Amador de Justitia\" has perhaps some reference to Simon Dandolo's\nhaving been one of the Giunta who condemned the Doge Faliero. The\nsarcophagus is decorated merely by the Annunciation group, and an\nenthroned Madonna with a curtain behind her throne, sustained by four\ntiny angels, who look over it as they hold it up; but the workmanship of\nthe figures is more than usually beautiful.\n\n\u00a7 LXV. Seven years later, a very noble monument was placed on the north\nside of the choir of St. John and Paul, to the Doge Marco Cornaro,\nchiefly, with respect to our present subject, noticeable for the absence\nof religious imagery from the sarcophagus, which is decorated with\nroses only; three very beautiful statues of the Madonna and two saints\nare, however, set in the canopy above. Opposite this tomb, though about\nfifteen years later in date, is the richest monument of the Gothic\nperiod in Venice; that of the Doge Michele Morosini, who died in 1382.\nIt consists of a highly florid canopy,--an arch crowned by a gable, with\npinnacles at the flanks, boldly crocketed, and with a huge finial at the\ntop representing St. Michael,--a medallion of Christ set in the gable;\nunder the arch, a mosaic, representing the Madonna presenting the Doge\nto Christ upon the cross; beneath, as usual, the sarcophagus, with a\nmost noble recumbent figure of the Doge, his face meagre and severe, and\nsharp in its lines, but exquisite in the form of its small and princely\nfeatures. The sarcophagus is adorned with elaborate wrinkled leafage,\nprojecting in front of it into seven brackets, from which the statues\nare broken away; but by which, for there can be no doubt that these last\nstatues represented the theological and cardinal Virtues, we must for a\nmoment pause.\n\n\u00a7 LXVI. It was noticed above, that the tomb of the Florentine\nambassador, Duccio, was the first in Venice which presented images of\nthe Virtues. Its small lateral statues of Justice and Temperance are\nexquisitely beautiful, and were, I have no doubt, executed by a\nFlorentine sculptor; the whole range of artistical power and religious\nfeeling being, in Florence, full half a century in advance of that of\nVenice. But this is the first truly Venetian tomb which has the Virtues;\nand it becomes of importance, therefore, to know what was the character\nof Morosini.\n\nThe reader must recollect, that I dated the commencement of the fall of\nVenice from the death of Carlo Zeno, considering that no state could be\nheld as in decline, which numbered such a man amongst its citizens.\nCarlo Zeno was a candidate for the Ducal bonnet together with Michael\nMorosini; and Morosini was chosen. It might be anticipated, therefore,\nthat there was something more than usually admirable or illustrious in\nhis character. Yet it is difficult to arrive at a just estimate of it,\nas the reader will at once understand by comparing the following\nstatements:\n\n   \u00a7 LXVI. 1. \"To him (Andrea Contarini) succeeded Morosini, at the age\n   of seventy-four years; a most learned and prudent man, who also\n   reformed several laws.\"--_Sansovino_, Vite de' Principi.\n\n   2. \"It was generally believed that, if his reign had been longer, he\n   would have dignified the state by many noble laws and institutes; but\n   by so much as his reign was full of hope, by as much was it short in\n   duration, for he died when he had been at the head of the republic\n   but four months.\"--_Sabellico_, lib. viii.\n\n   3. \"He was allowed but a short time to enjoy this high dignity, which\n   he had so well deserved by his rare virtues, for God called him to\n   Himself on the 15th of October.\"--_Muratori_, Annali de' Italia.\n\n   4. \"Two candidates presented themselves; one was Zeno, the other that\n   Michael Morosini who, during the war, had tripled his fortune by his\n   speculations. The suffrages of the electors fell upon him, and he was\n   proclaimed Doge on the 10th of June.\"--_Daru_, Histoire de Venise,\n   lib. x.\n\n   5. \"The choice of the electors was directed to Michele Morosini, a\n   noble of illustrious birth, derived from a stock which, coeval with\n   the republic itself, had produced the conqueror of Tyre, given a\n   queen to Hungary, and more than one Doge to Venice. The brilliancy of\n   this descent was tarnished in the present chief representative of the\n   family by the most base and grovelling avarice; for at that moment,\n   in the recent war, at which all other Venetians were devoting their\n   whole fortunes to the service of the state, Morosini sought in the\n   distresses of his country an opening for his own private enrichment,\n   and employed his ducats, not in the assistance of the national wants,\n   but in speculating upon houses which were brought to market at a\n   price far beneath their real value, and which, upon the return of\n   peace, insured the purchaser a fourfold profit. 'What matters the\n   fall of Venice to me, so as I fall not together with her?' was his\n   selfish and sordid reply to some one who expressed surprise at the\n   transaction.\"--_Sketches of Venetian History_. Murray, 1831.\n\n\u00a7 LXVIII. The writer of the unpretending little history from which the\nlast quotation is taken has not given his authority for this statement,\nand I could not find it, but believed, from the general accuracy of the\nbook, that some authority might exist better than Daru's. Under these\ncircumstances, wishing if possible to ascertain the truth, and to clear\nthe character of this great Doge from the accusation, if it proved\ngroundless, I wrote to the Count Carlo Morosini, his descendant, and one\nof the few remaining representatives of the ancient noblesse of Venice;\none, also, by whom his great ancestral name is revered, and in whom it\nis exalted. His answer appears to me altogether conclusive as to the\nutter fallacy of the reports of Daru and the English history. I have\nplaced his letter in the close of this volume (Appendix 6), in order\nthat the reader may himself be the judge upon this point; and I should\nnot have alluded to Daru's report, except for the purpose of\ncontradicting it, but that it still appears to me impossible that any\nmodern historian should have gratuitously invented the whole story, and\nthat, therefore, there must have been a trace in the documents which\nDaru himself possessed, of some scandal of this kind raised by\nMorosini's enemies, perhaps at the very time of the disputed election\nwith Carlo Zeno. The occurrence of the Virtues upon his tomb, for the\nfirst time in Venetian monumental work, and so richly and conspicuously\nplaced, may partly have been in public contradiction of such a floating\nrumor. But the face of the statue is a more explicit contradiction\nstill; it is resolute, thoughtful, serene, and full of beauty; and we\nmust, therefore, for once, allow the somewhat boastful introduction of\nthe Virtues to have been perfectly just: though the whole tomb is most\nnotable, as furnishing not only the exact intermediate condition in\nstyle between the pure Gothic and its final Renaissance corruption, but,\nat the same time, the exactly intermediate condition of _feeling_\nbetween the pure calmness of early Christianity, and the boastful pomp\nof the Renaissance faithlessness; for here we have still the religious\nhumility remaining in the mosaic of the canopy, which shows the Doge\nkneeling before the cross, while yet this tendency to self-trust is\nshown in the surrounding of the coffin by the Virtues.\n\n\u00a7 LXIX. The next tomb by the side of which they appear is that of Jacopo\nCavalli, in the same chapel of St. John and Paul which contains the tomb\nof the Doge Delfin. It is peculiarly rich in religious imagery, adorned\nby boldly cut types of the four evangelists, and of two saints, while,\non projecting brackets in front of it, stood three statues of Faith,\nHope, and Charity, now lost, but drawn in Zanotto's work. It is all rich\nin detail, and its sculptor has been proud of it, thus recording his\nname below the epitaph:\n\n  \"QST OPERA DINTALGIO E FATTO IN PIERA,\n   UNVENICIAN LAFE CHANOME POLO,\n   NATO DI JACHOMEL CHATAIAPIERA.\"\n\n   This work of sculpture is done in stone;\n   A Venetian did it, named Paul,\n   Son of Jachomel the stone-cutter.\n\nJacopo Cavalli died in 1384. He was a bold and active Veronese soldier,\ndid the state much service, was therefore ennobled by it, and became the\nfounder of the house of the Cavalli; but I find no especial reason for\nthe images of the Virtues, especially that of Charity, appearing at his\ntomb, unless it be this: that at the siege of Feltre, in the war against\nLeopold of Austria, he refused to assault the city, because the senate\nwould not grant his soldiers the pillage of the town. The feet of the\nrecumbent figure, which is in full armor, rest on a dog, and its head on\ntwo lions; and these animals (neither of which form any part of the\nknight's bearings) are said by Zanotto to be intended to symbolize his\nbravery and fidelity. If, however, the lions are meant to set forth\ncourage, it is a pity they should have been represented as howling.\n\n\u00a7 LXX. We must next pause for an instant beside the tomb of Michael\nSteno, now in the northern aisle of St. John and Paul, having been\nremoved there from the destroyed church of the Servi: first, to note its\nremarkable return to the early simplicity, the sarcophagus being\ndecorated only with two crosses in quatrefoils, though it is of the\nfifteenth century, Steno dying in 1413; and, in the second place, to\nobserve the peculiarity of the epitaph, which eulogises Steno as having\nbeen \"amator justitie, pacis, et ubertatis,\" \"a lover of justice, peace,\nand plenty.\" In the epitaphs of this period, the virtues which are made\nmost account of in public men are those which were most useful to their\ncountry. We have already seen one example in the epitaph on Simon\nDandolo; and similar expressions occur constantly in laudatory mentions\nof their later Doges by the Venetian writers. Thus Sansovino of Marco\nCornaro, \"Era savio huomo, eloquente, e amava molto la pace e l'\nabbondanza della citta;\" and of Tomaso Mocenigo, \"Huomo oltre modo\ndesideroso della pace.\"\n\nOf the tomb of this last-named Doge mention has before been made. Here,\nas in Morosini's, the images of the Virtues have no ironical power,\nalthough their great conspicuousness marks the increase of the boastful\nfeeling in the treatment of monuments. For the rest, this tomb is the\nlast in Venice which can be considered as belonging to the Gothic\nperiod. Its mouldings are already rudely classical, and it has\nmeaningless figures in Roman armor at the angles; but its tabernacle\nabove is still Gothic, and the recumbent figure is very beautiful. It\nwas carved by two Florentine sculptors in 1423.\n\n\u00a7 LXXI. Tomaso Mocenigo was succeeded by the renowned Doge, Francesco\nFoscari, under whom, it will be remembered, the last additions were made\nto the Gothic Ducal Palace; additions which, in form only, not in\nspirit, corresponded to the older portions; since, during his reign, the\ntransition took place which permits us no longer to consider the\nVenetian architecture as Gothic at all. He died in 1457, and his tomb is\nthe first important example of Renaissance art.\n\nNot, however, a good characteristic example. It is remarkable chiefly as\nintroducing all the faults of the Renaissance at an early period, when\nits merits, such as they are, were yet undeveloped. Its claim to be\nrated as a classical composition is altogether destroyed by the remnants\nof Gothic feeling which cling to it here and there in their last forms\nof degradation; and of which, now that we find them thus corrupted, the\nsooner we are rid the better. Thus the sarcophagus is supported by a\nspecies of trefoil arches; the bases of the shafts have still their\nspurs; and the whole tomb is covered by a pediment, with crockets and a\npinnacle. We shall find that the perfect Renaissance is at least pure in\nits insipidity, and subtle in its vice; but this monument is remarkable\nas showing the refuse of one style encumbering the embryo of another,\nand all principles of life entangled either in the swaddling clothes or\nthe shroud.\n\n\u00a7 LXXII. With respect to our present purpose, however, it is a monument\nof enormous importance. We have to trace, be it remembered, the pride of\nstate in its gradual intrusion upon the sepulchre; and the consequent\nand correlative vanishing of the expressions of religious feeling and\nheavenly hope, together with the more and more arrogant setting forth of\nthe virtues of the dead. Now this tomb is the largest and most costly we\nhave yet seen; but its means of religious expression are limited to a\nsingle statue of Christ, small and used merely as a pinnacle at the top.\nThe rest of the composition is as curious as it is vulgar. The conceit,\nso often noticed as having been borrowed from the Pisan school, of\nangels withdrawing the curtains of the couch to look down upon the dead,\nwas brought forward with increasing prominence by every succeeding\nsculptor; but, as we draw nearer to the Renaissance period, we find that\nthe _angels_ become of less importance, and the _curtains_ of more. With\nthe Pisans, the curtains are introduced as a motive for the angels; with\nthe Renaissance sculptors, the angels are introduced merely as a motive\nfor the curtains, which become every day more huge and elaborate. In the\nmonument of Mocenigo, they have already expanded into a tent, with a\npole in the centre of it: and in that of Foscari, for the first time,\nthe _angels are absent altogether_; while the curtains are arranged in\nthe form of an enormous French tent-bed, and are sustained at the flanks\nby two diminutive figures in Roman armor; substituted for the angels,\nmerely that the sculptor might _show his knowledge_ of classical\ncostume. And now observe how often a fault in feeling induces also a\nfault in style. In the old tombs, the angels used to stand on or by the\nside of the sarcophagus; but their places are here to be occupied by the\nVirtues, and therefore, to sustain the diminutive Roman figures at the\nnecessary height, each has a whole Corinthian pillar to himself, a\npillar whose shaft is eleven feet high, and some three or four feet\nround: and because this was not high enough, it is put on a pedestal\nfour feet and a half high; and has a spurred base besides of its own, a\ntall capital, then a huge bracket above the capital, and then another\npedestal above the bracket, and on the top of all the diminutive figure\nwho has charge of the curtains.\n\n\u00a7 LXXIII. Under the canopy, thus arranged, is placed the sarcophagus\nwith its recumbent figure. The statues of the Virgin and the saints have\ndisappeared from it. In their stead, its panels are filled with\nhalf-length figures of Faith, Hope, and Charity; while Temperance and\nFortitude are at the Doge's feet, Justice and Prudence at his head,\nfigures now the size of life, yet nevertheless recognizable only by\ntheir attributes: for, except that Hope raises her eyes, there is no\ndifference in the character or expression of any of their faces,--they\nare nothing more than handsome Venetian women, in rather full and\ncourtly dresses, and tolerably well thrown into postures for effect from\nbelow. Fortitude could not of course be placed in a graceful one without\nsome sacrifice of her character, but that was of no consequence in the\neyes of the sculptors of this period, so she leans back languidly, and\nnearly overthrows her own column; while Temperance, and Justice opposite\nto her, as neither the left hand of the one nor the right hand of the\nother could be seen from below, have been _left with one hand each_.\n\n\u00a7 LXXIV. Still these figures, coarse and feelingless as they are, have\nbeen worked with care, because the principal effect of the tomb depends\non them. But the effigy of the Doge, of which nothing but the side is\nvisible, has been utterly neglected; and the ingenuity of the sculptor\nis not so great, at the best, as that he can afford to be slovenly.\nThere is, indeed, nothing in the history of Foscari which would lead us\nto expect anything particularly noble in his face; but I trust,\nnevertheless, it has been misrepresented by this despicable carver; for\nno words are strong enough to express the baseness of the portraiture. A\nhuge, gross, bony clown's face, with the peculiar sodden and sensual\ncunning in it which is seen so often in the countenances of the worst\nRomanist priest; a face part of iron and part of clay, with the\nimmobility of the one, and the foulness of the other, double chinned,\nblunt-mouthed, bony-cheeked, with its brows drawn down into meagre lines\nand wrinkles over the eyelids; the face of a man incapable either of joy\nor sorrow, unless such as may be caused by the indulgence of passion, or\nthe mortification of pride. Even had he been such a one, a noble workman\nwould not have written it so legibly on his tomb; and I believe it to be\nthe image of the carver's own mind that is there hewn in the marble, not\nthat of the Doge Foscari. For the same mind is visible enough\nthroughout, the traces of it mingled with those of the evil taste of the\nwhole time and people. There is not anything so small but it is shown in\nsome portion of its treatment; for instance, in the placing of the\nshields at the back of the great curtain. In earlier times, the shield,\nas we have seen, was represented as merely suspended against the tomb by\na thong, or if sustained in any other manner, still its form was simple\nand undisguised. Men in those days used their shields in war, and\ntherefore there was no need to add dignity to their form by external\nornament. That which, through day after day of mortal danger, had borne\nback from them the waves of battle, could neither be degraded by\nsimplicity, nor exalted by decoration. By its rude leathern thong it\nseemed to be fastened to their tombs, and the shield of the mighty was\nnot cast away, though capable of defending its master no more.\n\n\u00a7 LXXV. It was otherwise in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The\nchanged system of warfare was rapidly doing away with the practical\nservice of the shield; and the chiefs who directed the battle from a\ndistance, or who passed the greater part of their lives in the\ncouncil-chamber, soon came to regard the shield as nothing more than a\nfield for their armorial bearings. It then became a principal object of\ntheir Pride of State to increase the conspicuousness of these marks of\nfamily distinction by surrounding them with various and fantastic\nornament, generally scroll or flower work, which of course deprived the\nshield of all appearance of being intended for a soldier's use. Thus the\nshield of the Foscari is introduced in two ways. On the sarcophagus,\nthe bearings are three times repeated, enclosed in circular disks, which\nare sustained each by a couple of naked infants. Above the canopy, two\nshields of the usual form are set in the centre of circles filled by a\nradiating ornament of shell flutings, which give them the effect of\nventilators; and their circumference is farther adorned by gilt rays,\nundulating to represent a glory.\n\n\u00a7 LXXVI. We now approach that period of the early Renaissance which was\nnoticed in the preceding chapter as being at first a very visible\nimprovement on the corrupted Gothic. The tombs executed during the\nperiod of the Byzantine Renaissance exhibit, in the first place, a\nconsummate skill in handling the chisel, perfect science of drawing and\nanatomy, high appreciation of good classical models, and a grace of\ncomposition and delicacy of ornament derived, I believe, principally\nfrom the great Florentine sculptors. But, together with this science,\nthey exhibit also, for a short time, some return to the early religious\nfeeling, forming a school of sculpture which corresponds to that of the\nschool of the Bellini in painting; and the only wonder is that there\nshould not have been more workmen in the fifteenth century doing in\nmarble what Perugino, Francia, and Bellini did on canvas. There are,\nindeed, some few, as I have just said, in whom the good and pure temper\nshows itself: but the sculptor was necessarily led sooner than the\npainter to an exclusive study of classical models, utterly adverse to\nthe Christian imagination; and he was also deprived of the great\npurifying and sacred element of color, besides having much more of\nmerely mechanical and therefore degrading labor to go through in the\nrealization of his thought. Hence I do not know any example in sculpture\nat this period, at least in Venice, which has not conspicuous faults\n(not faults of imperfection, as in early sculpture, but of purpose and\nsentiment), staining such beauties as it may possess; and the whole\nschool soon falls away, and merges into vain pomp and meagre metaphor.\n\n\u00a7 LXXVII. The most celebrated monument of this period is that to the\nDoge Andrea Vendramin, in the Church of St. John and Paul, sculptured\nabout 1480, and before alluded to in the first chapter of the first\nvolume. It has attracted public admiration, partly by its costliness,\npartly by the delicacy and precision of its chiselling; being otherwise\na very base and unworthy example of the school, and showing neither\ninvention nor feeling. It has the Virtues, as usual, dressed like\nheathen goddesses, and totally devoid of expression, though graceful and\nwell studied merely as female figures. The rest of its sculpture is all\nof the same kind; perfect in workmanship, and devoid of thought. Its\ndragons are covered with marvellous scales, but have no terror nor sting\nin them; its birds are perfect in plumage, but have no song in them; its\nchildren lovely of limb, but have no childishness in them.\n\n\u00a7 LXXVIII. Of far other workmanship are the tombs of Pietro and Giovanni\nMocenigo, in St. John and Paul, and of Pietro Bernardo in the Frari; in\nall which the details are as full of exquisite fancy, as they are\nperfect in execution; and in the two former, and several others of\nsimilar feeling, the old religious symbols return; the Madonna is again\nseen enthroned under the canopy, and the sarcophagus is decorated with\nlegends of the saints. But the fatal errors of sentiment are,\nnevertheless, always traceable. In the first place, the sculptor is\nalways seen to be intent upon the exhibition of his skill, more than on\nproducing any effect on the spectator's mind; elaborate backgrounds of\nlandscape, with tricks of perspective, imitations of trees, clouds, and\nwater, and various other unnecessary adjuncts, merely to show how marble\ncould be subdued; together with useless under-cutting, and over-finish\nin subordinate parts, continually exhibiting the same cold vanity and\nunexcited precision of mechanism. In the second place, the figures have\nall the peculiar tendency to posture-making, which, exhibiting itself\nfirst painfully in Perugino, rapidly destroyed the veracity of\ncomposition in all art. By posture-making I mean, in general, that\naction of figures which results from the painter's considering, in the\nfirst place, not how, under the circumstances, they would actually have\nwalked, or stood, or looked, but how they may most gracefully and\nharmoniously walk or stand. In the hands of a great man, posture, like\neverything else, becomes noble, even when over-studied, as with Michael\nAngelo, who was, perhaps, more than any other, the cause of the\nmischief; but, with inferior men, this habit of composing attitudes ends\nnecessarily in utter lifelessness and abortion. Giotto was, perhaps, of\nall painters, the most free from the infection of the poison, always\nconceiving an incident naturally, and drawing it unaffectedly; and the\nabsence of posture-making in the works of the Pre-Raphaelites, as\nopposed to the Attitudinarianism of the modern school, has been both one\nof their principal virtues, and of the principal causes of outcry\nagainst them.\n\n\u00a7 LXXIX. But the most significant change in the treatment of these\ntombs, with respect to our immediate object, is in the form of the\nsarcophagus. It was above noted, that, exactly in proportion to the\ndegree of the pride of life expressed in any monument, would be also the\nfear of death; and therefore, as these tombs increase in splendor, in\nsize, and beauty of workmanship, we perceive a gradual desire to _take\naway from the definite character of the sarcophagus_. In the earliest\ntimes, as we have seen, it was a gloomy mass of stone; gradually it\nbecame charged with religious sculpture; but never with the slightest\ndesire to disguise its form, until towards the middle of the fifteenth\ncentury. It then becomes enriched with flower-work and hidden by the\nVirtues; and, finally, losing its foursquare form, it is modelled on\ngraceful types of ancient vases, made as little like a coffin as\npossible, and refined away in various elegancies, till it becomes, at\nlast, a mere pedestal or stage for the portrait statue. This statue, in\nthe meantime, has been gradually coming back to life, through a curious\nseries of transitions. The Vendramin monument is one of the last which\nshows, or pretends to show, the recumbent figure laid in death. A few\nyears later, this idea became disagreeable to polite minds; and, lo! the\nfigures which before had been laid at rest upon the tomb pillow, raised\nthemselves on their elbows, and began to look round them. The soul of\nthe sixteenth century dared not contemplate its body in death.\n\n\u00a7 LXXX. The reader cannot but remember many instances of this form of\nmonument, England being peculiarly rich in examples of them; although,\nwith her, tomb sculpture, after the fourteenth century, is altogether\nimitative, and in no degree indicative of the temper of the people. It\nwas from Italy that the authority for the change was derived; and in\nItaly only, therefore, that it is truly correspondent to the change in\nthe national mind. There are many monuments in Venice of this\nsemi-animate type, most of them carefully sculptured, and some very\nadmirable as portraits, and for the casting of the drapery, especially\nthose in the Church of San Salvador; but I shall only direct the reader\nto one, that of Jacopo Pesaro, Bishop of Paphos, in the Church of the\nFrari; notable not only as a very skilful piece of sculpture, but for\nthe epitaph, singularly characteristic of the period, and confirmatory\nof all that I have alleged against it:\n\n \"James Pesaro, Bishop of Paphos, who conquered the Turks in war,\n   himself in peace, transported from a noble family among the Venetians\n   to a nobler among the angels, laid here, expects the noblest crown,\n   which the just Judge shall give to him in that day. He lived the\n   years of Plato. He died 24th March, 1547.\"[20]\n\nThe mingled classicism and carnal pride of this epitaph surely need no\ncomment. The crown is expected as a right from the justice of the judge,\nand the nobility of the Venetian family is only a little lower than that\nof the angels. The quaint childishness of the \"Vixit annos Platonicos\"\nis also very notable.\n\n\u00a7 LXXXI. The statue, however, did not long remain in this partially\nrecumbent attitude. Even the expression of peace became painful to the\nfrivolous and thoughtless Italians, and they required the portraiture to\nbe rendered in a manner that should induce no memory of death. The\nstatue rose up, and presented itself in front of the tomb, like an actor\nupon a stage, surrounded now not merely, or not at all, by the Virtues,\nbut by allegorical figures of Fame and Victory, by genii and muses, by\npersonifications of humbled kingdoms and adoring nations, and by every\ncircumstance of pomp, and symbol of adulation, that flattery could\nsuggest, or insolence could claim.\n\n\u00a7 LXXXII. As of the intermediate monumental type, so also of this, the\nlast and most gross, there are unfortunately many examples in our own\ncountry; but the most wonderful, by far, are still at Venice. I shall,\nhowever, particularize only two; the first, that of the Doge John\nPesaro, in the Frari. It is to be observed that we have passed over a\nconsiderable interval of time; we are now in the latter half of the\nseventeenth century; the progress of corruption has in the meantime been\nincessant, and sculpture has here lost its taste and learning as well as\nits feeling. The monument is a huge accumulation of theatrical scenery\nin marble: four colossal negro caryatides, grinning and horrible, with\nfaces of black marble and white eyes, sustain the first story of it;\nabove this, two monsters, long-necked, half dog and half dragon, sustain\nan ornamental sarcophagus, on the top of which the full-length statue of\nthe Doge in robes of state stands forward with its arms expanded, like\nan actor courting applause, under a huge canopy of metal, like the roof\nof a bed, painted crimson and gold; on each side of him are sitting\nfigures of genii, and unintelligible personifications gesticulating in\nRoman armor; below, between the negro caryatides, are two ghastly\nfigures in bronze, half corpse, half skeleton, carrying tablets on which\nis written the eulogium: but in large letters graven in gold, the\nfollowing words are the first and last that strike the eye; the first\ntwo phrases, one on each side, on tablets in the lower story, the last\nunder the portrait statue above:\n\n  VIXIT ANNOS LXX.            DEVIXIT ANNO MDCLIX.\n             \"HIC REVIXIT ANNO MDCLXIX.\"\n\nWe have here, at last, the horrible images of death in violent contrast\nwith the defiant monument, which pretends to bring the resurrection\ndown to earth, \"Hic revixit;\" and it seems impossible for false taste\nand base feeling to sink lower. Yet even this monument is surpassed by\none in St. John and Paul.\n\n\u00a7 LXXXIII. But before we pass to this, the last with which I shall\nburden the reader's attention, let us for a moment, and that we may feel\nthe contrast more forcibly, return to a tomb of the early times.\n\nIn a dark niche in the outer wall of the outer corridor of St.\nMark's--not even in the church, observe, but in the atrium or porch of\nit, and on the north side of the church,--is a solid sarcophagus of\nwhite marble, raised only about two feet from the ground on four stunted\nsquare pillars. Its lid is a mere slab of stone; on its extremities are\nsculptured two crosses; in front of it are two rows of rude figures, the\nuppermost representing Christ with the Apostles: the lower row is of six\nfigures only, alternately male and female, holding up their hands in the\nusual attitude of benediction; the sixth is smaller than the rest, and\nthe midmost of the other five has a glory round its head. I cannot tell\nthe meaning of these figures, but between them are suspended censers\nattached to crosses; a most beautiful symbolic expression of Christ's\nmediatorial function. The whole is surrounded by a rude wreath of vine\nleaves, proceeding out of the foot of a cross.\n\nOn the bar of marble which separates the two rows of figures are\ninscribed these words:\n\n  \"Here lies the Lord Marin Morosini, Duke.\"\n\nIt is the tomb of the Doge Marino Morosini, who reigned from 1249 to\n1252.\n\n\u00a7 LXXXIV. From before this rude and solemn sepulchre let us pass to the\nsouthern aisle of the church of St. John and Paul; and there, towering\nfrom the pavement to the vaulting of the church, behold a mass of\nmarble, sixty or seventy feet in height, of mingled yellow and white,\nthe yellow carved into the form of an enormous curtain, with ropes,\nfringes, and tassels, sustained by cherubs; in front of which, in the\nnow usual stage attitudes, advance the statues of the Doge Bertuccio\nValier, his son the Doge Silvester Falier, and his son's wife,\nElizabeth. The statues of the Doges, though mean and Polonius-like, are\npartly redeemed by the Ducal robes; but that of the Dogaressa is a\nconsummation of grossness, vanity, and ugliness,--the figure of a large\nand wrinkled woman, with elaborate curls in stiff projection round her\nface, covered from her shoulders to her feet with ruffs, furs, lace,\njewels, and embroidery. Beneath and around are scattered Virtues,\nVictories, Fames, genii,--the entire company of the monumental stage\nassembled, as before a drop scene,--executed by various sculptors, and\ndeserving attentive study as exhibiting every condition of false taste\nand feeble conception. The Victory in the centre is peculiarly\ninteresting; the lion by which she is accompanied, springing on a\ndragon, has been intended to look terrible, but the incapable sculptor\ncould not conceive any form of dreadfulness, could not even make the\nlion look angry. It looks only lachrymose; and its lifted forepaws,\nthere being no spring nor motion in its body, give it the appearance of\na dog begging. The inscriptions under the two principal statues are as\nfollows:\n\n      \"Bertucius Valier, Duke,\n   Great in wisdom and eloquence,\n  Greater in his Hellespontic victory,\n    Greatest in the Prince his son.\n       Died in the year 1658.\"\n\n         \"Elisabeth Quirina,\n       The wife of Silvester,\n    Distinguished by Roman virtue,\n         By Venetian piety,\n       And by the Ducal crown,\n            Died 1708.\"\n\nThe writers of this age were generally anxious to make the world aware\nthat they understood the degrees of comparison, and a large number of\nepitaphs are principally constructed with this object (compare, in the\nLatin, that of the Bishop of Paphos, given above): but the latter of\nthese epitaphs is also interesting from its mention, in an age now\naltogether given up to the pursuit of worldly honor, of that \"Venetian\npiety\" which once truly distinguished the city from all others; and of\nwhich some form and shadow, remaining still, served to point an epitaph,\nand to feed more cunningly and speciously the pride which could not be\nsatiated with the sumptuousness of the sepulchre.\n\n\u00a7 LXXXV. Thus far, then, of the second element of the Renaissance spirit,\nthe Pride of State; nor need we go farther to learn the reason of the\nfall of Venice. She was already likened in her thoughts, and was\ntherefore to be likened in her ruin, to the Virgin of Babylon. The Pride\nof State and the Pride of Knowledge were no new passions: the sentence\nagainst them had gone forth from everlasting. \"Thou saidst, I shall be a\nlady for ever; so that thou didst not lay these things to thine heart ...\n_Thy wisdom and thy knowledge, it hath perverted thee_; and thou hast\nsaid in thine heart, I am, and none else beside me. Therefore shall evil\ncome upon thee ...; thy merchants from thy youth, they shall wander every\none to his quarter; none shall save thee.\"[21]\n\n\u00a7 LXXXVI. III. PRIDE OF SYSTEM. I might have illustrated these evil\nprinciples from a thousand other sources, but I have not time to pursue\nthe subject farther, and must pass to the third element above named, the\nPride of System. It need not detain us so long as either of the others,\nfor it is at once more palpable and less dangerous. The manner in which\nthe pride of the fifteenth century corrupted the sources of knowledge,\nand diminished the majesty, while it multiplied the trappings, of state,\nis in general little observed; but the reader is probably already well\nand sufficiently aware of the curious tendency to formulization and\nsystem which, under the name of philosophy, encumbered the minds of the\nRenaissance schoolmen. As it was above stated, grammar became the first\nof sciences; and whatever subject had to be treated, the first aim of\nthe philosopher was to subject its principles to a code of laws, in the\nobservation of which the merit of the speaker, thinker, or worker, in\nor on that subject, was thereafter to consist; so that the whole mind of\nthe world was occupied by the exclusive study of Restraints. The sound\nof the forging of fetters was heard from sea to sea. The doctors of all\nthe arts and sciences set themselves daily to the invention of new\nvarieties of cages and manacles; they themselves wore, instead of gowns,\na chain mail, whose purpose was not so much to avert the weapon of the\nadversary as to restrain the motions of the wearer; and all the acts,\nthoughts, and workings of mankind,--poetry, painting, architecture, and\nphilosophy,--were reduced by them merely to so many different forms of\nfetter-dance.\n\n\u00a7 LXXXVII. Now, I am very sure that no reader who has given any\nattention to the former portions of this work, or the tendency of what\nelse I have written, more especially the last chapter of the \"Seven\nLamps,\" will suppose me to underrate the importance, or dispute the\nauthority, of law. It has been necessary for me to allege these again\nand again, nor can they ever be too often or too energetically alleged,\nagainst the vast masses of men who now disturb or retard the advance of\ncivilization; heady and high-minded, despisers of discipline, and\nrefusers of correction. But law, so far as it can be reduced to form and\nsystem, and is not written upon the heart,--as it is, in a Divine\nloyalty, upon the hearts of the great hierarchies who serve and wait\nabout the throne of the Eternal Lawgiver,--this lower and formally\nexpressible law has, I say, two objects. It is either for the definition\nand restraint of sin, or the guidance of simplicity; it either explains,\nforbids, and punishes wickedness, or it guides the movements and actions\nboth of lifeless things and of the more simple and untaught among\nresponsible agents. And so long, therefore, as sin and foolishness are\nin the world, so long it will be necessary for men to submit themselves\npainfully to this lower law, in proportion to their need of being\ncorrected, and to the degree of childishness or simplicity by which they\napproach more nearly to the condition of the unthinking and inanimate\nthings which are governed by law altogether; yet yielding, in the manner\nof their submission to it, a singular lesson to the pride of\nman,--being obedient more perfectly in proportion to their\ngreatness.[22] But, so far as men become good and wise, and rise above\nthe state of children, so far they become emancipated from this written\nlaw, and invested with the perfect freedom which consists in the fulness\nand joyfulness of compliance with a higher and unwritten law; a law so\nuniversal, so subtle, so glorious, that nothing but the heart can keep\nit.\n\n\u00a7 LXXXVIII. Now pride opposes itself to the observance of this Divine\nlaw in two opposite ways: either by brute resistance, which is the way\nof the rabble and its leaders, denying or defying law altogether; or by\nformal compliance, which is the way of the Pharisee, exalting himself\nwhile he pretends to obedience, and making void the infinite and\nspiritual commandment by the finite and lettered commandment. And it is\neasy to know which law we are obeying: for any law which we magnify and\nkeep through pride, is always the law of the letter; but that which we\nlove and keep through humility, is the law of the Spirit: And the letter\nkilleth, but the Spirit giveth life.\n\n\u00a7 LXXXIX. In the appliance of this universal principle to what we have\nat present in hand, it is to be noted, that all written or writable law\nrespecting the arts is for the childish and ignorant: that in the\nbeginning of teaching, it is possible to say that this or that must or\nmust not be done; and laws of color and shade may be taught, as laws of\nharmony are to the young scholar in music. But the moment a man begins\nto be anything deserving the name of an artist, all this teachable law\nhas become a matter of course with him; and if, thenceforth, he boast\nhimself anywise in the law, or pretend that he lives and works by it, it\nis a sure sign that he is merely tithing cummin, and that there is no\ntrue art nor religion in him. For the true artist has that inspiration\nin him which is above all law, or rather, which is continually working\nout such magnificent and perfect obedience to supreme law, as can in no\nwise be rendered by line and rule. There are more laws perceived and\nfulfilled in the single stroke of a great workman, than could be written\nin a volume. His science is inexpressibly subtle, directly taught him by\nhis Maker, not in any wise communicable or imitable.[23] Neither can any\nwritten or definitely observable laws enable us to do any great thing.\nIt is possible, by measuring and administering quantities of color, to\npaint a room wall so that it shall not hurt the eye; but there are no\nlaws by observing which we can become Titians. It is possible so to\nmeasure and administer syllables, as to construct harmonious verse; but\nthere are no laws by which we can write Iliads. Out of the poem or the\npicture, once produced, men may elicit laws by the volume, and study\nthem with advantage, to the better understanding of the existing poem or\npicture; but no more write or paint another, than by discovering laws of\nvegetation they can make a tree to grow. And therefore, wheresoever we\nfind the system and formality of rules much dwelt upon, and spoken of as\nanything else than a help for children, there we may be sure that noble\nart is not even understood, far less reached. And thus it was with all\nthe common and public mind in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The\ngreater men, indeed, broke through the thorn hedges; and, though much\ntime was lost by the learned among them in writing Latin verses and\nanagrams, and arranging the framework of quaint sonnets and dexterous\nsyllogisms, still they tore their way through the sapless thicket by\nforce of intellect or of piety; for it was not possible that, either in\nliterature or in painting, rules could be received by any strong mind,\nso as materially to interfere with its originality: and the crabbed\ndiscipline and exact scholarship became an advantage to the men who\ncould pass through and despise them; so that in spite of the rules of\nthe drama we had Shakspeare, and in spite of the rules of art we had\nTintoret,--both of them, to this day, doing perpetual violence to the\nvulgar scholarship and dim-eyed proprieties of the multitude.\n\n\u00a7 XC. But in architecture it was not so; for that was the art of the\nmultitude, and was affected by all their errors; and the great men who\nentered its field, like Michael Angelo, found expression for all the\nbest part of their minds in sculpture, and made the architecture merely\nits shell. So the simpletons and sophists had their way with it: and the\nreader can have no conception of the inanities and puerilities of the\nwriters, who, with the help of Vitruvius, re-established its \"five\norders,\" determined the proportions of each, and gave the various\nrecipes for sublimity and beauty, which have been thenceforward followed\nto this day, but which may, I believe, in this age of perfect machinery,\nbe followed out still farther. If, indeed, there are only five perfect\nforms of columns and architraves, and there be a fixed proportion to\neach, it is certainly possible, with a little ingenuity, so to regulate\na stonecutting machine, as that it shall furnish pillars and friezes to\nthe size ordered, of any of the five orders, on the most perfect Greek\nmodels, in any quantity; an epitome, also, of Vitruvius, may be made so\nsimple, as to enable any bricklayer to set them up at their proper\ndistances, and we may dispense with our architects altogether.\n\n\u00a7 XCI. But if this be not so, and there be any truth in the faint\npersuasion which still lurks in men's minds that architecture _is_ an\nart, and that it requires some gleam of intellect to practise it, then\nlet the whole system of the orders and their proportions be cast out and\ntrampled down as the most vain, barbarous, and paltry deception that was\never stamped on human prejudice; and let us understand this plain truth,\ncommon to all work of man, that, if it be good work, it is not a copy,\nnor anything done by rule, but a freshly and divinely imagined thing.\nFive orders! There is not a side chapel in any Gothic cathedral but it\nhas fifty orders, the worst of them better than the best of the Greek\nones, and all new; and a single inventive human soul could create a\nthousand orders in an hour.[24] And this would have been discovered even\nin the worst times, but that, as I said, the greatest men of the age\nfound expression for their invention in the other arts, and the best of\nthose who devoted themselves to architecture were in great part occupied\nin adapting the construction of buildings to new necessities, such as\nthose developed by the invention of gunpowder (introducing a totally new\nand most interesting science of fortification, which directed the\ningenuity of Sanmicheli and many others from its proper channel), and\nfound interest of a meaner kind in the difficulties of reconciling the\nobsolete architectural laws they had consented to revive, and the forms\nof Roman architecture which they agreed to copy, with the requirements\nof the daily life of the sixteenth century.\n\n\u00a7 XCII. These, then, were the three principal directions in which the\nRenaissance pride manifested itself, and its impulses were rendered\nstill more fatal by the entrance of another element, inevitably\nassociated with pride. For, as it is written, \"He that trusteth in his\nown heart is a fool,\" so also it is written, \"The fool hath said in his\nheart, There is no God;\" and the self-adulation which influenced not\nless the learning of the age than its luxury, led gradually to the\nforgetfulness of all things but self, and to an infidelity only the more\nfatal because it still retained the form and language of faith.\n\n\u00a7 XCIII. IV. INFIDELITY. In noticing the more prominent forms in which\nthis faithlessness manifested itself, it is necessary to distinguish\njustly between that which was the consequence of respect for Paganism,\nand that which followed from the corruption of Catholicism. For as the\nRoman architecture is not to be made answerable for the primal\ncorruption of the Gothic, so neither is the Roman philosophy to be made\nanswerable for the primal corruption of Christianity. Year after year,\nas the history of the life of Christ sank back into the depths of time,\nand became obscured by the misty atmosphere of the history of the\nworld,--as intermediate actions and incidents multiplied in number, and\ncountless changes in men's modes of life, and tones of thought, rendered\nit more difficult for them to imagine the facts of distant time,--it\nbecame daily, almost hourly, a greater effort for the faithful heart to\napprehend the entire veracity and vitality of the story of its Redeemer;\nand more easy for the thoughtless and remiss to deceive themselves as to\nthe true character of the belief they had been taught to profess. And\nthis must have been the case, had the pastors of the Church never failed\nin their watchfulness, and the Church itself never erred in its practice\nor doctrine. But when every year that removed the truths of the Gospel\ninto deeper distance, added to them also some false or foolish\ntradition; when wilful distortion was added to natural obscurity, and\nthe dimness of memory was disguised by the fruitfulness of fiction;\nwhen, moreover, the enormous temporal power granted to the clergy\nattracted into their ranks multitudes of men who, but for such\ntemptation, would not have pretended to the Christian name, so that\ngrievous wolves entered in among them, not sparing the flock; and when,\nby the machinations of such men, and the remissness of others, the form\nand administrations of Church doctrine and discipline had become little\nmore than a means of aggrandizing the power of the priesthood, it was\nimpossible any longer for men of thoughtfulness or piety to remain in an\nunquestioning serenity of faith. The Church had become so mingled with\nthe world that its witness could no longer be received; and the\nprofessing members of it, who were placed in circumstances such as to\nenable them to become aware of its corruptions, and whom their interest\nor their simplicity did not bribe or beguile into silence, gradually\nseparated themselves into two vast multitudes of adverse energy, one\ntending to Reformation, and the other to Infidelity.\n\n\u00a7 XCIV. Of these, the last stood, as it were, apart, to watch the course\nof the struggle between Romanism and Protestantism; a struggle which,\nhowever necessary, was attended with infinite calamity to the Church.\nFor, in the first place, the Protestant movement was, in reality, not\n_reformation_ but _reanimation_. It poured new life into the Church, but\nit did not form or define her anew. In some sort it rather broke down\nher hedges, so that all they who passed by might pluck off her grapes.\nThe reformers speedily found that the enemy was never far behind the\nsower of good seed; that an evil spirit might enter the ranks of\nreformation as well as those of resistance; and that though the deadly\nblight might be checked amidst the wheat, there was no hope of ever\nridding the wheat itself from the tares. New temptations were invented\nby Satan wherewith to oppose the revived strength of Christianity: as\nthe Romanist, confiding in his human teachers, had ceased to try whether\nthey were teachers sent from God, so the Protestant, confiding in the\nteaching of the Spirit, believed every spirit, and did not try the\nspirits whether they were of God. And a thousand enthusiasms and\nheresies speedily obscured the faith and divided the force of the\nReformation.\n\n\u00a7 XCV. But the main evils rose out of the antagonism of the two great\nparties; primarily, in the mere fact of the existence of an antagonism.\nTo the eyes of the unbeliever the Church of Christ, for the first time\nsince its foundation, bore the aspect of a house divided against itself.\nNot that many forms of schism had not before arisen in it; but either\nthey had been obscure and silent, hidden among the shadows of the Alps\nand the marshes of the Rhine; or they had been outbreaks of visible and\nunmistakable error, cast off by the Church, rootless, and speedily\nwithering away, while, with much that was erring and criminal, she still\nretained within her the pillar and ground of the truth. But here was at\nlast a schism in which truth and authority were at issue. The body that\nwas cast off withered away no longer. It stretched out its boughs to the\nsea and its branches to the river, and it was the ancient trunk that\ngave signs of decrepitude. On one side stood the reanimated faith, in\nits right hand the book open, and its left hand lifted up to heaven,\nappealing for its proof to the Word of the Testimony and the power of\nthe Holy Ghost. On the other stood, or seemed to stand, all beloved\ncustom and believed tradition; all that for fifteen hundred years had\nbeen closest to the hearts of men, or most precious for their help.\nLong-trusted legend; long-reverenced power; long-practised discipline;\nfaiths that had ruled the destiny, and sealed the departure, of souls\nthat could not be told or numbered for multitude; prayers, that from the\nlips of the fathers to those of the children had distilled like sweet\nwaterfalls, sounding through the silence of ages, breaking themselves\ninto heavenly dew to return upon the pastures of the wilderness; hopes,\nthat had set the face as a flint in the torture, and the sword as a\nflame in the battle, that had pointed the purposes and ministered the\nstrength of life, brightened the last glances and shaped the last\nsyllables of death; charities, that had bound together the brotherhoods\nof the mountain and the desert, and had woven chains of pitying or\naspiring communion between this world and the unfathomable beneath and\nabove; and, more than these, the spirits of all the innumerable,\nundoubting, dead, beckoning to the one way by which they had been\ncontent to follow the things that belonged unto their peace;--these all\nstood on the other side: and the choice must have been a bitter one,\neven at the best; but it was rendered tenfold more bitter by the\nnatural, but most sinful animosity of the two divisions of the Church\nagainst each other.\n\n\u00a7 XCVI. On one side this animosity was, of course, inevitable. The\nRomanist party, though still including many Christian men, necessarily\nincluded, also, all the worst of those who called themselves Christians.\nIn the fact of its refusing correction, it stood confessed as the Church\nof the unholy; and, while it still counted among its adherents many of\nthe simple and believing,--men unacquainted with the corruption of the\nbody to which they belonged, or incapable of accepting any form of\ndoctrine but that which they had been taught from their youth,--it\ngathered together with them whatever was carnal and sensual in\npriesthood or in people, all the lovers of power in the one, and of ease\nin the other. And the rage of these men was, of course, unlimited\nagainst those who either disputed their authority, reprehended their\nmanner of life, or cast suspicion upon the popular methods of lulling\nthe conscience in the lifetime, or purchasing salvation on the\ndeath-bed.\n\n\u00a7 XCVII. Besides this, the reassertion and defence of various tenets\nwhich before had been little more than floating errors in the popular\nmind, but which, definitely attacked by Protestantism, it became\nnecessary to fasten down with a band of iron and brass, gave a form at\nonce more rigid, and less rational, to the whole body of Romanist\nDivinity. Multitudes of minds which in other ages might have brought\nhonor and strength to the Church, preaching the more vital truths which\nit still retained, were now occupied in pleading for arraigned\nfalsehoods, or magnifying disused frivolities; and it can hardly be\ndoubted by any candid observer, that the nascent or latent errors which\nGod pardoned in times of ignorance, became unpardonable when they were\nformally defined and defended; that fallacies which were forgiven to the\nenthusiasm of a multitude, were avenged upon the stubbornness of a\nCouncil; that, above all, the great invention of the age, which rendered\nGod's word accessible to every man, left all sins against its light\nincapable of excuse or expiation; and that from the moment when Rome set\nherself in direct opposition to the Bible, the judgment was pronounced\nupon her, which made her the scorn and the prey of her own children, and\ncast her down from the throne where she had magnified herself against\nheaven, so low, that at last the unimaginable scene of the Bethlehem\nhumiliation was mocked in the temples of Christianity. Judea had seen\nher God laid in the manger of the beasts of burden; it was for\nChristendom to stable the beasts of burden by the altar of her God.\n\n\u00a7 XCVIII. Nor, on the other hand, was the opposition of Protestantism to\nthe Papacy less injurious to itself. That opposition was, for the most\npart, intemperate, undistinguishing, and incautious. It could indeed\nhardly be otherwise. Fresh bleeding from the sword of Rome, and still\ntrembling at her anathema, the reformed churches were little likely to\nremember any of her benefits, or to regard any of her teaching. Forced\nby the Romanist contumely into habits of irreverence, by the Romanist\nfallacies into habits of disbelief, the self-trusting, rashly-reasoning\nspirit gained ground among them daily. Sect branched out of sect,\npresumption rose over presumption; the miracles of the early Church\nwere denied and its martyrs forgotten, though their power and palm were\nclaimed by the members of every persecuted sect; pride, malice, wrath,\nlove of change, masked themselves under the thirst for truth, and\nmingled with the just resentment of deception, so that it became\nimpossible even for the best and truest men to know the plague of their\nown hearts; while avarice and impiety openly transformed reformation\ninto robbery, and reproof into sacrilege. Ignorance could as easily lead\nthe foes of the Church, as lull her slumber; men who would once have\nbeen the unquestioning recipients, were now the shameless inventors of\nabsurd or perilous superstitions; they who were of the temper that\nwalketh in darkness, gained little by having discovered their guides to\nbe blind; and the simplicity of the faith, ill understood and\ncontumaciously alleged, became an excuse for the rejection of the\nhighest arts and most tried wisdom of mankind: while the learned\ninfidel, standing aloof, drew his own conclusions, both from the rancor\nof the antagonists, and from their errors; believed each in all that he\nalleged against the other; and smiled with superior humanity, as he\nwatched the winds of the Alps drift the ashes of Jerome, and the dust of\nEngland drink the blood of King Charles.\n\n\u00a7 XCIX. Now all this evil was, of course, entirely independent of the\nrenewal of the study of Pagan writers. But that renewal found the faith\nof Christendom already weakened and divided; and therefore it was itself\nproductive of an effect tenfold greater than could have been apprehended\nfrom it at another time. It acted first, as before noticed, in leading\nthe attention of all men to words instead of things; for it was\ndiscovered that the language of the middle ages had been corrupt, and\nthe primal object of every scholar became now to purify his style. To\nthis study of words, that of forms being added, both as of matters of\nthe first importance, half the intellect of the age was at once absorbed\nin the base sciences of grammar, logic, and rhetoric; studies utterly\nunworthy of the serious labor of men, and necessarily rendering those\nemployed upon them incapable of high thoughts or noble emotion. Of the\ndebasing tendency of philology, no proof is needed beyond once reading\na grammarian's notes on a great poet: logic is unnecessary for men who\ncan reason; and about as useful to those who cannot, as a machine for\nforcing one foot in due succession before the other would be to a man\nwho could not walk: while the study of rhetoric is exclusively one for\nmen who desire to deceive or be deceived; he who has the truth at his\nheart need never fear the want of persuasion on his tongue, or, if he\nfear it, it is because the base rhetoric of dishonesty keeps the truth\nfrom being heard.\n\n\u00a7 C. The study of these sciences, therefore, naturally made men shallow\nand dishonest in general; but it had a peculiarly fatal effect with\nrespect to religion, in the view which men took of the Bible. Christ's\nteaching was discovered not to be rhetorical, St. Paul's preaching not\nto be logical, and the Greek of the New Testament not to be grammatical.\nThe stern truth, the profound pathos, the impatient period, leaping from\npoint to point and leaving the intervals for the hearer to fill, the\ncomparatively Hebraized and unelaborate idiom, had little in them of\nattraction for the students of phrase and syllogism; and the chief\nknowledge of the age became one of the chief stumbling-blocks to its\nreligion.\n\n\u00a7 CI. But it was not the grammarian and logician alone who was thus\nretarded or perverted; in them there had been small loss. The men who\ncould truly appreciate the higher excellences of the classics were\ncarried away by a current of enthusiasm which withdrew them from every\nother study. Christianity was still professed as a matter of form, but\nneither the Bible nor the writings of the Fathers had time left for\ntheir perusal, still less heart left for their acceptance. The human\nmind is not capable of more than a certain amount of admiration or\nreverence, and that which was given to Horace was withdrawn from David.\nReligion is, of all subjects, that which will least endure a second\nplace in the heart or thoughts, and a languid and occasional study of it\nwas sure to lead to error or infidelity. On the other hand, what was\nheartily admired and unceasingly contemplated was soon brought nigh to\nbeing believed; and the systems of Pagan mythology began gradually to\nassume the places in the human mind from which the unwatched\nChristianity was wasting. Men did not indeed openly sacrifice to\nJupiter, or build silver shrines for Diana, but the ideas of Paganism\nnevertheless became thoroughly vital and present with them at all times;\nand it did not matter in the least, as far as respected the power of\ntrue religion, whether the Pagan image was believed in or not, so long\nas it entirely occupied the thoughts. The scholar of the sixteenth\ncentury, if he saw the lightning shining from the east unto the west,\nthought forthwith of Jupiter, not of the coming of the Son of Man; if he\nsaw the moon walking in brightness, he thought of Diana, not of the\nthrone which was to be established for ever as a faithful witness in\nheaven; and though his heart was but secretly enticed, yet thus he\ndenied the God that is above.[25]\n\nAnd, indeed, this double creed, of Christianity confessed and Paganism\nbeloved, was worse than Paganism itself, inasmuch as it refused\neffective and practical belief altogether. It would have been better to\nhave worshipped Diana and Jupiter at once, than to have gone on through\nthe whole of life naming one God, imagining another, and dreading none.\nBetter, a thousandfold, to have been \"a Pagan suckled in some creed\noutworn,\" than to have stood by the great sea of Eternity and seen no\nGod walking on its waves, no heavenly world on its horizon.\n\n\u00a7 CII. This fatal result of an enthusiasm for classical literature was\nhastened and heightened by the misdirection of the powers of art. The\nimagination of the age was actively set to realize these objects of\nPagan belief; and all the most exalted faculties of man, which, up to\nthat period, had been employed in the service of Faith, were now\ntransferred to the service of Fiction. The invention which had formerly\nbeen both sanctified and strengthened by laboring under the command of\nsettled intention, and on the ground of assured belief, had now the\nreins laid upon its neck by passion, and all ground of fact cut from\nbeneath its feet; and the imagination which formerly had helped men to\napprehend the truth, now tempted them to believe a falsehood. The\nfaculties themselves wasted away in their own treason; one by one they\nfell in the potter's field; and the Raphael who seemed sent and inspired\nfrom heaven that he might paint Apostles and Prophets, sank at once into\npowerlessness at the feet of Apollo and the Muses.\n\n\u00a7 CIII. But this was not all. The habit of using the greatest gifts of\nimagination upon fictitious subjects, of course destroyed the honor and\nvalue of the same imagination used in the cause of truth. Exactly in the\nproportion in which Jupiters and Mercuries were embodied and believed,\nin that proportion Virgins and Angels were disembodied and disbelieved.\nThe images summoned by art began gradually to assume one average value\nin the spectator's mind; and incidents from the Iliad and from the\nExodus to come within the same degrees of credibility. And, farther,\nwhile the powers of the imagination were becoming daily more and more\nlanguid, because unsupported by faith, the manual skill and science of\nthe artist were continually on the increase. When these had reached a\ncertain point, they began to be the principal things considered in the\npicture, and its story or scene to be thought of only as a theme for\ntheir manifestation. Observe the difference. In old times, men used\ntheir powers of painting to show the objects of faith; in later times,\nthey used the objects of faith that they might show their powers of\npainting. The distinction is enormous, the difference incalculable as\nirreconcilable. And thus, the more skilful the artist, the less his\nsubject was regarded; and the hearts of men hardened as their handling\nsoftened, until they reached a point when sacred, profane, or sensual\nsubjects were employed, with absolute indifference, for the display of\ncolor and execution; and gradually the mind of Europe congealed into\nthat state of utter apathy,--inconceivable, unless it had been\nwitnessed, and unpardonable, unless by us, who have been infected by\nit,--which permits us to place the Madonna and the Aphrodite side by\nside in our galleries, and to pass, with the same unmoved inquiry into\nthe manner of their handling, from a Bacchanal to a Nativity.\n\nNow all this evil, observe, would have been merely the necessary and\nnatural operation of an enthusiasm for the classics, and of a delight in\nthe mere science of the artist, on the most virtuous mind. But this\noperation took place upon minds enervated by luxury, and which were\ntempted, at the very same period, to forgetfulness or denial of all\nreligious principle by their own basest instincts. The faith which had\nbeen undermined by the genius of Pagans, was overthrown by the crimes of\nChristians; and the ruin which was begun by scholarship, was completed\nby sensuality. The characters of the heathen divinities were as suitable\nto the manners of the time as their forms were agreeable to its taste;\nand Paganism again became, in effect, the religion of Europe. That is to\nsay, the civilized world is at this moment, collectively, just as Pagan\nas it was in the second century; a small body of believers being now, as\nthey were then, representative of the Church of Christ in the midst of\nthe faithless: but there is just this difference, and this very fatal\none, between the second and nineteenth centuries, that the Pagans are\nnominally and fashionably Christians, and that there is every\nconceivable variety and shade of belief between the two; so that not\nonly is it most difficult theoretically to mark the point where\nhesitating trust and failing practice change into definite infidelity,\nbut it has become a point of politeness not to inquire too deeply into\nour neighbor's religious opinions; and, so that no one be offended by\nviolent breach of external forms, to waive any close examination into\nthe tenets of faith. The fact is, we distrust each other and ourselves\nso much, that we dare not press this matter; we know that if, on any\noccasion of general intercourse, we turn to our next neighbor, and put\nto him some searching or testing question, we shall, in nine cases out\nof ten, discover him to be only a Christian in his own way, and as far\nas he thinks proper, and that he doubts of many things which we\nourselves do not believe strongly enough to hear doubted without danger.\nWhat is in reality cowardice and faithlessness, we call charity; and\nconsider it the part of benevolence sometimes to forgive men's evil\npractice for the sake of their accurate faith, and sometimes to forgive\ntheir confessed heresy for the sake of their admirable practice. And\nunder this shelter of charity, humility, and faintheartedness, the\nworld, unquestioned by others or by itself, mingles with and overwhelms\nthe small body of Christians, legislates for them, moralizes for them,\nreasons for them; and, though itself of course greatly and beneficently\ninfluenced by the association, and held much in check by its pretence to\nChristianity, yet undermines, in nearly the same degree, the sincerity\nand practical power of Christianity itself, until at last, in the very\ninstitutions of which the administration may be considered as the\nprincipal test of the genuineness of national religion, those devoted to\neducation, the Pagan system is completely triumphant; and the entire\nbody of the so-called Christian world has established a system of\ninstruction for its youth, wherein neither the history of Christ's\nChurch, nor the language of God's law, is considered a study of the\nsmallest importance; wherein, of all subjects of human inquiry, his own\nreligion is the one in which a youth's ignorance is most easily\nforgiven;[26] and in which it is held a light matter that he should be\ndaily guilty of lying, or debauchery, or of blasphemy, so only that he\nwrite Latin verses accurately, and with speed.\n\nI believe that in few years more we shall wake from all these errors in\nastonishment, as from evil dreams; having been preserved, in the midst\nof their madness, by those hidden roots of active and earnest\nChristianity which God's grace has bound in the English nation with iron\nand brass. But in the Venetian, those roots themselves had withered;\nand, from the palace of their ancient religion, their pride cast them\nforth hopelessly to the pasture of the brute. From pride to infidelity,\nfrom infidelity to the unscrupulous and insatiable pursuit of pleasure,\nand from this to irremediable degradation, the transitions were swift,\nlike the falling of a star. The great palaces of the haughtiest nobles\nof Venice were stayed, before they had risen far above their\nfoundations, by the blast of a penal poverty; and the wild grass, on the\nunfinished fragments of their mighty shafts, waves at the tide-mark\nwhere the power of the godless people first heard the \"Hitherto shalt\nthou come.\" And the regeneration in which they had so vainly\ntrusted,--the new birth and clear dawning, as they thought it, of all\nart, all knowledge, and all hope,--became to them as that dawn which\nEzekiel saw on the hills of Israel: \"Behold the day; behold, it is come.\nThe rod hath blossomed, pride hath budded, violence is risen up into a\nrod of wickedness. None of them shall remain, nor of their multitude;\nlet not the buyer rejoice, nor the seller mourn, for wrath is upon all\nthe multitude thereof.\"\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [8] Or, more briefly, science has to do with facts, art with\n    phenomena. To science, phenomena are of use only as they lead to\n    facts; and to art facts are of use only as they lead to phenomena. I\n    use the word \"art\" here with reference to the fine arts only, for\n    the lower arts of mechanical production I should reserve the word\n    \"manufacture.\"\n\n  [9] Tintoret.\n\n  [10] St. Bernard.\n\n  [11] Society always has a destructive influence upon an artist:\n    first by its sympathy with his meanest powers; secondly, by its\n    chilling want of understanding of his greatest; and, thirdly, by its\n    vain occupation of his time and thoughts. Of course a painter of men\n    must be _among_ men; but it ought to be as a watcher, not as a\n    companion.\n\n  [12] I intended in this place to have introduced some special\n    consideration of the science of anatomy, which I believe to have\n    been in great part the cause of the decline of modern art; but I\n    have been anticipated by a writer better able to treat the subject.\n    I have only glanced at his book; and there is something in the\n    spirit of it which I do not like, and some parts of it are assuredly\n    wrong; but, respecting anatomy, it seems to me to settle the\n    question indisputably, more especially as being written by a master\n    of the science. I quote two passages, and must refer the reader to\n    the sequel.\n\n    \"_The scientific men of forty centuries_ have failed to describe so\n    accurately, so beautifully, so artistically, as Homer did, the\n    organic elements constituting the emblems of youth and beauty, and\n    the waste and decay which these sustain by time and age. All these\n    Homer understood better, and has described more truthfully than the\n    scientific men of forty centuries....\n\n    \"Before I approach this question, permit me to make a few remarks on\n    the pre-historic period of Greece; that era which seems to have\n    produced nearly all the great men.\n\n    \"On looking attentively at the statues within my observation, I\n    cannot find the slightest foundation for the assertion that their\n    sculptors must have dissected the human frame and been well\n    acquainted with the human anatomy. They, like Homer, had discovered\n    Nature's secret, and bestowed their whole attention on the exterior.\n    The exterior they read profoundly, and studied deeply--the _living\n    exterior_ and the _dead_. Above all, they avoided displaying the\n    dead and dissected interior, through the exterior. They had\n    discovered that the interior presents hideous shapes, but not forms.\n    Men during the philosophic era of Greece saw all this, each reading\n    the antique to the best of his abilities. The man of genius\n    rediscovered the canon of the ancient masters, and wrought on its\n    principles. The greater number, as now, unequal to this step, merely\n    imitated and copied those who preceded them.\"--_Great Artists and\n    Great Anatomists_. By R. Knox, M.D. London, Van Voorst, 1852.\n\n    Respecting the value of literary knowledge in general as regards\n    art, the reader will also do well to meditate on the following\n    sentences from Hallam's \"Literature of Europe;\" remembering at the\n    same time what I have above said, that \"the root of all great art in\n    Europe is struck in the thirteenth century,\" and that the great time\n    is from 1250 to 1350:\n\n    \"In Germany the tenth century, Leibnitz declares, was a golden age\n    of learning compared with the thirteenth.\"\n\n    \"The writers of the thirteenth century display an incredible\n    ignorance, not only of pure idiom, but of common grammatical rules.\"\n\n    The fourteenth century was \"not superior to the thirteenth in\n    learning.... We may justly praise Richard of Bury for his zeal in\n    collecting books. But his erudition appears crude, his style\n    indifferent, and his thoughts superficial.\"\n\n    I doubt the superficialness of the _thoughts_: at all events, this\n    is not a character of the time, though it may be of the writer; for\n    this would affect art more even than literature.\n\n  [13] Churton's \"Early English Church.\" London, 1840.\n\n  [14] \"Quibus nulla macula inest qu\u00e6 non cernatur. Ita viri nobilitate\n    pr\u00e6diti eam vitam peragant cui nulla nota possit inviri.\" The first\n    sentence is literally, \"in which there is no spot that may not be\n    seen.\" But I imagine the writer meant it as I have put it in the\n    text, else his comparison does not hold.\n\n  [15] Observe, however, that the magnitude spoken of here and in the\n    following passages, is the finished and polished magnitude sought\n    for the sake of pomp: not the rough magnitude sought for the sake of\n    sublimity: respecting which see the \"Seven Lamps,\" chap. iii. \u00a7 5,\n    6, and 8.\n\n  [16] Can Grande died in 1329: we can hardly allow more than five\n    years for the erection of his tomb.\n\n  [17] Vol. I. Chap. I.\n\n  [18] Sansovino, lib. xiii.\n\n  [19] Tentori, vi. 142, i. 157.\n\n  [20] \"Jacobus Pisaurius Paphi Episcopus qui Turcos bello, se ipsum\n    pace vincebat, ex nobili inter Venetas, ad nobiliorem inter Angelos\n    familiam delatus, nobilissimam in illa die Coronam justo Judice\n    reddente, hic situs expectat Vixit annos Platonicos. Obijt MDXLVII.\n    IX. Kal. Aprilis.\"\n\n  [21] Isaiah xlvii. 7, 10, 11, 15.\n\n  [22] Compare \"Seven Lamps,\" chap. vii. \u00a7 3.\n\n  [23] See the farther remarks on Inspiration, in the fourth chapter.\n\n  [24] That is to say, orders separated by such distinctions as the old\n    Greek ones: considered with reference to the bearing power of the\n    capital, all orders may be referred to two, as long ago stated; just\n    as trees may be referred to the two great classes, monocotyledonous\n    and dicotyledonous.\n\n  [25] Job xxi: 26-28; Psalm lxxxix. 37.\n\n  [26] I shall not forget the impression made upon me at Oxford, when,\n    going up for my degree, and mentioning to one of the authorities\n    that I had not had time enough to read the Epistles properly, I was\n    told, that \"the Epistles were separate sciences, and I need not\n    trouble myself about them.\"\n\n    The reader will find some farther notes on this subject in Appendix\n    7, \"Modern Education.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nGROTESQUE RENAISSANCE.\n\n\n\u00a7 I. In the close of the last chapter it was noted that the phases of\ntransition in the moral temper of the falling Venetians, during their\nfall, were from pride to infidelity, and from infidelity to the\nunscrupulous _pursuit of pleasure_. During the last years of the\nexistence of the state, the minds both of the nobility and the people\nseem to have been set simply upon the attainment of the means of\nself-indulgence. There was not strength enough in them to be proud, nor\nforethought enough to be ambitious. One by one the possessions of the\nstate were abandoned to its enemies; one by one the channels of its\ntrade were forsaken by its own languor, or occupied and closed against\nit by its more energetic rivals; and the time, the resources, and the\nthoughts of the nation were exclusively occupied in the invention of\nsuch fantastic and costly pleasures as might best amuse their apathy,\nlull their remorse, or disguise their ruin.\n\n\u00a7 II. The architecture raised at Venice during this period is amongst\nthe worst and basest ever built by the hands of men, being especially\ndistinguished by a spirit of brutal mockery and insolent jest, which,\nexhausting itself in deformed and monstrous sculpture, can sometimes be\nhardly otherwise defined than as the perpetuation in stone of the\nribaldries of drunkenness. On such a period, and on such work, it is\npainful to dwell, and I had not originally intended to do so; but I\nfound that the entire spirit of the Renaissance could not be\ncomprehended unless it was followed to its consummation; and that there\nwere many most interesting questions arising out of the study of this\nparticular spirit of jesting, with reference to which I have called it\nthe _Grotesque_ Renaissance. For it is not this period alone which is\ndistinguished by such a spirit. There is jest--perpetual, careless, and\nnot unfrequently obscene--in the most noble work of the Gothic periods;\nand it becomes, therefore, of the greatest possible importance to\nexamine into the nature and essence of the Grotesque itself, and to\nascertain in what respect it is that the jesting of art in its highest\nflight, differs from its jesting in its utmost degradation.\n\n\u00a7 III. The place where we may best commence our inquiry is one renowned\nin the history of Venice, the space of ground before the Church of Santa\nMaria Formosa; a spot which, after the Rialto and St. Mark's Place,\nought to possess a peculiar interest in the mind of the traveller, in\nconsequence of its connexion with the most touching and true legend of\nthe Brides of Venice. That legend is related at length in every Venetian\nhistory, and, finally, has been told by the poet Rogers, in a way which\nrenders it impossible for any one to tell it after him. I have only,\ntherefore, to remind the reader that the capture of the brides took\nplace in the cathedral church, St. Pietro di Castello; and that this of\nSanta Maria Formosa is connected with the tale, only because it was\nyearly visited with prayers by the Venetian maidens, on the anniversary\nof their ancestors' deliverance. For that deliverance, their thanks were\nto be rendered to the Virgin; and there was no church then dedicated to\nthe Virgin, in Venice, except this.[27]\n\nNeither of the cathedral church, nor of this dedicated to St. Mary the\nBeautiful, is one stone left upon another. But, from that which has been\nraised on the site of the latter, we may receive a most important\nlesson, introductory to our immediate subject, if first we glance back\nto the traditional history of the church which has been destroyed.\n\n\u00a7 IV. No more honorable epithet than \"traditional\" can be attached to\nwhat is recorded concerning it, yet I should grieve to lose the legend\nof its first erection. The Bishop of Uderzo, driven by the Lombards from\nhis Bishopric, as he was praying, beheld in a vision the Virgin Mother,\nwho ordered him to found a church in her honor, in the place where he\nshould see a white cloud rest. And when he went out, the white cloud\nwent before him; and on the place where it rested he built a church, and\nit was called the Church of St. Mary the Beautiful, from the loveliness\nof the form in which she had appeared in the vision.[28]\n\nThe first church stood only for about two centuries. It was rebuilt in\n864, and enriched with various relics some fifty years later; relics\nbelonging principally to St. Nicodemus, and much lamented when they and\nthe church were together destroyed by fire in 1105.\n\nIt was then rebuilt in \"magnifica forma,\" much resembling, according to\nCorner, the architecture of the chancel of St. Mark;[29] but the\ninformation which I find in various writers, as to the period at which\nit was reduced to its present condition, is both sparing and\ncontradictory.\n\n\u00a7 V. Thus, by Corner, we are told that this church, resembling St.\nMark's, \"remained untouched for more than four centuries,\" until, in\n1689, it was thrown down by an earthquake, and restored by the piety of\na rich merchant, Turrin Toroni, \"in ornatissima forma;\" and that, for\nthe greater beauty of the renewed church, it had added to it two fa\u00e7ades\nof marble. With this information that of the Padre dell' Oratoria\nagrees, only he gives the date of the earlier rebuilding of the church\nin 1175, and ascribes it to an architect of the name of Barbetta. But\nQuadri, in his usually accurate little guide, tells us that this\nBarbetta rebuilt the church in the fourteenth century; and that of the\ntwo fa\u00e7ades, so much admired by Corner, one is of the sixteenth century,\nand its architect unknown; and the rest of the church is of the\nseventeenth, \"in the style of Sansovino.\"\n\n\u00a7 VI. There is no occasion to examine, or endeavor to reconcile, these\nconflicting accounts. All that is necessary for the reader to know is,\nthat every vestige of the church in which the ceremony took place was\ndestroyed _at least_ as early as 1689; and that the ceremony itself,\nhaving been abolished in the close of the fourteenth century, is only to\nbe conceived as taking place in that more ancient church, resembling St.\nMark's, which, even according to Quadri, existed until that period. I\nwould, therefore, endeavor to fix the reader's mind, for a moment, on\nthe contrast between the former and latter aspect of this plot of\nground; the former, when it had its Byzantine church, and its yearly\nprocession of the Doge and the Brides; and the latter, when it has its\nRenaissance church \"in the style of Sansovino,\" and its yearly honoring\nis done away.\n\n\u00a7 VII. And, first, let us consider for a little the significance and\nnobleness of that early custom of the Venetians, which brought about the\nattack and the rescue of the year 943: that there should be but one\nmarriage day for the nobles of the whole nation,[30] so that all might\nrejoice together; and that the sympathy might be full, not only of the\nfamilies who that year beheld the alliance of their children, and prayed\nfor them in one crowd, weeping before the altar, but of all the families\nof the state, who saw, in the day which brought happiness to others, the\nanniversary of their own. Imagine the strong bond of brotherhood thus\nsanctified among them, and consider also the effect on the minds of the\nyouth of the state; the greater deliberation and openness necessarily\ngiven to the contemplation of marriage, to which all the people were\nsolemnly to bear testimony; the more lofty and unselfish tone which it\nwould give to all their thoughts. It was the exact contrary of stolen\nmarriage. It was marriage to which God and man were taken for witnesses,\nand every eye was invoked for its glance, and every tongue for its\nprayers.[31]\n\n\u00a7 VIII. Later historians have delighted themselves in dwelling on the\npageantry of the marriage day itself, but I do not find that they have\nauthority for the splendor of their descriptions. I cannot find a word\nin the older Chronicles about the jewels or dress of the brides, and I\nbelieve the ceremony to have been more quiet and homely than is usually\nsupposed. The only sentence which gives color to the usual accounts of\nit is one of Sansovino's, in which he says that the magnificent dress of\nthe brides in his day was founded \"on ancient custom.\"[32] However this\nmay have been, the circumstances of the rite were otherwise very simple.\nEach maiden brought her dowry with her in a small \"cassetta,\" or chest;\nthey went first to the cathedral, and waited for the youths, who having\ncome, they heard mass together, and the bishop preached to them and\nblessed them: and so each bridegroom took his bride and her dowry and\nbore her home.\n\n\u00a7 IX. It seems that the alarm given by the attack of the pirates put an\nend to the custom of fixing one day for all marriages: but the main\nobjects of the institution were still attained by the perfect publicity\ngiven to the marriages of all the noble families; the bridegroom\nstanding in the Court of the Ducal Palace to receive congratulations on\nhis betrothal, and the whole body of the nobility attending the\nnuptials, and rejoicing, \"as at some personal good fortune; since, by\nthe constitution of the state, they are for ever incorporated together,\nas if of one and the same family.\"[33] But the festival of the 2nd of\nFebruary, after the year 943, seems to have been observed only in memory\nof the deliverance of the brides, and no longer set apart for public\nnuptials.\n\n\u00a7 X. There is much difficulty in reconciling the various accounts, or\ndistinguishing the inaccurate ones, of the manner of keeping this\nmemorable festival. I shall first give Sansovino's, which is the popular\none, and then note the points of importance in the counter-statements.\nSansovino says that the success of the pursuit of the pirates was owing\nto the ready help and hard fighting of the men of the district of Sta.\nMaria Formosa, for the most part trunkmakers; and that they, having been\npresented after the victory to the Doge and the Senate, were told to ask\nsome favor for their reward. \"The good men then said that they desired\nthe Prince, with his wife and the Signory, to visit every year the\nchurch of their district, on the day of its feast. And the Prince asking\nthem, 'Suppose it should rain?' they answered, 'We will give you hats to\ncover you; and if you are thirsty, we will give you to drink.' Whence is\nit that the Vicar, in the name of the people, presents to the Doge, on\nhis visit, two flasks of malvoisie[34] and two oranges; and presents to\nhim two gilded hats, bearing the arms of the Pope, of the Prince, and of\nthe Vicar. And thus was instituted the Feast of the Maries, which was\ncalled noble and famous because the people from all round came together\nto behold it. And it was celebrated in this manner:....\" The account\nwhich follows is somewhat prolix; but its substance is, briefly, that\ntwelve maidens were elected, two for each division of the city; and that\nit was decided by lot which contrade, or quarters of the town, should\nprovide them with dresses. This was done at enormous expense, one\ncontrada contending with another, and even the jewels of the treasury of\nSt. Mark being lent for the occasion to the \"Maries,\" as the twelve\ndamsels were called. They, being thus dressed with gold, and silver, and\njewels, went in their galley to St. Mark's for the Doge, who joined them\nwith the Signory, and went first to San Pietro di Castello to hear mass\non St. Mark's day, the 31st of January, and to Santa Maria Formosa on\nthe 2nd of February, the intermediate day being spent in passing in\nprocession through the streets of the city; \"and sometimes there arose\nquarrels about the places they should pass through, for every one wanted\nthem to pass by his house.\"\n\n\u00a7 XI. Nearly the same account is given by Corner, who, however, does not\nsay anything about the hats or the malvoisie. These, however, we find\nagain in the Matricola de' Casseleri, which, of course, sets the\nservices of the trunkmakers and the privileges obtained by them in the\nmost brilliant light. The quaintness of the old Venetian is hardly to be\nrendered into English. \"And you must know that the said trunkmakers were\nthe men who were the cause of such victory, and of taking the galley,\nand of cutting all the Triestines to pieces, because, at that time, they\nwere valiant men and well in order. The which victory was on the 2nd\nFebruary, on the day of the Madonna of candles. And at the request and\nentreaties of the said trunkmakers, it was decreed that the Doge, every\nyear, as long as Venice shall endure, should go on the eve of the said\nfeast to vespers in the said church, with the Signory. And be it noted,\nthat the vicar is obliged to give to the Doge two flasks of malvoisie,\nwith two oranges besides. And so it is observed, and will be observed\nalways.\" The reader must observe the continual confusion between St.\nMark's day the 31st of January, and Candlemas the 2nd of February. The\nfact appears to be, that the marriage day in the old republic was St.\nMark's day, and the recovery of the brides was the same day at evening;\nso that, as we are told by Sansovino, the commemorative festival began\non that day, but it was continued to the day of the Purification, that\nespecial thanks might be rendered to the Virgin; and, the visit to Sta.\nMaria Formosa being the most important ceremony of the whole festival,\nthe old chroniclers, and even Sansovino, got confused, and asserted the\nvictory itself to have taken place on the day appointed for that\npilgrimage.\n\n\u00a7 XII. I doubt not that the reader who is acquainted with the beautiful\nlines of Rogers is as much grieved as I am at the interference of the\n\"casket-makers\" with the achievement which the poet ascribes to the\nbridegrooms alone; an interference quite as inopportune as that of old\nLe Balafr\u00e9 with the victory of his nephew, in the unsatisfactory\nconclusion of \"Quentin Durward.\" I am afraid I cannot get the\ncasket-makers quite out of the way; but it may gratify some of my\nreaders to know that a chronicle of the year 1378, quoted by\nGalliciolli, denies the agency of the people of Sta. Maria Formosa\naltogether, in these terms: \"Some say that the people of Sta. M. Formosa\nwere those who recovered the _spoil_ (\"predra;\" I may notice, in\npassing, that most of the old chroniclers appear to consider the\nrecovery of the _caskets_ rather more a subject of congratulation than\nthat of the brides), and that, for their reward, they asked the Doge and\nSignory to visit Sta. M. Formosa; but _this is false_. The going to Sta.\nM. Formosa was because the thing had succeeded on that day, and because\nthis was then the only church in Venice in honor of the Virgin.\" But\nhere is again the mistake about the day itself; and besides if we get\nrid altogether of the trunkmakers, how are we to account for the\nceremony of the oranges and hats, of which the accounts seem authentic?\nIf, however, the reader likes to substitute \"carpenters\" or\n\"house-builders\" for casket-makers, he may do so with great reason (vide\nGalliciolli, lib. ii. \u00a7 1758); but I fear that one or the other body of\ntradesmen must be allowed to have had no small share in the honor of the\nvictory.\n\n\u00a7 XIII. But whatever doubt attaches to the particular circumstances of\nits origin, there is none respecting the splendor of the festival\nitself, as it was celebrated for four centuries afterwards. We find that\neach contrada spent from 800 to 1000 zecchins in the dress of the\n\"Maries\" entrusted to it; but I cannot find among how many contrade the\ntwelve Maries were divided; it is also to be supposed that most of the\naccounts given refer to the later periods of the celebration of the\nfestival. In the beginning of the eleventh century, the good Doge Pietro\nOrseolo II. left in his will the third of his entire fortune \"per la\nFesta della Marie;\" and, in the fourteenth century, so many people came\nfrom the rest of Italy to see it, that special police regulations were\nmade for it, and the Council of Ten were twice summoned before it took\nplace.[35] The expense lavished upon it seems to have increased till the\nyear 1379, when all the resources of the republic were required for the\nterrible war of Chiozza, and all festivity was for that time put an end\nto. The issue of the war left the Venetians with neither the power nor\nthe disposition to restore the festival on its ancient scale, and they\nseem to have been ashamed to exhibit it in reduced splendor. It was\nentirely abolished.\n\n\u00a7 XIV. As if to do away even with its memory, every feature of the\nsurrounding scene which was associated with that festival has been in\nsucceeding ages destroyed. With one solitary exception,[36] there is not\na house left in the whole Piazza of Santa Maria Formosa from whose\nwindows the festa of the Maries has ever been seen: of the church in\nwhich they worshipped, not a stone is left, even the form of the ground\nand direction of the neighboring canals are changed; and there is now\nbut one landmark to guide the steps of the traveller to the place where\nthe white cloud rested, and the shrine was built to St. Mary the\nBeautiful. Yet the spot is still worth his pilgrimage, for he may\nreceive a lesson upon it, though a painful one. Let him first fill his\nmind with the fair images of the ancient festival, and then seek that\nlandmark the tower of the modern church, built upon the place where the\ndaughters of Venice knelt yearly with her noblest lords; and let him\nlook at the head that is carved on the base of the tower,[37] still\ndedicated to St. Mary the Beautiful.\n\n\u00a7 XV. A head,--huge, inhuman, and monstrous,--leering in bestial\ndegradation, too foul to be either pictured or described, or to be\nbeheld for more than an instant: yet let it be endured for that instant;\nfor in that head is embodied the type of the evil spirit to which Venice\nwas abandoned in the fourth period of her decline; and it is well that\nwe should see and feel the full horror of it on this spot, and know what\npestilence it was that came and breathed upon her beauty, until it\nmelted away like the white cloud from the ancient fields of Santa Maria\nFormosa.\n\n\u00a7 XVI. This head is one of many hundreds which disgrace the latest\nbuildings of the city, all more or less agreeing in their expression of\nsneering mockery, in most cases enhanced by thrusting out the tongue.\nMost of them occur upon the bridges, which were among the very last\nworks undertaken by the republic, several, for instance, upon the Bridge\nof Sighs; and they are evidences of a delight in the contemplation of\nbestial vice, and the expression of low sarcasm, which is, I believe,\nthe most hopeless state into which the human mind can fall. This spirit\nof idiotic mockery is, as I have said, the most striking characteristic\nof the last period of the Renaissance, which, in consequence of the\ncharacter thus imparted to its sculpture, I have called grotesque; but\nit must be our immediate task, and it will be a most interesting one, to\ndistinguish between this base grotesqueness, and that magnificent\ncondition of fantastic imagination, which was above noticed as one of\nthe chief elements of the Northern Gothic mind. Nor is this a question\nof interesting speculation merely: for the distinction between the true\nand false grotesque is one which the present tendencies of the English\nmind have rendered it practically important to ascertain; and that in a\ndegree which, until he has made some progress in the consideration of\nthe subject, the reader will hardly anticipate.\n\n\u00a7 XVII. But, first, I have to note one peculiarity in the late\narchitecture of Venice, which will materially assist us in understanding\nthe true nature of the spirit which is to be the subject of our inquiry;\nand this peculiarity, singularly enough, is first exemplified in the\nvery fa\u00e7ade of Santa Maria Formosa which is flanked by the grotesque\nhead to which our attention has just been directed. This fa\u00e7ade, whose\narchitect is unknown, consists of a pediment, sustained on four\nCorinthian pilasters, and is, I believe, the earliest in Venice which\nappears _entirely destitute of every religious symbol, sculpture, or\ninscription_; unless the Cardinal's hat upon the shield in the centre of\nthe impediment be considered a religious symbol. The entire fa\u00e7ade is\nnothing else than a monument to the Admiral Vincenzo Cappello. Two\ntablets, one between each pair of flanking pillars, record his acts and\nhonors; and, on the corresponding spaces upon the base of the church,\nare two circular trophies, composed of halberts, arrows, flags,\ntridents, helmets, and lances: sculptures which are just as valueless in\na military as in an ecclesiastical point of view; for, being all copied\nfrom the forms of Roman arms and armor, they cannot even be referred to\nfor information respecting the costume of the period. Over the door, as\nthe chief ornament of the fa\u00e7ade, exactly in the spot which in the\n\"barbarous\" St. Mark's is occupied by the figure of Christ, is the\nstatue of Vincenzo Cappello, in Roman armor. He died in 1542; and we\nhave, therefore, the latter part of the sixteenth century fixed as the\nperiod when, in Venice, churches were first built to the glory of man,\ninstead of the glory of God.\n\n\u00a7 XVIII. Throughout the whole of Scripture history, nothing is more\nremarkable than the close connection of punishment with the sin of\nvain-glory. Every other sin is occasionally permitted to remain, for\nlengthened periods, without definite chastisement; but the forgetfulness\nof God, and the claim of honor by man, as belonging to himself, are\nvisited at once, whether in Hezekiah, Nebuchadnezzar, or Herod, with the\nmost tremendous punishment. We have already seen, that the first reason\nfor the fall of Venice was the manifestation of such a spirit; and it is\nmost singular to observe the definiteness with which it is here\nmarked,--as if so appointed, that it might be impossible for future ages\nto miss the lesson. For, in the long inscriptions[38] which record the\nacts of Vincenzo Cappello, it might, at least, have been anticipated\nthat some expressions would occur indicative of remaining pretence to\nreligious feeling, or formal acknowledgement of Divine power. But there\nare none whatever. The name of God does not once occur; that of St. Mark\nis found only in the statement that Cappello was a procurator of the\nchurch: there is no word touching either on the faith or hope of the\ndeceased; and the only sentence which alludes to supernatural powers at\nall, alludes to them under the heathen name of _fates_, in its\nexplanation of what the Admiral Cappello _would_ have accomplished,\n\"nisi fata Christianis adversa vetuissent.\"\n\n\u00a7 XIX. Having taken sufficient note of all the baseness of mind which\nthese facts indicate in the people, we shall not be surprised to find\nimmediate signs of dotage in the conception of their architecture. The\nchurches raised throughout this period are so grossly debased, that even\nthe Italian critics of the present day, who are partially awakened to\nthe true state of art in Italy, though blind, as yet, to its true cause,\nexhaust their terms of reproach upon these last efforts of the\nRenaissance builders. The two churches of San Mois\u00e8 and Santa Maria\nZobenigo, which are among the most remarkable in Venice for their\nmanifestation of insolent atheism, are characterized by Lazari, the one\nas \"culmine d'ogni follia architettonica,\" the other as \"orrido ammasso\ndi pietra d'Istria,\" with added expressions of contempt, as just as it\nis unmitigated.\n\n\u00a7 XX. Now both these churches, which I should like the reader to visit\nin succession, if possible, after that of Sta. Maria Formosa, agree with\nthat church, and with each other, in being totally destitute of\nreligious symbols, and entirely dedicated to the honor of two Venetian\nfamilies. In San Mois\u00e8, a bust of Vincenzo Fini is set on a tall narrow\npyramid, above the central door, with this marvellous inscription:\n\n  \"OMNE FASTIGIVM\n   VIRTVTE IMPLET\n   VINCENTIVS FINI.\"\n\nIt is very difficult to translate this; for fastigium, besides its\ngeneral sense, has a particular one in architecture, and refers to the\npart of the building occupied by the bust; but the main meaning of it is\nthat \"Vincenzo Fini fills all height with his virtue.\" The inscription\ngoes on into farther praise, but this example is enough. Over the two\nlateral doors are two other laudatory inscriptions of younger members of\nthe Fini family, the dates of death of the three heroes being 1660,\n1685, and 1726, marking thus the period of consummate degradation.\n\n[Illustration: Plate III.\n               NOBLE AND IGNOBLE GROTESQUE.]\n\n\u00a7 XXI. In like manner, the Church of Santa Maria Zobenigo is entirely\ndedicated to the Barbaro family; the only religious symbols with which\nit is invested being statues of angels blowing brazen trumpets, intended\nto express the spreading of the fame of the Barbaro family in heaven. At\nthe top of the church is Venice crowned, between Justice and Temperance,\nJustice holding a pair of grocer's scales, of iron, swinging in the\nwind. There is a two-necked stone eagle (the Barbaro crest), with a\ncopper crown, in the centre of the pediment. A huge statue of a Barbaro\nin armor, with a fantastic head-dress, over the central door; and four\nBarbaros in niches, two on each side of it, strutting statues, in the\ncommon stage postures of the period,--Jo. Maria Barbaro, sapiens\nordinum; Marinus Barbaro, Senator (reading a speech in a Ciceronian\nattitude); Franc. Barbaro, legatus in classe (in armor, with high-heeled\nboots, and looking resolutely fierce); and Carolus Barbaro, sapiens\nordinum: the decorations of the fa\u00e7ade being completed by two trophies,\nconsisting of drums, trumpets, flags and cannon; and six plans,\nsculptured in relief, of the towns of Zara, Candia, Padua, Rome, Corfu,\nand Spalatro.\n\n\u00a7 XXII. When the traveller has sufficiently considered the meaning of\nthis fa\u00e7ade, he ought to visit the Church of St. Eustachio, remarkable\nfor the dramatic effect of the group of sculpture on its fa\u00e7ade, and\nthen the Church of the Ospedaletto (see Index, under head Ospedaletto);\nnoticing, on his way, the heads on the foundations of the Palazzo Corner\ndella Regina, and the Palazzo Pesaro, and any other heads carved on the\nmodern bridges, closing with those on the Bridge of Sighs.\n\nHe will then have obtained a perfect idea of the style and feeling of\nthe Grotesque Renaissance. I cannot pollute this volume by any\nillustration of its worst forms, but the head turned to the front, on\nthe right-hand in the opposite Plate, will give the general reader an\nidea of its most graceful and refined developments. The figure set\nbeside it, on the left, is a piece of noble grotesque, from fourteenth\ncentury Gothic; and it must be our present task to ascertain the nature\nof the difference which exists between the two, by an accurate inquiry\ninto the true essence of the grotesque spirit itself.\n\n\u00a7 XXIII. First, then, it seems to me that the grotesque is, in almost\nall cases, composed of two elements, one ludicrous, the other fearful;\nthat, as one or other of these elements prevails, the grotesque falls\ninto two branches, sportive grotesque and terrible grotesque; but that\nwe cannot legitimately consider it under these two aspects, because\nthere are hardly any examples which do not in some degree combine both\nelements; there are few grotesques so utterly playful as to be overcast\nwith no shade of fearfulness, and few so fearful as absolutely to\nexclude all ideas of jest. But although we cannot separate the grotesque\nitself into two branches, we may easily examine separately the two\nconditions of mind which it seems to combine; and consider successively\nwhat are the kinds of jest, and what the kinds of fearfulness, which may\nbe legitimately expressed in the various walks of art, and how their\nexpressions actually occur in the Gothic and Renaissance schools.\n\nFirst, then, what are the conditions of playfulness which we may fitly\nexpress in noble art, or which (for this is the same thing) are\nconsistent with nobleness in humanity? In other words, what is the\nproper function of play, with respect not to youth merely, but to all\nmankind?\n\n\u00a7 XXIV. It is a much more serious question than may be at first\nsupposed; for a healthy manner of play is necessary in order to a\nhealthy manner of work: and because the choice of our recreation is, in\nmost cases, left to ourselves, while the nature of our work is generally\nfixed by necessity or authority, it may be well doubted whether more\ndistressful consequences may not have resulted from mistaken choice in\nplay than from mistaken direction in labor.\n\n\u00a7 XXV. Observe, however, that we are only concerned, here, with that\nkind of play which causes laughter or implies recreation, not with that\nwhich consists in the excitement of the energies whether of body or\nmind. Muscular exertion is, indeed, in youth, one of the conditions of\nrecreation; \"but neither the violent bodily labor which children of all\nages agree to call play,\" nor the grave excitement of the mental\nfaculties in games of skill or chance, are in anywise connected with the\nstate of feeling we have here to investigate, namely, that sportiveness\nwhich man possesses in common with many inferior creatures, but to which\nhis higher faculties give nobler expression in the various\nmanifestations of wit, humor, and fancy.\n\nWith respect to the manner in which this instinct of playfulness is\nindulged or repressed, mankind are broadly distinguishable into four\nclasses: the men who play wisely; who play necessarily; who play\ninordinately; and who play not at all.\n\n\u00a7 XXVI. First: Those who play wisely. It is evident that the idea of any\nkind of play can only be associated with the idea of an imperfect,\nchildish, and fatigable nature. As far as men can raise that nature, so\nthat it shall no longer be interested by trifles or exhausted by toils,\nthey raise it above play; he whose heart is at once fixed upon heaven,\nand open to the earth, so as to apprehend the importance of heavenly\ndoctrines, and the compass of human sorrow, will have little disposition\nfor jest; and exactly in proportion to the breadth and depth of his\ncharacter and intellect, will be, in general, the incapability of\nsurprise, or exuberant and sudden emotion, which must render play\nimpossible. It is, however, evidently not intended that many men should\neven reach, far less pass their lives in, that solemn state of\nthoughtfulness, which brings them into the nearest brotherhood with\ntheir Divine Master; and the highest and healthiest state which is\ncompetent to ordinary humanity appears to be that which, accepting the\nnecessity of recreation, and yielding to the impulses of natural delight\nspringing out of health and innocence, does, indeed, condescend often to\nplayfulness, but never without such deep love of God, of truth, and of\nhumanity, as shall make even its slightest words reverent, its idlest\nfancies profitable, and its keenest satire indulgent. Wordsworth and\nPlato furnish us with, perhaps, the finest and highest examples of this\nplayfulness: in the one case, unmixed with satire, the perfectly simple\neffusion of that spirit--in\n\n  \"Which gives to all the self-same bent,\n   Whose life is wise, and innocent;\"\n\nPlato, and, by the by, in a very wise book of our own times, not\nunworthy of being named in such companionship, \"Friends in Council,\"\nmingled with an exquisitely tender and loving satire.\n\n\u00a7 XXVII. Secondly: The men who play necessarily. That highest species of\nplayfulness, which we have just been considering, is evidently the\ncondition of a mind, not only highly cultivated, but so habitually\ntrained to intellectual labor that it can bring a considerable force of\naccurate thought into its moments even of recreation. This is not\npossible, unless so much repose of mind and heart are enjoyed, even at\nthe periods of greatest exertion, that the rest required by the system\nis diffused over the whole life. To the majority of mankind, such a\nstate is evidently unattainable. They must, perforce, pass a large part\nof their lives in employments both irksome and toilsome, demanding an\nexpenditure of energy which exhausts the system, and yet consuming that\nenergy upon subjects incapable of interesting the nobler faculties. When\nsuch employments are intermitted, those noble instincts, fancy,\nimagination, and curiosity, are all hungry for the food which the labor\nof the day has denied to them, while yet the weariness of the body, in a\ngreat degree, forbids their application to any serious subject. They\ntherefore exert themselves without any determined purpose, and under no\nvigorous restraint, but gather, as best they may, such various\nnourishment, and put themselves to such fantastic exercise, as may\nsoonest indemnify them for their past imprisonment, and prepare them to\nendure their recurrence. This sketching of the mental limbs as their\nfetters fall away,--this leaping and dancing of the heart and intellect,\nwhen they are restored to the fresh air of heaven, yet half paralyzed by\ntheir captivity, and unable to turn themselves to any earnest\npurpose,--I call necessary play. It is impossible to exaggerate its\nimportance, whether in polity, or in art.\n\n\u00a7 XXVIII. Thirdly: The men who play inordinately. The most perfect state\nof society which, consistently with due understanding of man's nature,\nit may be permitted us to conceive, would be one in which the whole\nhuman race were divided, more or less distinctly, into workers and\nthinkers; that is to say, into the two classes, who only play wisely, or\nplay necessarily. But the number and the toil of the working class are\nenormously increased, probably more than doubled, by the vices of the\nmen who neither play wisely nor necessarily, but are enabled by\ncircumstances, and permitted by their want of principle, to make\namusement the object of their existence. There is not any moment of the\nlives of such men which is not injurious to others; both because they\nleave the work undone which was appointed for them, and because they\nnecessarily think wrongly, whenever it becomes compulsory upon them to\nthink at all. The greater portion of the misery of this world arises\nfrom the false opinions of men whose idleness has physically\nincapacitated them from forming true ones. Every duty which we omit\nobscures some truth which we should have known; and the guilt of a life\nspent in the pursuit of pleasure is twofold, partly consisting in the\nperversion of action, and partly in the dissemination of falsehood.\n\n\u00a7 XXIX. There is, however, a less criminal, though hardly less dangerous\ncondition of mind; which, though not failing in its more urgent duties,\nfails in the finer conscientiousness which regulates the degree, and\ndirects the choice, of amusement, at those times when amusement is\nallowable. The most frequent error in this respect is the want of\nreverence in approaching subjects of importance or sacredness, and of\ncaution in the expression of thoughts which may encourage like\nirreverence in others: and these faults are apt to gain upon the mind\nuntil it becomes habitually more sensible to what is ludicrous and\naccidental, than to what is grave and essential, in any subject that is\nbrought before it; or even, at last, desires to perceive or to know\nnothing but what may end in jest. Very generally minds of this\ncharacter are active and able; and many of them are so far\nconscientious, that they believe their jesting forwards their work. But\nit is difficult to calculate the harm they do, by destroying the\nreverence which is our best guide into all truth; for weakness and evil\nare easily visible, but greatness and goodness are often latent; and we\ndo infinite mischief by exposing weakness to eyes which cannot\ncomprehend greatness. This error, however, is more connected with abuses\nof the satirical than of the playful instinct; and I shall have more to\nsay of it presently.\n\n\u00a7 XXX. Lastly: The men who do not play at all: those who are so dull or\nso morose as to be incapable of inventing or enjoying jest, and in whom\ncare, guilt, or pride represses all healthy exhilaration of the fancy;\nor else men utterly oppressed with labor, and driven too hard by the\nnecessities of the world to be capable of any species of happy\nrelaxation.\n\n\u00a7 XXXI. We have now to consider the way in which the presence or absence\nof joyfulness, in these several classes, is expressed in art.\n\n1. Wise play. The first and noblest class hardly ever speak through art,\nexcept seriously; they feel its nobleness too profoundly, and value the\ntime necessary for its production too highly, to employ it in the\nrendering of trivial thoughts. The playful fancy of a moment may\ninnocently be expressed by the passing word; but he can hardly have\nlearned the preciousness of life, who passes days in the elaboration of\na jest. And, as to what regards the delineation of human character, the\nnature of all noble art is to epitomize and embrace so much at once,\nthat its subject can never be altogether ludicrous; it must possess all\nthe solemnities of the whole, not the brightness of the partial, truth.\nFor all truth that makes us smile is partial. The novelist amuses us by\nhis relation of a particular incident; but the painter cannot set any\none of his characters before us without giving some glimpse of its whole\ncareer. That of which the historian informs us in successive pages, it\nis the task of the painter to inform us of at once, writing upon the\ncountenance not merely the expression of the moment, but the history of\nthe life: and the history of a life can never be a jest.\n\nWhatever part, therefore, of the sportive energy of these men of the\nhighest class would be expressed in verbal wit or humor finds small\nutterance through their art, and will assuredly be confined, if it occur\nthere at all, to scattered and trivial incidents. But so far as their\nminds can recreate themselves by the imagination of strange, yet not\nlaughable, forms, which, either in costume, in landscape, or in any\nother accessaries, may be combined with those necessary for their more\nearnest purposes, we find them delighting in such inventions; and a\nspecies of grotesqueness thence arising in all their work, which is\nindeed one of its most valuable characteristics, but which is so\nintimately connected with the sublime or terrible form of the grotesque,\nthat it will be better to notice it under that head.\n\n\u00a7 XXXII. 2. Necessary play. I have dwelt much in a former portion of\nthis work, on the justice and desirableness of employing the minds of\ninferior workmen, and of the lower orders in general, in the production\nof objects of art of one kind or another. So far as men of this class\nare compelled to hard manual labor for their daily bread, so far forth\ntheir artistical efforts must be rough and ignorant, and their\nartistical perceptions comparatively dull. Now it is not possible, with\nblunt perceptions and rude hands, to produce works which shall be\npleasing by their beauty; but it is perfectly possible to produce such\nas shall be interesting by their character or amusing by their satire.\nFor one hard-working man who possesses the finer instincts which decide\non perfection of lines and harmonies of color, twenty possess dry humor\nor quaint fancy; not because these faculties were originally given to\nthe human race, or to any section of it, in greater degree than the\nsense of beauty, but because these are exercised in our daily\nintercourse with each other, and developed by the interest which we take\nin the affairs of life, while the others are not. And because,\ntherefore, a certain degree of success will probably attend the effort\nto express this humor or fancy, while comparative failure will\nassuredly result from an ignorant struggle to reach the forms of solemn\nbeauty, the working-man, who turns his attention partially to art, will\nprobably, and wisely, choose to do that which he can do best, and\nindulge the pride of an effective satire rather than subject himself to\nassured mortification in the pursuit of beauty; and this the more,\nbecause we have seen that his application to art is to be playful and\nrecreative, and it is not in recreation that the conditions of\nperfection can be fulfilled.\n\n\u00a7 XXXIII. Now all the forms of art which result from the comparatively\nrecreative exertion of minds more or less blunted or encumbered by other\ncares and toils, the art which we may call generally art of the wayside,\nas opposed to that which is the business of men's lives, is, in the best\nsense of the word, Grotesque. And it is noble or inferior, first,\naccording to the tone of the minds which have produced it, and in\nproportion to their knowledge, wit, love of truth, and kindness;\nsecondly, according to the degree of strength they have been able to\ngive forth; but yet, however much we may find in it needing to be\nforgiven, always delightful so long as it is the work of good and\nordinarily intelligent men. And its delightfulness ought mainly to\nconsist _in those very imperfections_ which mark it for work done in\ntimes of rest. It is not its own merit so much as the enjoyment of him\nwho produced it, which is to be the source of the spectator's pleasure;\nit is to the strength of his sympathy, not to the accuracy of his\ncriticism, that it makes appeal; and no man can indeed be a lover of\nwhat is best in the higher walks of art, who has not feeling and charity\nenough to rejoice with the rude sportiveness of hearts that have escaped\nout of prison, and to be thankful for the flowers which men have laid\ntheir burdens down to sow by the wayside.\n\n\u00a7 XXXIV. And consider what a vast amount of human work this right\nunderstanding of its meaning will make fruitful and admirable to us,\nwhich otherwise we could only have passed by with contempt. There is\nvery little architecture in the world which is, in the full sense of the\nwords, good and noble. A few pieces of Italian Gothic and Romanesque, a\nfew scattered fragments of Gothic cathedrals, and perhaps two or three\nof Greek temples, are all that we possess approaching to an ideal of\nperfection. All the rest--Egyptian, Norman, Arabian, and most Gothic,\nand, which is very noticeable, for the most part all the strongest and\nmightiest--depend for their power on some developement of the grotesque\nspirit; but much more the inferior domestic architecture of the middle\nages, and what similar conditions remain to this day in countries from\nwhich the life of art has not yet been banished by its laws. The\nfantastic gables, built up in scroll-work and steps, of the Flemish\nstreet; the pinnacled roofs set with their small humorist double\nwindows, as if with so many ears and eyes, of Northern France; the\nblackened timbers, crossed and carved into every conceivable waywardness\nof imagination, of Normandy and old England; the rude hewing of the pine\ntimbers of the Swiss cottage; the projecting turrets and bracketed\noriels of the German street; these, and a thousand other forms, not in\nthemselves reaching any high degree of excellence, are yet admirable,\nand most precious, as the fruits of a rejoicing energy in uncultivated\nminds. It is easier to take away the energy, than to add the\ncultivation; and the only effect of the better knowledge which civilized\nnations now possess, has been, as we have seen in a former chapter, to\nforbid their being happy, without enabling them to be great.\n\n\u00a7 XXXV. It is very necessary, however, with respect to this provincial\nor rustic architecture, that we should carefully distinguish its truly\ngrotesque from its picturesque elements. In the \"Seven Lamps\" I defined\nthe picturesque to be \"parasitical sublimity,\" or sublimity belonging to\nthe external or accidental characters of a thing, not to the thing\nitself. For instance, when a highland cottage roof is covered with\nfragments of shale instead of slates, it becomes picturesque, because\nthe irregularity and rude fractures of the rocks, and their grey and\ngloomy color, give to it something of the savageness, and much of the\ngeneral aspect, of the slope of a mountain side. But as a mere cottage\nroof, it cannot be sublime, and whatever sublimity it derives from the\nwildness or sternness which the mountains have given it in its covering,\nis, so far forth, parasitical. The mountain itself would have been\ngrand, which is much more than picturesque; but the cottage cannot be\ngrand as such, and the parasitical grandeur which it may possess by\naccidental qualities, is the character for which men have long agreed to\nuse the inaccurate word \"Picturesque.\"\n\n\u00a7 XXXVI. On the other hand, beauty cannot be parasitical. There is\nnothing so small or so contemptible, but it may be beautiful in its own\nright. The cottage may be beautiful, and the smallest moss that grows on\nits roof, and the minutest fibre of that moss which the microscope can\nraise into visible form, and all of them in their own right, not less\nthan the mountains and the sky; so that we use no peculiar term to\nexpress their beauty, however diminutive, but only when the sublime\nelement enters, without sufficient worthiness in the nature of the thing\nto which it is attached.\n\n\u00a7 XXXVII. Now this picturesque element, which is always given, if by\nnothing else, merely by ruggedness, adds usually very largely to the\npleasurableness of grotesque work, especially to that of its inferior\nkinds; but it is not for this reason to be confounded with the\ngrotesqueness itself. The knots and rents of the timbers, the irregular\nlying of the shingles on the roofs, the vigorous light and shadow, the\nfractures and weather-stains of the old stones, which were so deeply\nloved and so admirably rendered by our lost Prout, are the picturesque\nelements of the architecture: the grotesque ones are those which are not\nproduced by the working of nature and of time, but exclusively by the\nfancy of man; and, as also for the most part by his indolent and\nuncultivated fancy, they are always, in some degree, wanting in\ngrandeur, unless the picturesque element be united with them.\n\n\u00a7 XXXVIII. 3. Inordinate play. The reader will have some difficulty, I\nfear, in keeping clearly in his mind the various divisions of our\nsubject; but, when he has once read the chapter through, he will see\ntheir places and coherence. We have next to consider the expression\nthroughout of the minds of men who indulge themselves in unnecessary\nplay. It is evident that a large number of these men will be more\nrefined and more highly educated than those who only play necessarily;\nthe power of pleasure-seeking implies, in general, fortunate\ncircumstances of life. It is evident also that their play will not be so\nhearty, so simple, or so joyful; and this deficiency of brightness will\naffect it in proportion to its unnecessary and unlawful continuance,\nuntil at last it becomes a restless and dissatisfied indulgence in\nexcitement, or a painful delving after exhausted springs of pleasure.\n\nThe art through which this temper is expressed will, in all probability,\nbe refined and sensual,--therefore, also, assuredly feeble; and because,\nin the failure of the joyful energy of the mind, there will fail, also,\nits perceptions and its sympathies, it will be entirely deficient in\nexpression of character, and acuteness of thought, but will be\npeculiarly restless, manifesting its desire for excitement in idle\nchanges of subject and purpose. Incapable of true imagination, it will\nseek to supply its place by exaggerations, incoherencies, and\nmonstrosities; and the form of the grotesque to which it gives rise will\nbe an incongruous chain of hackneyed graces, idly thrown\ntogether,--prettinesses or sublimities, not of its own invention,\nassociated in forms which will be absurd without being fantastic, and\nmonstrous without being terrible. And because, in the continual pursuit\nof pleasure, men lose both cheerfulness and charity, there will be small\nhilarity, but much malice, in this grotesque; yet a weak malice,\nincapable of expressing its own bitterness, not having grasp enough of\ntruth to become forcible, and exhausting itself in impotent or\ndisgusting caricature.\n\n\u00a7 XXXIX. Of course, there are infinite ranks and kinds of this\ngrotesque, according to the natural power of the minds which originate\nit, and to the degree in which they have lost themselves. Its highest\ncondition is that which first developed itself among the enervated\nRomans, and which was brought to the highest perfection of which it was\ncapable, by Raphael, in the arabesques of the Vatican. It may be\ngenerally described as an elaborate and luscious form of nonsense. Its\nlower conditions are found in the common upholstery and decorations\nwhich, over the whole of civilized Europe, have sprung from this\npoisonous root; an artistical pottage, composed of nymphs, cupids, and\nsatyrs, with shreddings of heads and paws of meek wild beasts, and\nnondescript vegetables. And the lowest of all are those which have not\neven graceful models to recommend them, but arise out of the corruption\nof the higher schools, mingled with clownish or bestial satire, as is\nthe case in the latter Renaissance of Venice, which we were above\nexamining. It is almost impossible to believe the depth to which the\nhuman mind can be debased in following this species of grotesque. In a\nrecent Italian garden, the favorite ornaments frequently consist of\nstucco images, representing, in dwarfish caricature, the most disgusting\ntypes of manhood and womanhood which can be found amidst the dissipation\nof the modern drawingroom; yet without either veracity or humor, and\ndependent, for whatever interest they possess, upon simple grossness of\nexpression and absurdity of costume. Grossness, of one kind or another,\nis, indeed, an unfailing characteristic of the style; either latent, as\nin the refined sensuality of the more graceful arabesques, or, in the\nworst examples, manifested in every species of obscene conception and\nabominable detail. In the head, described in the opening of this\nchapter, at Santa Maria Formosa, the _teeth_ are represented as\n_decayed_.\n\n\u00a7 XL. 4. The minds of the fourth class of men who do not play at all,\nare little likely to find expression in any trivial form of art, except\nin bitterness of mockery; and this character at once stamps the work in\nwhich it appears, as belonging to the class of terrible, rather than of\nplayful, grotesque. We have, therefore, now to examine the state of mind\nwhich gave rise to this second and more interesting branch of\nimaginative work.\n\n\u00a7 XLI. Two great and principal passions are evidently appointed by the\nDeity to rule the life of man; namely, the love of God, and the fear of\nsin, and of its companion--Death. How many motives we have for Love, how\nmuch there is in the universe to kindle our admiration and to claim our\ngratitude, there are, happily, multitudes among us who both feel and\nteach. But it has not, I think, been sufficiently considered how\nevident, throughout the system of creation, is the purpose of God that\nwe should often be affected by Fear; not the sudden, selfish, and\ncontemptible fear of immediate danger, but the fear which arises out of\nthe contemplation of great powers in destructive operation, and\ngenerally from the perception of the presence of death. Nothing appears\nto me more remarkable than the array of scenic magnificence by which the\nimagination is appalled, in myriads of instances, when the actual danger\nis comparatively small; so that the utmost possible impression of awe\nshall be produced upon the minds of all, though direct suffering is\ninflicted upon few. Consider, for instance, the moral effect of a single\nthunder-storm. Perhaps two or three persons may be struck dead within\nthe space of a hundred square miles; and their deaths, unaccompanied by\nthe scenery of the storm, would produce little more than a momentary\nsadness in the busy hearts of living men. But the preparation for the\nJudgment by all that mighty gathering of clouds; by the questioning of\nthe forest leaves, in their terrified stillness, which way the winds\nshall go forth; by the murmuring to each other, deep in the distance, of\nthe destroying angels before they draw forth their swords of fire; by\nthe march of the funeral darkness in the midst of the noon-day, and the\nrattling of the dome of heaven beneath the chariot-wheels of death;--on\nhow many minds do not these produce an impression almost as great as the\nactual witnessing of the fatal issue! and how strangely are the\nexpressions of the threatening elements fitted to the apprehension of\nthe human soul! The lurid color, the long, irregular, convulsive sound,\nthe ghastly shapes of flaming and heaving cloud, are all as true and\nfaithful in their appeal to our instinct of danger, as the moaning or\nwailing of the human voice itself is to our instinct of pity. It is not\na reasonable calculating terror which they awake in us; it is no matter\nthat we count distance by seconds, and measure probability by averages.\nThat shadow of the thunder-cloud will still do its work upon our hearts,\nand we shall watch its passing away as if we stood upon the\nthreshing-floor of Araunah.\n\n\u00a7 XLII. And this is equally the case with respect to all the other\ndestructive phenomena of the universe. From the mightiest of them to the\ngentlest, from the earthquake to the summer shower, it will be found\nthat they are attended by certain aspects of threatening, which strike\nterror into the hearts of multitudes more numerous a thousandfold than\nthose who actually suffer from the ministries of judgment; and that,\nbesides the fearfulness of these immediately dangerous phenomena, there\nis an occult and subtle horror belonging to many aspects of the creation\naround us, calculated often to fill us with serious thought, even in our\ntimes of quietness and peace. I understand not the most dangerous,\nbecause most attractive form of modern infidelity, which, pretending to\nexalt the beneficence of the Deity, degrades it into a reckless\ninfinitude of mercy, and blind obliteration of the work of sin; and\nwhich does this chiefly by dwelling on the manifold appearances of God's\nkindness on the face of creation. Such kindness is indeed everywhere and\nalways visible; but not alone. Wrath and threatening are invariably\nmingled with the love; and in the utmost solitudes of nature, the\nexistence of Hell seems to me as legibly declared by a thousand\nspiritual utterances, as that of Heaven. It is well for us to dwell with\nthankfulness on the unfolding of the flower, and the falling of the dew,\nand the sleep of the green fields in the sunshine; but the blasted\ntrunk, the barren rock, the moaning of the bleak winds, the roar of the\nblack, perilous, merciless whirlpools of the mountain streams, the\nsolemn solitudes of moors and seas, the continual fading of all beauty\ninto darkness, and of all strength into dust, have these no language for\nus? We may seek to escape their teaching by reasonings touching the good\nwhich is wrought out of all evil; but it is vain sophistry. The good\nsucceeds to the evil as day succeeds the night, but so also the evil to\nthe good. Gerizim and Ebal, birth and death, light and darkness, heaven\nand hell, divide the existence of man, and his Futurity.[39]\n\n\u00a7 XLIII. And because the thoughts of the choice we have to make between\nthese two, ought to rule us continually, not so much in our own actions\n(for these should, for the most part, be governed by settled habit and\nprinciple) as in our manner of regarding the lives of other men, and our\nown responsibilities with respect to them; therefore, it seems to me\nthat the healthiest state into which the human mind can be brought is\nthat which is capable of the greatest love, and the greatest awe: and\nthis we are taught even in our times of rest; for when our minds are\nrightly in tone, the merely pleasurable excitement which they seek with\nmost avidity is that which rises out of the contemplation of beauty or\nof terribleness. We thirst for both, and, according to the height and\ntone of our feeling, desire to see them in noble or inferior forms. Thus\nthere is a Divine beauty, and a terribleness or sublimity coequal with\nit in rank, which are the subjects of the highest art; and there is an\ninferior or ornamental beauty, and an inferior terribleness coequal with\nit in rank, which are the subjects of grotesque art. And the state of\nmind in which the terrible form of the grotesque is developed, is that\nwhich in some irregular manner, dwells upon certain conditions of\nterribleness, into the complete depth of which it does not enter for the\ntime.\n\n\u00a7 XLIV. Now the things which are the proper subjects of human fear are\ntwofold; those which have the power of Death, and those which have the\nnature of Sin. Of which there are many ranks, greater or less in power\nand vice, from the evil angels themselves down to the serpent which is\ntheir type, and which though of a low and contemptible class, appears\nto unite the deathful and sinful natures in the most clearly visible and\nintelligible form; for there is nothing else which we know, of so small\nstrength and occupying so unimportant a place in the economy of\ncreation, which yet is so mortal and so malignant. It is, then, on these\ntwo classes of objects that the mind fixes for its excitement, in that\nmood which gives rise to the terrible grotesque; and its subject will be\nfound always to unite some expression of vice and danger, but regarded\nin a peculiar temper; sometimes (A) of predetermined or involuntary\napathy, sometimes (B) of mockery, sometimes (C) of diseased and\nungoverned imaginativeness.\n\n\u00a7 XLV. For observe, the difficulty which, as I above stated, exists in\ndistinguishing the playful from the terrible grotesque arises out of\nthis cause; that the mind, under certain phases of excitement, _plays_\nwith _terror_, and summons images which, if it were in another temper,\nwould be awful, but of which, either in weariness or in irony, it\nrefrains for the time to acknowledge the true terribleness. And the mode\nin which this refusal takes place distinguishes the noble from the\nignoble grotesque. For the master of the noble grotesque knows the depth\nof all at which he seems to mock, and would feel it at another time, or\nfeels it in a certain undercurrent of thought even while he jests with\nit; but the workman of the ignoble grotesque can feel and understand\nnothing, and mocks at all things with the laughter of the idiot and the\ncretin.\n\nTo work out this distinction completely is the chief difficulty in our\npresent inquiry; and, in order to do so, let us consider the above-named\nthree conditions of mind in succession, with relation to objects of\nterror.\n\n\u00a7 _XLVI_. (A). Involuntary or predetermined apathy. We saw above that\nthe grotesque was produced, chiefly in subordinate or ornamental art, by\nrude, and in some degree uneducated men, and in their times of rest. At\nsuch times, and in such subordinate work, it is impossible that they\nshould represent any solemn or terrible subject with a full and serious\nentrance into its feeling. It is not in the languor of a leisure hour\nthat a man will set his whole soul to conceive the means of representing\nsome important truth, nor to the projecting angle of a timber bracket\nthat he would trust its representation, if conceived. And yet, in this\nlanguor, and in this trivial work, he must find some expression of the\nserious part of his soul, of what there is within him capable of awe, as\nwell as of love. The more noble the man is, the more impossible it will\nbe for him to confine his thoughts to mere loveliness, and that of a low\norder. Were his powers and his time unlimited, so that, like Fr\u00e0\nAngelico, he could paint the Seraphim, in that order of beauty he could\nfind contentment, bringing down heaven to earth. But by the conditions\nof his being, by his hard-worked life, by his feeble powers of\nexecution, by the meanness of his employment and the languor of his\nheart, he is bound down to earth. It is the world's work that he is\ndoing, and world's work is not to be done without fear. And whatever\nthere is of deep and eternal consciousness within him, thrilling his\nmind with the sense of the presence of sin and death around him, must be\nexpressed in that slight work, and feeble way, come of it what will. He\ncannot forget it, among all that he sees of beautiful in nature; he may\nnot bury himself among the leaves of the violet on the rocks, and of the\nlily in the glen, and twine out of them garlands of perpetual gladness.\nHe sees more in the earth than these,--misery and wrath, and\ndiscordance, and danger, and all the work of the dragon and his angels;\nthis he sees with too deep feeling ever to forget. And though when he\nreturns to his idle work,--it may be to gild the letters upon the page,\nor to carve the timbers of the chamber, or the stones of the\npinnacle,--he cannot give his strength of thought any more to the woe or\nto the danger, there is a shadow of them still present with him: and as\nthe bright colors mingle beneath his touch, and the fair leaves and\nflowers grow at his bidding, strange horrors and phantasms rise by their\nside; grisly beasts and venomous serpents, and spectral fiends and\nnameless inconsistencies of ghastly life, rising out of things most\nbeautiful, and fading back into them again, as the harm and the horror\nof life do out of its happiness. He has seen these things; he wars with\nthem daily; he cannot but give them their part in his work, though in a\nstate of comparative apathy to them at the time. He is but carving and\ngilding, and must not turn aside to weep; but he knows that hell is\nburning on, for all that, and the smoke of it withers his oak-leaves.\n\n\u00a7 XLVII. Now, the feelings which give rise to the false or ignoble\ngrotesque, are exactly the reverse of these. In the true grotesque, a\nman of naturally strong feeling is accidentally or resolutely apathetic;\nin the false grotesque, a man naturally apathetic is forcing himself\ninto temporary excitement. The horror which is expressed by the one,\ncomes upon him whether he will or not; that which is expressed by the\nother, is sought out by him, and elaborated by his art. And therefore,\nalso, because the fear of the one is true, and of true things, however\nfantastic its expression may be, there will be reality in it, and force.\nIt is not a manufactured terribleness, whose author, when he had\nfinished it, knew not if it would terrify any one else or not: but it is\na terribleness taken from the life; a spectre which the workman indeed\nsaw, and which, as it appalled him, will appal us also. But the other\nworkman never felt any Divine fear; he never shuddered when he heard the\ncry from the burning towers of the earth,\n\n  \"Venga Medusa; s\u00ec lo farem di smalto.\"\n\nHe is stone already, and needs no gentle hand laid upon his eyes to save\nhim.\n\n\u00a7 XLVIII. I do not mean what I say in this place to apply to the\ncreations of the imagination. It is not as the creating but as the\n_seeing_ man, that we are here contemplating the master of the true\ngrotesque. It is because the dreadfulness of the universe around him\nweighs upon his heart, that his work is wild; and therefore through the\nwhole of it we shall find the evidence of deep insight into nature. His\nbeasts and birds, however monstrous, will have profound relations with\nthe true. He may be an ignorant man, and little acquainted with the laws\nof nature; he is certainly a busy man, and has not much time to watch\nnature; but he never saw a serpent cross his path, nor a bird flit\nacross the sky, nor a lizard bask upon a stone, without learning so much\nof the sublimity and inner nature of each as will not suffer him\nthenceforth to conceive them coldly. He may not be able to carve plumes\nor scales well; but his creatures will bite and fly, for all that. The\nignoble workman is the very reverse of this. He never felt, never looked\nat nature; and if he endeavor to imitate the work of the other, all his\ntouches will be made at random, and all his extravagances will be\nineffective; he may knit brows, and twist lips, and lengthen beaks, and\nsharpen teeth, but it will be all in vain. He may make his creatures\ndisgusting, but never fearful.\n\n\u00a7 XLIX. There is, however, often another cause of difference than this.\nThe true grotesque being the expression of the _repose_ or play of a\n_serious_ mind, there is a false grotesque opposed to it, which is the\nresult of the _full exertion_ of a _frivolous_ one. There is much\ngrotesque which is wrought out with exquisite care and pains, and as\nmuch labor given to it as if it were of the noblest subject; so that the\nworkman is evidently no longer apathetic, and has no excuse for\nunconnectedness of thought, or sudden unreasonable fear. If he awakens\nhorror now, it ought to be in some truly sublime form. His strength is\nin his work; and he must not give way to sudden humor, and fits of\nerratic fancy. If he does so, it must be because his mind is naturally\nfrivolous, or is for the time degraded into the deliberate pursuit of\nfrivolity. And herein lies the real distinction between the base\ngrotesque of Raphael and the Renaissance, above alluded to, and the true\nGothic grotesque. Those grotesques or arabesques of the Vatican, and\nother such work, which have become the patterns of ornamentation in\nmodern times, are the fruit of great minds degraded to base objects. The\ncare, skill, and science, applied to the distribution of the leaves, and\nthe drawing of the figures, are intense, admirable, and accurate;\ntherefore, they ought to have produced a grand and serious work, not a\ntissue of nonsense. If we can draw the human head perfectly, and are\nmasters of its expression and its beauty, we have no business to cut it\noff, and hang it up by the hair at the end of a garland. If we can draw\nthe human body in the perfection of its grace and movement, we have no\nbusiness to take away its limbs, and terminate it with a bunch of\nleaves. Or rather our doing so will imply that there is something wrong\nwith us; that, if we can consent to use our best powers for such base\nand vain trifling, there must be something wanting in the powers\nthemselves; and that, however skilful we may be, or however learned, we\nare wanting both in the earnestness which can apprehend a noble truth,\nand in the thoughtfulness which can feel a noble fear. No Divine terror\nwill ever be found in the work of the man who wastes a colossal strength\nin elaborating toys; for the first lesson which that terror is sent to\nteach us, is the value of the human soul, and the shortness of mortal\ntime.\n\n\u00a7 L. And are we never, then, it will be asked, to possess a refined or\nperfect ornamentation? Must all decoration be the work of the ignorant\nand the rude? Not so; but exactly in proportion as the ignorance and\nrudeness diminish, must the ornamentation become rational, and the\ngrotesqueness disappear. The noblest lessons may be taught in\nornamentation, the most solemn truths compressed into it. The Book of\nGenesis, in all the fulness of its incidents, in all the depth of its\nmeaning, is bound within the leaf-borders of the gates of Ghiberti. But\nRaphael's arabesque is mere elaborate idleness. It has neither meaning\nnor heart in it; it is an unnatural and monstrous abortion.\n\n\u00a7 LI. Now, this passing of the grotesque into higher art, as the mind of\nthe workman becomes informed with better knowledge, and capable of more\nearnest exertion, takes place in two ways. Either, as his power\nincreases, he devotes himself more and more to the beauty which he now\nfeels himself able to express, and so the grotesqueness expands, and\nsoftens into the beautiful, as in the above-named instance of the gates\nof Ghiberti; or else, if the mind of the workman be naturally inclined\nto gloomy contemplation, the imperfection or apathy of his work rises\ninto nobler terribleness, until we reach the point of the grotesque of\nAlbert Durer, where, every now and then, the playfulness or apathy of\nthe painter passes into perfect sublime. Take the Adam and Eve, for\ninstance. When he gave Adam a bough to hold, with a parrot on it, and a\ntablet hung to it, with \"Albertus Durer Noricus faciebat, 1504,\"\nthereupon, his mind was not in Paradise. He was half in play, half\napathetic with respect to his subject, thinking how to do his work well,\nas a wise master-graver, and how to receive his just reward of fame. But\nhe rose into the true sublime in the head of Adam, and in the profound\ntruthfulness of every creature that fills the forest. So again in that\nmagnificent coat of arms, with the lady and the satyr, as he cast the\nfluttering drapery hither and thither around the helmet, and wove the\ndelicate crown upon the woman's forehead, he was in a kind of play; but\nthere is none in the dreadful skull upon the shield. And in the \"Knight\nand Death,\" and in the dragons of the illustrations to the Apocalypse,\nthere is neither play nor apathy; but their grotesque is of the ghastly\nkind which best illustrates the nature of death and sin. And this leads\nus to the consideration of the second state of mind out of which the\nnoble grotesque is developed; that is to say, the temper of mockery.\n\n\u00a7 LII. (B). Mockery, or Satire. In the former part of this chapter, when\nI spoke of the kinds of art which were produced in the recreation of the\nlower orders, I only spoke of forms of ornament, not of the expression\nof satire or humor. But it seems probable, that nothing is so refreshing\nto the vulgar mind as some exercise of this faculty, more especially on\nthe failings of their superiors; and that, wherever the lower orders are\nallowed to express themselves freely, we shall find humor, more or less\ncaustic, becoming a principal feature in their work. The classical and\nRenaissance manufacturers of modern times having silenced the\nindependent language of the operative, his humor and satire pass away in\nthe word-wit which has of late become the especial study of the group of\nauthors headed by Charles Dickens; all this power was formerly thrown\ninto noble art, and became permanently expressed in the sculptures of\nthe cathedral. It was never thought that there was anything discordant\nor improper in such a position: for the builders evidently felt very\ndeeply a truth of which, in modern times, we are less cognizant; that\nfolly and sin are, to a certain extent, synonymous, and that it would be\nwell for mankind in general, if all could be made to feel that\nwickedness is as contemptible as it is hateful. So that the vices were\npermitted to be represented under the most ridiculous forms, and all the\ncoarsest wit of the workman to be exhausted in completing the\ndegradation of the creatures supposed to be subjected to them.\n\n\u00a7 LIII. Nor were even the supernatural powers of evil exempt from this\nspecies of satire. For with whatever hatred or horror the evil angels\nwere regarded, it was one of the conditions of Christianity that they\nshould also be looked upon as vanquished; and this not merely in their\ngreat combat with the King of Saints, but in daily and hourly combats\nwith the weakest of His servants. In proportion to the narrowness of the\npowers of abstract conception in the workman, the nobleness of the idea\nof spiritual nature diminished, and the traditions of the encounters of\nmen with fiends in daily temptations were imagined with less terrific\ncircumstances, until the agencies which in such warfare were almost\nalways represented as vanquished with disgrace, became, at last, as much\nthe objects of contempt as of terror.\n\nThe superstitions which represented the devil as assuming various\ncontemptible forms of disguises in order to accomplish his purposes\naided this gradual degradation of conception, and directed the study of\nthe workman to the most strange and ugly conditions of animal form,\nuntil at last, even in the most serious subjects, the fiends are oftener\nludicrous than terrible. Nor, indeed, is this altogether avoidable, for\nit is not possible to express intense wickedness without some condition\nof degradation. Malice, subtlety, and pride, in their extreme, cannot be\nwritten upon noble forms; and I am aware of no effort to represent the\nSatanic mind in the angelic form, which has succeeded in painting.\nMilton succeeds only because he separately describes the movements of\nthe mind, and therefore leaves himself at liberty to make the form\nheroic; but that form is never distinct enough to be painted. Dante, who\nwill not leave even external forms obscure, degrades them before he can\nfeel them to be demoniacal; so also John Bunyan: both of them, I think,\nhaving firmer faith than Milton's in their own creations, and deeper\ninsight into the nature of sin. Milton makes his fiends too noble, and\nmisses the foulness, inconstancy, and fury of wickedness. His Satan\npossesses some virtues, not the less virtues for being applied to evil\npurpose. Courage, resolution, patience, deliberation in council, this\nlatter being eminently a wise and holy character, as opposed to the\n\"Insania\" of excessive sin: and all this, if not a shallow and false, is\na smooth and artistical, conception. On the other hand, I have always\nfelt that there was a peculiar grandeur in the indescribable,\nungovernable fury of Dante's fiends, ever shortening its own powers, and\ndisappointing its own purposes; the deaf, blind, speechless, unspeakable\nrage, fierce as the lightning, but erring from its mark or turning\nsenselessly against itself, and still further debased by foulness of\nform and action. Something is indeed to be allowed for the rude feelings\nof the time, but I believe all such men as Dante are sent into the world\nat the time when they can do their work best; and that, it being\nappointed for him to give to mankind the most vigorous realization\npossible both of Hell and Heaven, he was born both in the country and at\nthe time which furnished the most stern opposition of Horror and Beauty,\nand permitted it to be written in the clearest terms. And, therefore,\nthough there are passages in the \"Inferno\" which it would be impossible\nfor any poet now to write, I look upon it as all the more perfect for\nthem. For there can be no question but that one characteristic of\nexcessive vice is indecency, a general baseness in its thoughts and acts\nconcerning the body,[40] and that the full portraiture of it cannot be\ngiven without marking, and that in the strongest lines, this tendency to\ncorporeal degradation; which, in the time of Dante, could be done\nfrankly, but cannot now. And, therefore, I think the twenty-first and\ntwenty-second books of the \"Inferno\" the most perfect portraitures of\nfiendish nature which we possess; and at the same time, in their\nmingling of the extreme of horror (for it seems to me that the silent\nswiftness of the first demon, \"con l'ali aperte e sovra i pie leggiero,\"\ncannot be surpassed in dreadfulness) with ludicrous actions and images,\nthey present the most perfect instances with which I am acquainted of\nthe terrible grotesque. But the whole of the \"Inferno\" is full of this\ngrotesque, as well as the \"Fa\u00ebrie Queen;\" and these two poems, together\nwith the works of Albert Durer, will enable the reader to study it in\nits noblest forms, without reference to Gothic cathedrals.\n\n\u00a7 LIV. Now, just as there are base and noble conditions of the apathetic\ngrotesque, so also are there of this satirical grotesque. The condition\nwhich might be mistaken for it is that above described as resulting from\nthe malice of men given to pleasure, and in which the grossness and\nfoulness are in the workman as much as in his subject, so that he\nchooses to represent vice and disease rather than virtue and beauty,\nhaving his chief delight in contemplating them; though he still mocks at\nthem with such dull wit as may be in him, because, as Young has said\nmost truly,\n\n  \"'Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool.\"\n\n\u00a7 LV. Now it is easy to distinguish this grotesque from its noble\ncounterpart, by merely observing whether any forms of beauty or dignity\nare mingled with it or not; for, of course, the noble grotesque is only\nemployed by its master for good purposes, and to contrast with beauty:\nbut the base workman cannot conceive anything but what is base; and\nthere will be no loveliness in any part of his work, or, at the best, a\nloveliness measured by line and rule, and dependent on legal shapes of\nfeature. But, without resorting to this test, and merely by examining\nthe ugly grotesque itself, it will be found that, if it belongs to the\nbase school, there will be, first, no Horror in it; secondly, no Nature\nin it; and, thirdly, no Mercy in it.\n\n\u00a7 LVI. I say, first, no Horror. For the base soul has no fear of sin,\nand no hatred of it: and, however it may strive to make its work\nterrible, there will be no genuineness in the fear; the utmost it can do\nwill be to make its work disgusting.\n\nSecondly, there will be no Nature in it. It appears to be one of the\nends proposed by Providence in the appointment of the forms of the brute\ncreation, that the various vices to which mankind are liable should be\nseverally expressed in them so distinctly and clearly as that men could\nnot but understand the lesson; while yet these conditions of vice might,\nin the inferior animal, be observed without the disgust and hatred which\nthe same vices would excite, if seen in men, and might be associated\nwith features of interest which would otherwise attract and reward\ncontemplation. Thus, ferocity, cunning, sloth, discontent, gluttony,\nuncleanness, and cruelty are seen, each in its extreme, in various\nanimals; and are so vigorously expressed, that when men desire to\nindicate the same vices in connexion with human forms, they can do it no\nbetter than by borrowing here and there the features of animals. And\nwhen the workman is thus led to the contemplation of the animal kingdom,\nfinding therein the expressions of vice which he needs, associated with\npower, and nobleness, and freedom from disease, if his mind be of right\ntone he becomes interested in this new study; and all noble grotesque\nis, therefore, full of the most admirable rendering of animal character.\nBut the ignoble workman is capable of no interest of this kind; and,\nbeing too dull to appreciate, and too idle to execute, the subtle and\nwonderful lines on which the expression of the lower animal depends, he\ncontents himself with vulgar exaggeration, and leaves his work as false\nas it is monstrous, a mass of blunt malice and obscene ignorance.\n\n\u00a7 LVII. Lastly, there will be no Mercy in it. Wherever the satire of the\nnoble grotesque fixes upon human nature, it does so with much sorrow\nmingled amidst its indignation: in its highest forms there is an\ninfinite tenderness, like that of the fool in Lear; and even in its more\nheedless or bitter sarcasm, it never loses sight altogether of the\nbetter nature of what it attacks, nor refuses to acknowledge its\nredeeming or pardonable features. But the ignoble grotesque has no pity:\nit rejoices in iniquity, and exists only to slander.\n\n\u00a7 LVIII. I have not space to follow out the various forms of transition\nwhich exist between the two extremes of great and base in the satirical\ngrotesque. The reader must always remember, that, although there is an\ninfinite distance between the best and worst, in this kind the interval\nis filled by endless conditions more or less inclining to the evil or\nthe good; impurity and malice stealing gradually into the nobler forms,\nand invention and wit elevating the lower, according to the countless\nminglings of the elements of the human soul.\n\n\u00a7 LIX. (C). Ungovernableness of the imagination. The reader is always to\nkeep in mind that if the objects of horror, in which the terrible\ngrotesque finds its materials, were contemplated in their true light,\nand with the entire energy of the soul, they would cease to be\ngrotesque, and become altogether sublime; and that therefore it is some\nshortening of the power, or the will, of contemplation, and some\nconsequent distortion of the terrible image in which the grotesqueness\nconsists. Now this distortion takes place, it was above asserted, in\nthree ways: either through apathy, satire, or ungovernableness of\nimagination. It is this last cause of the grotesque which we have\nfinally to consider; namely, the error and wildness of the mental\nimpressions, caused by fear operating upon strong powers of imagination,\nor by the failure of the human faculties in the endeavor to grasp the\nhighest truths.\n\n\u00a7 LX. The grotesque which comes to all men in a disturbed dream is the\nmost intelligible example of this kind, but also the most ignoble; the\nimagination, in this instance, being entirely deprived of all aid from\nreason, and incapable of self-government. I believe, however, that the\nnoblest forms of imaginative power are also in some sort ungovernable,\nand have in them something of the character of dreams; so that the\nvision, of whatever kind, comes uncalled, and will not submit itself to\nthe seer, but conquers him, and forces him to speak as a prophet,\nhaving no power over his words or thoughts.[41] Only, if the whole man\nbe trained perfectly, and his mind calm, consistent and powerful, the\nvision which comes to him is seen as in a perfect mirror, serenely, and\nin consistence with the rational powers; but if the mind be imperfect\nand ill trained, the vision is seen as in a broken mirror, with strange\ndistortions and discrepancies, all the passions of the heart breathing\nupon it in cross ripples, till hardly a trace of it remains unbroken. So\nthat, strictly speaking, the imagination is never governed; it is always\nthe ruling and Divine power: and the rest of the man is to it only as an\ninstrument which it sounds, or a tablet on which it writes; clearly and\nsublimely if the wax be smooth and the strings true, grotesquely and\nwildly if they are stained and broken. And thus the \"Iliad,\" the\n\"Inferno,\" the \"Pilgrim's Progress,\" the \"Fa\u00ebrie Queen,\" are all of them\ntrue dreams; only the sleep of the men to whom they came was the deep,\nliving sleep which God sends, with a sacredness in it, as of death, the\nrevealer of secrets.\n\n\u00a7 LXI. Now, observe in this matter, carefully, the difference between a\ndim mirror and a distorted one; and do not blame me for pressing the\nanalogy too far, for it will enable me to explain my meaning every way\nmore clearly. Most men's minds are dim mirrors, in which all truth is\nseen, as St. Paul tells us, darkly: this is the fault most common and\nmost fatal; dulness of the heart and mistiness of sight, increasing to\nutter hardness and blindness; Satan breathing upon the glass, so that if\nwe do not sweep the mist laboriously away, it will take no image. But,\neven so far as we are able to do this, we have still the distortion to\nfear, yet not to the same extent, for we can in some sort allow for the\ndistortion of an image, if only we can see it clearly. And the fallen\nhuman soul, at its best, must be as a diminishing glass, and that a\nbroken one, to the mighty truths of the universe round it; and the wider\nthe scope of its glance, and the vaster the truths into which it obtains\nan insight, the more fantastic their distortion is likely to be, as the\nwinds and vapors trouble the field of the telescope most when it reaches\nfarthest.\n\n\u00a7 LXII. Now, so far as the truth is seen by the imagination[42] in its\nwholeness and quietness, the vision is sublime; but so far as it is\nnarrowed and broken by the inconsistencies of the human capacity, it\nbecomes grotesque; and it would seem to be rare that any very exalted\ntruth should be impressed on the imagination without some grotesqueness\nin its aspect, proportioned to the degree of _diminution of breadth_ in\nthe grasp which is given of it. Nearly all the dreams recorded in the\nBible,--Jacob's, Joseph's, Pharaoh's, Nebuchadnezzar's,--are grotesques;\nand nearly the whole of the accessary scenery in the books of Ezekiel\nand the Apocalypse. Thus, Jacob's dream revealed to him the ministry of\nangels; but because this ministry could not be seen or understood by him\nin its fulness, it was narrowed to him into a ladder between heaven and\nearth, which was a grotesque. Joseph's two dreams were evidently\nintended to be signs of the steadfastness of the Divine purpose towards\nhim, by possessing the clearness of special prophecy; yet were couched\nin such imagery, as not to inform him prematurely of his destiny, and\nonly to be understood after their fulfilment. The sun, and moon, and\nstars were at the period, and are indeed throughout the Bible, the\nsymbols of high authority. It was not revealed to Joseph that he should\nbe lord over all Egypt; but the representation of his family by symbols\nof the most magnificent dominion, and yet as subject to him, must have\nbeen afterwards felt by him as a distinctly prophetic indication of his\nown supreme power. It was not revealed to him that the occasion of his\nbrethren's special humiliation before him should be their coming to buy\ncorn; but when the event took place, must he not have felt that there\nwas prophetic purpose in the form of the sheaves of wheat which first\nimaged forth their subjection to him? And these two images of the sun\ndoing obeisance, and the sheaves bowing down,--narrowed and imperfect\nintimations of great truth which yet could not be otherwise\nconveyed,--are both grotesque. The kine of Pharaoh eating each other,\nthe gold and clay of Nebuchadnezzar's image, the four beasts full of\neyes, and other imagery of Ezekiel and the Apocalypse, are grotesques of\nthe same kind, on which I need not further insist.\n\n\u00a7 LXIII. Such forms, however, ought perhaps to have been arranged under\na separate head, as Symbolical Grotesque; but the element of awe enters\ninto them so strongly, as to justify, for all our present purposes,\ntheir being classed with the other varieties of terrible grotesque. For\neven if the symbolic vision itself be not terrible, the sense of what\nmay be veiled behind it becomes all the more awful in proportion to the\ninsignificance or strangeness of the sign itself; and, I believe, this\nthrill of mingled doubt, fear, and curiosity lies at the very root of\nthe delight which mankind take in symbolism. It was not an accidental\nnecessity for the conveyance of truth by pictures instead of words,\nwhich led to its universal adoption wherever art was on the advance; but\nthe Divine fear which necessarily follows on the understanding that a\nthing is other and greater than it seems; and which, it appears\nprobable, has been rendered peculiarly attractive to the human heart,\nbecause God would have us understand that this is true not of invented\nsymbols merely, but of all things amidst which we live; that there is a\ndeeper meaning within them than eye hath seen, or ear hath heard; and\nthat the whole visible creation is a mere perishable symbol of things\neternal and true. It cannot but have been sometimes a subject of wonder\nwith thoughtful men, how fondly, age after age, the Church has cherished\nthe belief that the four living creatures which surrounded the\nApocalyptic throne were symbols of the four Evangelists, and rejoiced\nto use those forms in its picture-teaching; that a calf, a lion, an\neagle, and a beast with a man's face, should in all ages have been\npreferred by the Christian world, as expressive of Evangelistic power\nand inspiration, to the majesty of human forms; and that quaint\ngrotesques, awkward and often ludicrous caricatures even of the animals\nrepresented, should have been regarded by all men, not only with\ncontentment, but with awe, and have superseded all endeavors to\nrepresent the characters and persons of the Evangelistic writers\nthemselves (except in a few instances, confined principally to works\nundertaken without a definite religious purpose);--this, I say, might\nappear more than strange to us, were it not that we ourselves share the\nawe, and are still satisfied with the symbol, and that justly. For,\nwhether we are conscious of it or not, there is in our hearts, as we\ngaze upon the brutal forms that have so holy a signification, an\nacknowledgment that it was not Matthew, nor Mark, nor Luke, nor John, in\nwhom the Gospel of Christ was unsealed: but that the invisible things of\nHim from the beginning of the creation are clearly seen, being\nunderstood by the things that are made; that the whole world, and all\nthat is therein, be it low or high, great or small, is a continual\nGospel; and that as the heathen, in their alienation from God, changed\nHis glory into an image made like unto corruptible man, and to birds,\nand four-footed beasts, the Christian, in his approach to God, is to\nundo this work, and to change the corruptible things into the image of\nHis glory; believing that there is nothing so base in creation, but that\nour faith may give it wings which shall raise us into companionship with\nheaven; and that, on the other hand, there is nothing so great or so\ngoodly in creation, but that it is a mean symbol of the Gospel of\nChrist, and of the things He has prepared for them that love Him.\n\n\u00a7 LXIV. And it is easy to understand, if we follow out this thought,\nhow, when once the symbolic language was familiarized to the mind, and\nits solemnity felt in all its fulness, there was no likelihood of\noffence being taken at any repulsive or feeble characters in execution\nor conception. There was no form so mean, no incident so commonplace,\nbut, if regarded in this light, it might become sublime; the more\nvigorous the fancy and the more faithful the enthusiasm, the greater\nwould be the likelihood of their delighting in the contemplation of\nsymbols whose mystery was enhanced by apparent insignificance, or in\nwhich the sanctity and majesty of meaning were contrasted with the\nutmost uncouthness of external form: nor with uncouthness merely, but\neven with every appearance of malignity or baseness; the beholder not\nbeing revolted even by this, but comprehending that, as the seeming evil\nin the framework of creation did not invalidate its Divine authorship,\nso neither did the evil or imperfection in the symbol invalidate its\nDivine message. And thus, sometimes, the designer at last became wanton\nin his appeal to the piety of his interpreter, and recklessly poured out\nthe impurity and the savageness of his own heart, for the mere pleasure\nof seeing them overlaid with the fine gold of the sanctuary, by the\nreligion of their beholder.\n\n\u00a7 LXV. It is not, however, in every symbolical subject that the fearful\ngrotesque becomes embodied to the full. The element of distortion which\naffects the intellect when dealing with subjects above its proper\ncapacity, is as nothing compared with that which it sustains from the\ndirect impressions of terror. It is the trembling of the human soul in\nthe presence of death which most of all disturbs the images on the\nintellectual mirror, and invests them with the fitfulness and\nghastliness of dreams. And from the contemplation of death, and of the\npangs which follow his footsteps, arise in men's hearts the troop of\nstrange and irresistible superstitions which, more or less melancholy or\nmajestic according to the dignity of the mind they impress, are yet\nnever without a certain grotesqueness, following on the paralysis of the\nreason and over-excitement of the fancy. I do not mean to deny the\nactual existence of spiritual manifestations; I have never weighed the\nevidence upon the subject; but with these, if such exist, we are not\nhere concerned. The grotesque which we are examining arises out of that\ncondition of mind which appears to follow naturally upon the\ncontemplation of death, and in which the fancy is brought into morbid\naction by terror, accompanied by the belief in spiritual presence, and\nin the possibility of spiritual apparition. Hence are developed its most\nsublime, because its least voluntary, creations, aided by the\nfearfulness of the phenomena of nature which are in any wise the\nministers of death, and primarily directed by the peculiar ghastliness\nof expression in the skeleton, itself a species of terrible grotesque in\nits relation to the perfect human frame.\n\n\u00a7 LXVI. Thus, first born from the dusty and dreadful whiteness of the\ncharnel house, but softened in their forms by the holiest of human\naffections, went forth the troop of wild and wonderful images, seen\nthrough tears, that had the mastery over our Northern hearts for so many\nages. The powers of sudden destruction lurking in the woods and waters,\nin the rocks and clouds;--kelpie and gnome, Lurlei and Hartz spirits;\nthe wraith and foreboding phantom; the spectra of second sight; the\nvarious conceptions of avenging or tormented ghost, haunting the\nperpetrator of crime, or expiating its commission; and the half\nfictitious and contemplative, half visionary and believed images of the\npresence of death itself, doing its daily work in the chambers of\nsickness and sin, and waiting for its hour in the fortalices of strength\nand the high places of pleasure;--these, partly degrading us by the\ninstinctive and paralyzing terror with which they are attended, and\npartly ennobling us by leading our thoughts to dwell in the eternal\nworld, fill the last and the most important circle in that great kingdom\nof dark and distorted power, of which we all must be in some sort the\nsubjects until mortality shall be swallowed up of life; until the waters\nof the last fordless river cease to roll their untransparent volume\nbetween us and the light of heaven, and neither death stand between us\nand our brethren, nor symbols between us and our God.\n\n\u00a7 LXVII. We have now, I believe, obtained a view approaching to\ncompleteness of the various branches of human feeling which are\nconcerned in the developement of this peculiar form of art. It remains\nfor us only to note, as briefly as possible, what facts in the actual\nhistory of the grotesque bear upon our immediate subject.\n\nFrom what we have seen to be its nature, we must, I think, be led to one\nmost important conclusion; that wherever the human mind is healthy and\nvigorous in all its proportions, great in imagination and emotion no\nless than in intellect, and not overborne by an undue or hardened\npre\u00ebminence of the mere reasoning faculties, there the grotesque will\nexist in full energy. And, accordingly, I believe that there is no test\nof greatness in periods, nations, or men, more sure than the\ndevelopement, among them or in them, of a noble grotesque, and no test\nof comparative smallness or limitation, of one kind or another, more\nsure than the absence of grotesque invention, or incapability of\nunderstanding it. I think that the central man of all the world, as\nrepresenting in perfect balance the imaginative, moral, and intellectual\nfaculties, all at their highest, is Dante; and in him the grotesque\nreaches at once the most distinct and the most noble developement to\nwhich it was ever brought in the human mind. The two other greatest men\nwhom Italy has produced, Michael Angelo and Tintoret, show the same\nelement in no less original strength, but oppressed in the one by his\nscience, and in both by the spirit of the age in which they lived;\nnever, however, absent even in Michael Angelo, but stealing forth\ncontinually in a strange and spectral way, lurking in folds of raiment\nand knots of wild hair, and mountainous confusions of craggy limb and\ncloudy drapery; and, in Tintoret, ruling the entire conceptions of his\ngreatest works to such a degree that they are an enigma or an offence,\neven to this day, to all the petty disciples of a formal criticism. Of\nthe grotesque in our own Shakspeare I need hardly speak, nor of its\nintolerableness to his French critics; nor of that of \u00c6schylus and\nHomer, as opposed to the lower Greek writers; and so I believe it will\nbe found, at all periods, in all minds of the first order.\n\n\u00a7 LXVIII. As an index of the greatness of nations, it is a less certain\ntest, or, rather, we are not so well agreed on the meaning of the term\n\"greatness\" respecting them. A nation may produce a great effect, and\ntake up a high place in the world's history, by the temporary enthusiasm\nor fury of its multitudes, without being truly great; or, on the other\nhand, the discipline of morality and common sense may extend its\nphysical power or exalt its well-being, while yet its creative and\nimaginative powers are continually diminishing. And again: a people may\ntake so definite a lead over all the rest of the world in one direction,\nas to obtain a respect which is not justly due to them if judged on\nuniversal grounds. Thus the Greeks perfected the sculpture of the human\nbody; threw their literature into a disciplined form, which has given it\na peculiar power over certain conditions of modern mind; and were the\nmost carefully educated race that the world has seen; but a few years\nhence, I believe, we shall no longer think them a greater people than\neither the Egyptians or Assyrians.\n\n\u00a7 LXIX. If, then, ridding ourselves as far as possible of prejudices\nowing merely to the school-teaching which remains from the system of the\nRenaissance, we set ourselves to discover in what races the human soul,\ntaken all in all, reached its highest magnificence, we shall find, I\nbelieve, two great families of men, one of the East and South, the other\nof the West and North: the one including the Egyptians, Jews, Arabians,\nAssyrians, and Persians; the other, I know not whence derived, but\nseeming to flow forth from Scandinavia, and filling the whole of Europe\nwith its Norman and Gothic energy. And in both these families, wherever\nthey are seen in their utmost nobleness, there the grotesque is\ndeveloped in its utmost energy; and I hardly know whether most to admire\nthe winged bulls of Nineveh, or the winged dragons of Verona.\n\n\u00a7 LXX. The reader who has not before turned his attention to this\nsubject may, however, at first have some difficulty in distinguishing\nbetween the noble grotesque of these great nations, and the barbarous\ngrotesque of mere savages, as seen in the work of the Hindoo and other\nIndian nations; or, more grossly still, in that of the complete savage\nof the Pacific islands; or if, as is to be hoped, he instinctively\nfeels the difference, he may yet find difficulty in determining wherein\nthat difference consists. But he will discover, on consideration, that\nthe noble grotesque _involves the true appreciation of beauty_, though\nthe mind may wilfully turn to other images or the hand resolutely stop\nshort of the perfection which it must fail, if it endeavored, to reach;\nwhile the grotesque of the Sandwich islander involves no perception or\nimagination of anything above itself. He will find that in the exact\nproportion in which the grotesque results from an incapability of\nperceiving beauty, it becomes savage or barbarous; and that there are\nmany stages of progress to be found in it even in its best times, much\ntruly savage grotesque occurring in the fine Gothic periods, mingled\nwith the other forms of the ignoble grotesque resulting from vicious\ninclinations or base sportiveness. Nothing is more mysterious in the\nhistory of the human mind, than the manner in which gross and ludicrous\nimages are mingled with the most solemn subjects in the work of the\nmiddle ages, whether of sculpture or illumination; and although, in\ngreat part, such incongruities are to be accounted for on the various\nprinciples which I have above endeavored to define, in many instances\nthey are clearly the result of vice and sensuality. The general\ngreatness of seriousness of an age does not effect the restoration of\nhuman nature; and it would be strange, if, in the midst of the art even\nof the best periods, when that art was entrusted to myriads of workmen,\nwe found no manifestations of impiety, folly, or impurity.\n\n\u00a7 LXXI. It needs only to be added that in the noble grotesque, as it is\npartly the result of a morbid state of the imaginative power, that power\nitself will be always seen in a high degree; and that therefore our\npower of judging of the rank of a grotesque work will depend on the\ndegree in which we are in general sensible of the presence of invention.\nThe reader may partly test this power in himself by referring to the\nPlate given in the opening of this chapter, in which, on the left, is a\npiece of noble and inventive grotesque, a head of the lion-symbol of St.\nMark, from the Veronese Gothic; the other is a head introduced as a\nboss on the foundation of the Palazzo Corner della Regina at Venice,\nutterly devoid of invention, made merely monstrous by exaggerations of\nthe eyeballs and cheeks, and generally characteristic of that late\nRenaissance grotesque of Venice, with which we are at present more\nimmediately concerned.[43]\n\n\u00a7 LXXII. The developement of that grotesque took place under different\nlaws from those which regulate it in any other European city. For, great\nas we have seen the Byzantine mind show itself to be in other\ndirections, it was marked as that of a declining nation by the absence\nof the grotesque element; and, owing to its influence, the early\nVenetian Gothic remained inferior to all other schools in this\nparticular character. Nothing can well be more wonderful than its\ninstant failure in any attempt at the representation of ludicrous or\nfearful images, more especially when it is compared with the magnificent\ngrotesque of the neighboring city of Verona, in which the Lombard\ninfluence had full sway. Nor was it until the last links of connexion\nwith Constantinople had been dissolved, that the strength of the\nVenetian mind could manifest itself in this direction. But it had then a\nnew enemy to encounter. The Renaissance laws altogether checked its\nimagination in architecture; and it could only obtain permission to\nexpress itself by starting forth in the work of the Venetian painters,\nfilling them with monkeys and dwarfs, even amidst the most serious\nsubjects, and leading Veronese and Tintoret to the most unexpected and\nwild fantasies of form and color.\n\n\u00a7 LXXIII. We may be deeply thankful for this peculiar reserve of the\nGothic grotesque character to the last days of Venice. All over the rest\nof Europe it had been strongest in the days of imperfect art;\nmagnificently powerful throughout the whole of the thirteenth century,\ntamed gradually in the fourteenth and fifteenth, and expiring in the\nsixteenth amidst anatomy and laws of art. But at Venice, it had not been\nreceived when it was elsewhere in triumph, and it fled to the lagoons\nfor shelter when elsewhere it was oppressed. And it was arrayed by the\nVenetian painters in robes of state, and advanced by them to such honor\nas it had never received in its days of widest dominion; while, in\nreturn, it bestowed upon their pictures that fulness, piquancy, decision\nof parts, and mosaic-like intermingling of fancies, alternately\nbrilliant and sublime, which were exactly what was most needed for the\ndevelopement of their unapproachable color-power.\n\n\u00a7 LXXIV. Yet, observe, it by no means follows that because the grotesque\ndoes not appear in the art of a nation, the sense of it does not exist\nin the national mind. Except in the form of caricature, it is hardly\ntraceable in the English work of the present day; but the minds of our\nworkmen are full of it, if we would only allow them to give it shape.\nThey express it daily in gesture and gibe, but are not allowed to do so\nwhere it would be useful. In like manner, though the Byzantine influence\nrepressed it in the early Venetian architecture, it was always present\nin the Venetian mind, and showed itself in various forms of national\ncustom and festival; _acted_ grotesques, full of wit, feeling, and\ngood-humor. The ceremony of the hat and the orange, described in the\nbeginning of this chapter, is one instance out of multitudes. Another,\nmore rude, and exceedingly characteristic, was that instituted in the\ntwelfth century in memorial of the submission of Woldaric, the patriarch\nof Aquileia, who, having taken up arms against the patriarch of Grado,\nand being defeated and taken prisoner by the Venetians, was sentenced,\nnot to death, but to send every year on \"Fat Thursday\" sixty-two large\nloaves, twelve fat pigs, and a bull, to the Doge; the bull being\nunderstood to represent the patriarch, and the twelve pigs his clergy:\nand the ceremonies of the day consisting in the decapitation of these\nrepresentatives, and a distribution of their joints among the senators;\ntogether with a symbolic record of the attack upon Aquileia, by the\nerection of a wooden castle in the rooms of the Ducal Palace, which the\n_Doge and the Senate_ attacked and demolished with clubs. As long as the\nDoge and the Senate were truly kingly and noble, they were content to\nlet this ceremony be continued; but when they became proud and selfish,\nand were destroying both themselves and the state by their luxury, they\nfound it inconsistent with their dignity, and it was abolished, as far\nas the Senate was concerned, in 1549.[44]\n\n\u00a7 LXXV. By these and other similar manifestations, the grotesque spirit\nis traceable through all the strength of the Venetian people. But again:\nit is necessary that we should carefully distinguish between it and the\nspirit of mere levity. I said, in the fifth chapter, that the Venetians\nwere distinctively a serious people, serious, that is to say, in the\nsense in which the English are a more serious people than the French;\nthough the habitual intercourse of our lower classes in London has a\ntone of humor in it which I believe is untraceable in that of the\nParisian populace. It is one thing to indulge in playful rest, and\nanother to be devoted to the pursuit of pleasure: and gaiety of heart\nduring the reaction after hard labor, and quickened by satisfaction in\nthe accomplished duty or perfected result, is altogether compatible\nwith, nay, even in some sort arises naturally out of, a deep internal\nseriousness of disposition; this latter being exactly the condition of\nmind which, as we have seen, leads to the richest developements of the\nplayful grotesque; while, on the contrary, the continual pursuit of\npleasure deprives the soul of all alacrity and elasticity, and leaves it\nincapable of happy jesting, capable only of that which is bitter, base,\nand foolish. Thus, throughout the whole of the early career of the\nVenetians, though there is much jesting, there is no levity; on the\ncontrary there is an intense earnestness both in their pursuit of\ncommercial and political successes, and in their devotion to\nreligion,[45] which led gradually to the formation of that highly\nwrought mingling of immovable resolution with secret thoughtfulness,\nwhich so strangely, sometimes so darkly, distinguishes the Venetian\ncharacter at the time of their highest power, when the seriousness was\nleft, but the conscientiousness destroyed. And if there be any one sign\nby which the Venetian countenance, as it is recorded for us, to the very\nlife, by a school of portraiture which has never been equalled (chiefly\nbecause no portraiture ever had subjects so noble),--I say, if there be\none thing more notable than another in the Venetian features, it is this\ndeep pensiveness and solemnity. In other districts of Italy, the dignity\nof the heads which occur in the most celebrated compositions is clearly\nowing to the feeling of the painter. He has visibly raised or idealized\nhis models, and appears always to be veiling the faults or failings of\nthe human nature around him, so that the best of his work is that which\nhas most perfectly taken the color of his own mind; and the least\nimpressive, if not the least valuable, that which appears to have been\nunaffected and unmodified portraiture. But at Venice, all is exactly the\nreverse of this. The tone of mind in the painter appears often in some\ndegree frivolous or sensual; delighting in costume, in domestic and\ngrotesque incident, and in studies of the naked form. But the moment he\ngives himself definitely to portraiture, all is noble and grave; the\nmore literally true his work, the more majestic; and the same artist who\nwill produce little beyond what is commonplace in painting a Madonna or\nan apostle, will rise into unapproachable sublimity when his subject is\na member of the Forty, or a Master of the Mint.\n\nSuch, then, were the general tone and progress of the Venetian mind, up\nto the close of the seventeenth century. First, serious, religious, and\nsincere; then, though serious still, comparatively deprived of\nconscientiousness, and apt to decline into stern and subtle policy: in\nthe first case, the spirit of the noble grotesque not showing itself in\nart at all, but only in speech and action; in the second case,\ndeveloping itself in painting, through accessories and vivacities of\ncomposition, while perfect dignity was always preserved in portraiture.\nA third phase rapidly developed itself.\n\n\u00a7 LXXVI. Once more, and for the last time, let me refer the reader to\nthe important epoch of the death of the Doge Tomaso Mocenigo in 1423,\nlong ago indicated as the commencement of the decline of the Venetian\npower. That commencement is marked, not merely by the words of the dying\nPrince, but by a great and clearly legible sign. It is recorded, that on\nthe accession of his successor, Foscari, to the throne, \"SI FESTEGGIO\nDALLA CITTA UNO ANNO INTERO:\" \"The city kept festival for a whole year.\"\nVenice had in her childhood sown, in tears, the harvest she was to reap\nin rejoicing. She now sowed in laughter the seeds of death.\n\nThenceforward, year after year, the nation drank with deeper thirst from\nthe fountains of forbidden pleasure, and dug for springs, hitherto\nunknown, in the dark places of the earth. In the ingenuity of\nindulgence, in the varieties of vanity, Venice surpassed the cities of\nChristendom, as of old she surpassed them in fortitude and devotion; and\nas once the powers of Europe stood before her judgment-seat, to receive\nthe decisions of her justice, so now the youth of Europe assembled in\nthe halls of her luxury, to learn from her the arts of delight.\n\nIt is as needless, as it is painful, to trace the steps of her final\nruin. That ancient curse was upon her, the curse of the cities of the\nplain, \"Pride, fulness of bread, and abundance of idleness.\" By the\ninner burning of her own passions, as fatal as the fiery reign of\nGomorrah, she was consumed from her place among the nations; and her\nashes are choking the channels of the dead salt sea.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [27] Mutinelli, Annali Urbani, lib. i. p. 24; and the Chronicle of\n    1738, quoted by Galliciolli: \"attrovandosi allora la giesia de Sta.\n    Maria Formosa sola giesia del nome della gloriosa Vergine Maria.\"\n\n  [28] Or from the brightness of the cloud, according to the Padre who\n    arranged the \"Memorie delle Chiese di Venezia,\" vol. iii. p. 7.\n    Compare Corner, p. 42. This first church was built in 639.\n\n  [29] Perhaps both Corner and the Padre founded their diluted\n    information on the short sentence of Sansovino: \"Finalmente, l'anno\n    1075, fu ridotta a perfezione da Paolo Barbetta, sul modello del\n    corpo di mezzo della chiesa di S. Marco.\" Sansovino, however, gives\n    842, instead of 864, as the date of the first rebuilding.\n\n  [30] Or at least for its principal families. Vide Appendix 8, \"Early\n    Venetian Marriages.\"\n\n  [31] \"Nazionale quasi la ceremonia, perciocche per essa nuovi\n    difensori ad acquistar andava la patria, sostegni nuovi le leggi, la\n    Liberta.\"--_Mutinelli._\n\n  [32] \"Vestita, _per antico uso_, di bianco, e con chiome sparse gi\u00f9\n    per le spalle, conteste con fila d'oro.\" \"Dressed according to\n    ancient usage in white, and with her hair thrown down upon her\n    shoulders, interwoven with threads of gold.\" This was when she was\n    first brought out of her chamber to be seen by the guests invited to\n    the espousals. \"And when the form of the espousal has been gone\n    through, she is led, to the sound of pipes and trumpets, and other\n    musical instruments, round the room, _dancing serenely all the time,\n    and bowing herself before the guests_ (ballando placidamente, e\n    facendo inchini ai convitati); and so she returns to her chamber:\n    and when other guests have arrived, she again comes forth, and makes\n    the circuit of the chamber. And this is repeated for an hour or\n    somewhat more; and then, accompanied by many ladies who wait for\n    her, she enters a gondola without its felze (canopy), and, seated on\n    a somewhat raised seat covered with carpets, with a great number of\n    gondolas following her, she goes to visit the monasteries and\n    convents, wheresoever she has any relations.\"\n\n  [33] Sansovino.\n\n  [34] English, \"Malmsey.\" The reader will find a most amusing account\n    of the negotiations between the English and Venetians, touching the\n    supply of London with this wine, in Mr. Brown's translation of the\n    Giustiniani papers. See Appendix IX.\n\n  [35] \"XV. diebus et octo diebus ante festum Mariarum omni\n    anno.\"--_Galliciolli._ The same precautions were taken before the\n    feast of the Ascension.\n\n  [36] Casa Vittura.\n\n  [37] The keystone of the arch on its western side, facing the canal.\n\n  [38] The inscriptions are as follows:\n\n    To the left of the reader.\n\n      \"VINCENTIUS CAPELLUS MARITIMARUM\n       RERUM PERITISSIMUS ET ANTIQUORUM\n       LAUDIBUS PAR, TRIREMIUM ONERARIA\n       RUM PR\u00c6FECTUS, AB HENRICO VII. BRI\n       TANNI\u00c6 REGE INSIGNE DONATUS CLAS\n       SIS LEGATUS V. IMP. DESIG. TER CLAS\n       SEM DEDUXIT, COLLAPSAM NAVALEM DIS\n       CIPLINAM RESTITUIT, AD ZACXINTHUM\n       AURI\u00c6 C\u00c6SARIS LEGATO PRISCAM\n       VENETAM VIRTUTEM OSTENDIT.\"\n\n    To the right of the reader.\n\n      \"IN AMBRACIO SINU BARBARUSSUM OTTHO\n       MANIC\u00c6 CLASSIS DUCEM INCLUSIT\n       POSTRIDIE AD INTERNITIONEM DELETU\n       RUS NISI FATA CHRISTIANIS ADVERSA\n       VETUISSENT. IN RYZONICO SINU CASTRO NOVO\n       EXPUGNATO DIVI MARCI PROCUR\n       UNIVERSO REIP CONSENSU CREATUS\n       IN PATRIA MORITUR TOTIUS CIVITATIS\n       MOERORE, ANNO \u00c6TATIS LXXIV. MDCXLII. XIV. KAL SEPT.\"\n\n  [39] The Love of God is, however, always shown by the predominance,\n    or greater sum, of good, in the end; but never by the annihilation\n    of evil. The modern doubts of eternal punishment are not so much the\n    consequence of benevolence as of feeble powers of reasoning. Every\n    one admits that God brings finite good out of finite evil. Why not,\n    therefore, infinite good out of infinite evil?\n\n  [40] Let the reader examine, with special reference to this subject,\n    the general character of the language of Iago.\n\n  [41] This opposition of art to inspiration is long and gracefully\n    dwelt upon by Plato, in his \"Ph\u00e6drus,\" using, in the course of his\n    argument, almost the words of St Paul: [Greek: kallion marturousin\n    oi palaioi manian s\u00f4phrosyn\u00eas t\u00ean ek Theou t\u00eas par anthr\u00f4p\u00f4n\n    gignomen\u00eas]: \"It is the testimony of the ancients, that _the madness\n    which is of God is a nobler thing than the wisdom which is of men_;\"\n    and again, \"He who sets himself to any work with which the Muses\n    have to do,\" (i. e. to any of the fine arts,) \"without madness,\n    thinking that by art alone he can do his work sufficiently, will be\n    found vain and incapable, and the work of temperance and rationalism\n    will be thrust aside and obscured by that of inspiration.\" The\n    passages to the same effect, relating especially to poetry, are\n    innumerable in nearly all ancient writers; but in this of Plato, the\n    entire compass of the fine arts is intended to be embraced.\n\n    No one acquainted with other parts of my writings will suppose me to\n    be an advocate of idle trust in the imagination. But it is in these\n    days just as necessary to allege the supremacy of genius as the\n    necessity of labor; for there never was, perhaps, a period in which\n    the peculiar gift of the painter was so little discerned, in which\n    so many and so vain efforts have been made to replace it by study\n    and toil. This has been peculiarly the case with the German school,\n    and there are few exhibitions of human error more pitiable than the\n    manner in which the inferior members of it, men originally and for\n    ever destitute of the painting faculty, force themselves into an\n    unnatural, encumbered, learned fructification of tasteless fruit,\n    and pass laborious lives in setting obscurely and weakly upon canvas\n    the philosophy, if such it be, which ten minutes' work of a strong\n    man would have put into healthy practice, or plain words. I know not\n    anything more melancholy than the sight of the huge German cartoon,\n    with its objective side, and subjective side; and mythological\n    division, and symbolical division, and human and Divine division;\n    its allegorical sense, and literal sense; and ideal point of view,\n    and intellectual point of view; its heroism of well-made armor and\n    knitted brows; its heroinism of graceful attitude and braided hair;\n    its inwoven web of sentiment, and piety, and philosophy, and\n    anatomy, and history, all profound: and twenty innocent dashes of\n    the hand of one God-made painter, poor old Bassan or Bonifazio, were\n    worth it all, and worth it ten thousand times over.\n\n    Not that the sentiment or the philosophy is base in itself. They\n    will make a good man, but they will not make a good painter,--no,\n    nor the millionth part of a painter. They would have been good in\n    the work and words of daily life; but they are good for nothing in\n    the cartoon, if they are there alone. And the worst result of the\n    system is the intense conceit into which it cultivates a weak mind.\n    Nothing is so hopeless, so intolerable, as the pride of a foolish\n    man who has passed through a process of thinking, so as actually to\n    have found something out. He believes there is nothing else to be\n    found out in the universe. Whereas the truly great man, on whom the\n    Revelations rain till they bear him to the earth with their weight,\n    lays his head in the dust, and speaks thence--often in broken\n    syllables. Vanity is indeed a very equally divided inheritance among\n    mankind; but I think that among the first persons, no emphasis is\n    altogether so strong as that on the German _Ich_. I was once\n    introduced to a German philosopher-painter before Tintoret's\n    \"Massacre of the Innocents.\" He looked at it superciliously, and\n    said it \"wanted to be restored.\" He had been himself several years\n    employed in painting a \"Faust\" in a red jerkin and blue fire; which\n    made Tintoret appear somewhat dull to him.\n\n  [42] I have before stated (\"Modern Painters\" vol. ii.) that the\n    first function of the imagination is the apprehension of ultimate\n    truth.\n\n  [43] Note especially, in connexion with what was advanced in Vol. II.\n    respecting our English neatness of execution, how the base workman\n    has cut the lines of the architecture neatly and precisely round the\n    abominable head: but the noble workman has used his chisel like a\n    painter's pencil, and sketched the glory with a few irregular lines,\n    anything rather than circular; and struck out the whole head in the\n    same frank and fearless way, leaving the sharp edges of the stone as\n    they first broke, and flinging back the crest of hair from the\n    forehead with half a dozen hammer-strokes, while the poor wretch who\n    did the other was half a day in smoothing its vapid and vermicular\n    curls.\n\n  [44] The decree is quoted by Mutinelli, lib. i. p. 46.\n\n  [45] See Appendix 9.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nCONCLUSION.\n\n\n\u00a7 I. I fear this chapter will be a rambling one, for it must be a kind\nof supplement to the preceding pages, and a general recapitulation of\nthe things I have too imperfectly and feebly said.\n\nThe grotesques of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the nature\nof which we examined in the last chapter, close the career of the\narchitecture of Europe. They were the last evidences of any feeling\nconsistent with itself, and capable of directing the efforts of the\nbuilder to the formation of anything worthy the name of a style or\nschool. From that time to this, no resuscitation of energy has taken\nplace, nor does any for the present appear possible. How long this\nimpossibility may last, and in what direction with regard to art in\ngeneral, as well as to our lifeless architecture, our immediate efforts\nmay most profitably be directed, are the questions I would endeavor\nbriefly to consider in the present chapter.\n\n\u00a7 II. That modern science, with all its additions to the comforts of\nlife, and to the fields of rational contemplation, has placed the\nexisting races of mankind on a higher platform than any that preceded\nthem, none can doubt for an instant; and I believe the position in which\nwe find ourselves is somewhat analogous to that of thoughtful and\nlaborious youth succeeding a restless and heedless infancy. Not long\nago, it was said to me by one of the masters of modern science: \"When\nmen invented the locomotive, the child was learning to go; when they\ninvented the telegraph, it was learning to speak.\" He looked forward to\nthe manhood of mankind, as assuredly the nobler in proportion to the\nslowness of its developement. What might not be expected from the prime\nand middle strength of the order of existence whose infancy had lasted\nsix thousand years? And, indeed, I think this the truest, as well as the\nmost cheering, view that we can take of the world's history. Little\nprogress has been made as yet. Base war, lying policy, thoughtless\ncruelty, senseless improvidence,--all things which, in nations, are\nanalogous to the petulance, cunning, impatience, and carelessness of\ninfancy,--have been, up to this hour, as characteristic of mankind as\nthey were in the earliest periods; so that we must either be driven to\ndoubt of human progress at all, or look upon it as in its very earliest\nstage. Whether the opportunity is to be permitted us to redeem the hours\nthat we have lost; whether He, in whose sight a thousand years are as\none day, has appointed us to be tried by the continued possession of the\nstrange powers with which He has lately endowed us; or whether the\nperiods of childhood and of probation are to cease together, and the\nyouth of mankind is to be one which shall prevail over death, and bloom\nfor ever in the midst of a new heaven and a new earth, are questions\nwith which we have no concern. It is indeed right that we should look\nfor, and hasten, so far as in us lies, the coming of the Day of God; but\nnot that we should check any human efforts by anticipations of its\napproach. We shall hasten it best by endeavoring to work out the tasks\nthat are appointed for us here; and, therefore, reasoning as if the\nworld were to continue under its existing dispensation, and the powers\nwhich have just been granted to us were to be continued through myriads\nof future ages.\n\n\u00a7 III. It seems to me, then, that the whole human race, so far as their\nown reason can be trusted, may at present be regarded as just emergent\nfrom childhood; and beginning for the first time to feel their strength,\nto stretch their limbs, and explore the creation around them. If we\nconsider that, till within the last fifty years, the nature of the\nground we tread on, of the air we breathe, and of the light by which we\nsee, were not so much as conjecturally conceived by us; that the\nduration of the globe, and the races of animal life by which it was\ninhabited, are just beginning to be apprehended; and that the scope of\nthe magnificent science which has revealed them, is as yet so little\nreceived by the public mind, that presumption and ignorance are still\npermitted to raise their voices against it unrebuked; that perfect\nveracity in the representation of general nature by art has never been\nattempted until the present day, and has in the present day been\nresisted with all the energy of the popular voice;[46] that the simplest\nproblems of social science are yet so little understood, as that\ndoctrines of liberty and equality can be openly preached, and so\nsuccessfully as to affect the whole body of the civilized world with\napparently incurable disease; that the first principles of commerce were\nacknowledged by the English Parliament only a few months ago, in its\nfree trade measures, and are still so little understood by the million,\nthat no nation dares to abolish its custom-houses;[47] that the simplest\nprinciples of policy are still not so much as stated, far less received,\nand that civilized nations persist in the belief that the subtlety and\ndishonesty which they know to be ruinous in dealings between man and\nman, are serviceable in dealings between multitude and multitude;\nfinally, that the scope of the Christian religion, which we have been\ntaught for two thousand years, is still so little conceived by us, that\nwe suppose the laws of charity and of self-sacrifice bear upon\nindividuals in all their social relations, and yet do not bear upon\nnations in any of their political relations;--when, I say, we thus\nreview the depth of simplicity in which the human race are still\nplunged with respect to all that it most profoundly concerns them to\nknow, and which might, by them, with most ease have been ascertained, we\ncan hardly determine how far back on the narrow path of human progress\nwe ought to place the generation to which we belong, how far the\nswaddling clothes are unwound from us, and childish things beginning to\nbe put away.\n\nOn the other hand, a power of obtaining veracity in the representation\nof material and tangible things, which, within certain limits and\nconditions, is unimpeachable, has now been placed in the hands of all\nmen,[48] almost without labor. The foundation of every natural science\nis now at last firmly laid, not a day passing without some addition of\nbuttress and pinnacle to their already magnificent fabric. Social\ntheorems, if fiercely agitated, are therefore the more likely to be at\nlast determined, so that they never can be matters of question more.\nHuman life has been in some sense prolonged by the increased powers of\nlocomotion, and an almost limitless power of converse. Finally, there is\nhardly any serious mind in Europe but is occupied, more or less, in the\ninvestigation of the questions which have so long paralyzed the strength\nof religious feeling, and shortened the dominion of religious faith. And\nwe may therefore at least look upon ourselves as so far in a definite\nstate of progress, as to justify our caution in guarding against the\ndangers incident to every period of change, and especially to that from\nchildhood into youth.\n\n\u00a7 IV. Those dangers appear, in the main, to be twofold; consisting\npartly in the pride of vain knowledge, partly in the pursuit of vain\npleasure. A few points are still to be noticed with respect to each of\nthese heads.\n\nEnough, it might be thought, had been said already, touching the pride\nof knowledge; but I have not yet applied the principles, at which we\narrived in the third chapter, to the practical questions of modern art.\nAnd I think those principles, together with what were deduced from the\nconsideration of the nature of Gothic in the second volume, so necessary\nand vital, not only with respect to the progress of art, but even to the\nhappiness of society, that I will rather run the risk of tediousness\nthan of deficiency, in their illustration and enforcement.\n\nIn examining the nature of Gothic, we concluded that one of the chief\nelements of power in that, and in _all good_ architecture, was the\nacceptance of uncultivated and rude energy in the workman. In examining\nthe nature of Renaissance, we concluded that its chief element of\nweakness was that pride of knowledge which not only prevented all\nrudeness in expression, but gradually quenched all energy which could\nonly be rudely expressed; nor only so, but, for the motive and matter of\nthe work itself, preferred science to emotion, and experience to\nperception.\n\n\u00a7 V. The modern mind differs from the Renaissance mind in that its\nlearning is more substantial and extended, and its temper more humble;\nbut its errors, with respect to the cultivation of art, are precisely\nthe same,--nay, as far as regards execution, even more aggravated. We\nrequire, at present, from our general workmen, more perfect finish than\nwas demanded in the most skilful Renaissance periods, except in their\nvery finest productions; and our leading principles in teaching, and in\nthe patronage which necessarily gives tone to teaching, are, that the\ngoodness of work consists primarily in firmness of handling and accuracy\nof science, that is to say, in hand-work and head-work; whereas\nheart-work, which is the _one_ work we want, is not only independent of\nboth, but often, in great degree, inconsistent with either.\n\n\u00a7 VI. Here, therefore, let me finally and firmly enunciate the great\nprinciple to which all that has hitherto been stated is\nsubservient:--that art is valuable or otherwise, only as it expresses\nthe personality, activity, and living perception of a good and great\nhuman soul; that it may express and contain this with little help from\nexecution, and less from science; and that if it have not this, if it\nshow not the vigor, perception, and invention of a mighty human spirit,\nit is worthless. Worthless, I mean, as _art_; it may be precious in some\nother way, but, as art, it is nugatory. Once let this be well understood\namong us, and magnificent consequences will soon follow. Let me repeat\nit in other terms, so that I may not be misunderstood. All art is great,\nand good, and true, only so far as it is distinctively the work of\n_manhood_ in its entire and highest sense; that is to say, not the work\nof limbs and fingers, but of the soul, aided, according to her\nnecessities, by the inferior powers; and therefore distinguished in\nessence from all products of those inferior powers unhelped by the soul.\nFor as a photograph is not a work of art, though it requires certain\ndelicate manipulations of paper and acid, and subtle calculations of\ntime, in order to bring out a good result; so, neither would a drawing\n_like_ a photograph, made directly from nature, be a work of art,\nalthough it would imply many delicate manipulations of the pencil and\nsubtle calculations of effects of color and shade. It is no more art[49]\nto manipulate a camel's hair pencil, than to manipulate a china tray and\na glass vial. It is no more art to lay on color delicately, than to lay\non acid delicately. It is no more art to use the cornea and retina for\nthe reception of an image, than to use a lens and a piece of silvered\npaper. But the moment that inner part of the man, or rather that entire\nand only being of the man, of which cornea and retina, fingers and\nhands, pencils and colors, are all the mere servants and\ninstruments;[50] that manhood which has light in itself, though the\neyeball be sightless, and can gain in strength when the hand and the\nfoot are hewn off and cast into the fire; the moment this part of the\nman stands forth with its solemn \"Behold, it is I,\" then the work\nbecomes art indeed, perfect in honor, priceless in value, boundless in\npower.\n\n\u00a7 VII. Yet observe, I do not mean to speak of the body and soul as\nseparable. The man is made up of both: they are to be raised and\nglorified together, and all art is an expression of the one, by and\nthrough the other. All that I would insist upon is, the necessity of the\nwhole man being in his work; the body _must_ be in it. Hands and habits\nmust be in it, whether we will or not; but the nobler part of the man\nmay often not be in it. And that nobler part acts principally in love,\nreverence, and admiration, together with those conditions of thought\nwhich arise out of them. For we usually fall into much error by\nconsidering the intellectual powers as having dignity in themselves, and\nseparable from the heart; whereas the truth is, that the intellect\nbecomes noble and ignoble according to the food we give it, and the kind\nof subjects with which it is conversant. It is not the reasoning power\nwhich, of itself, is noble, but the reasoning power occupied with its\nproper objects. Half of the mistakes of metaphysicians have arisen from\ntheir not observing this; namely, that the intellect, going through the\nsame processes, is yet mean or noble according to the matter it deals\nwith, and wastes itself away in mere rotatory motion, if it be set to\ngrind straws and dust. If we reason only respecting words, or lines, or\nany trifling and finite things, the reason becomes a contemptible\nfaculty; but reason employed on holy and infinite things, becomes\nherself holy and infinite. So that, by work of the soul, I mean the\nreader always to understand the work of the entire immortal creature,\nproceeding from a quick, perceptive, and eager heart, perfected by the\nintellect, and finally dealt with by the hands, under the direct\nguidance of these higher powers.\n\n\u00a7 VIII. And now observe, the first important consequence of our fully\nunderstanding this pre\u00ebminence of the soul, will be the due\nunderstanding of that subordination of knowledge respecting which so\nmuch has already been said. For it must be felt at once, that the\nincrease of knowledge, merely as such, does not make the soul larger or\nsmaller; that, in the sight of God, all the knowledge man can gain is as\nnothing: but that the soul, for which the great scheme of redemption was\nlaid, be it ignorant or be it wise, is all in all; and in the activity,\nstrength, health, and well-being of this soul, lies the main difference,\nin His sight, between one man and another. And that which is all in all\nin God's estimate is also, be assured, all in all in man's labor; and to\nhave the heart open, and the eyes clear, and the emotions and thoughts\nwarm and quick, and not the knowing of this or the other fact, is the\nstate needed for all mighty doing in this world. And therefore finally,\nfor this, the weightiest of all reasons, let us take no pride in our\nknowledge. We may, in a certain sense, be proud of being immortal; we\nmay be proud of being God's children; we may be proud of loving,\nthinking, seeing, and of all that we are by no human teaching: but not\nof what we have been taught by rote; not of the ballast and freight of\nthe ship of the spirit, but only of its pilotage, without which all the\nfreight will only sink it faster, and strew the sea more richly with\nits ruin. There is not at this moment a youth of twenty, having received\nwhat we moderns ridiculously call education, but he knows more of\neverything, except the soul, than Plato or St. Paul did; but he is not\nfor that reason a greater man, or fitter for his work, or more fit to be\nheard by others, than Plato or St. Paul. There is not at this moment a\njunior student in our schools of painting, who does not know fifty times\nas much about the art as Giotto did; but he is not for that reason\ngreater than Giotto; no, nor his work better, nor fitter for our\nbeholding. Let him go on to know all that the human intellect can\ndiscover and contain in the term of a long life, and he will not be one\ninch, one line, nearer to Giotto's feet. But let him leave his academy\nbenches, and, innocently, as one knowing nothing, go out into the\nhighways and hedges, and there rejoice with them that rejoice, and weep\nwith them that weep; and in the next world, among the companies of the\ngreat and good, Giotto will give his hand to him, and lead him into\ntheir white circle, and say, \"This is our brother.\"\n\n\u00a7 IX. And the second important consequence of our feeling the soul's\npre\u00ebminence will be our understanding the soul's language, however\nbroken, or low, or feeble, or obscure in its words; and chiefly that\ngreat symbolic language of past ages, which has now so long been\nunspoken. It is strange that the same cold and formal spirit which the\nRenaissance teaching has raised amongst us, should be equally dead to\nthe languages of imitation and of symbolism; and should at once disdain\nthe faithful rendering of real nature by the modern school of the\nPre-Raphaelites, and the symbolic rendering of imagined nature in the\nwork of the thirteenth century. But so it is; and we find the same body\nof modern artists rejecting Pre-Raphaelitism because it is not ideal!\nand thirteenth century work, because it is not real!--their own practice\nbeing at once false and un-ideal, and therefore equally opposed to both.\n\n\u00a7 X. It is therefore, at this juncture, of much importance to mark for\nthe reader the exact relation of healthy symbolism and of healthy\nimitation; and, in order to do so, let us return to one of our Venetian\nexamples of symbolic art, to the central cupola of St. Mark's. On that\ncupola, as has been already stated, there is a mosaic representing the\nApostles on the Mount of Olives, with an olive-tree separating each from\nthe other; and we shall easily arrive at our purpose, by comparing the\nmeans which would have been adopted by a modern artist bred in the\nRenaissance schools,--that is to say, under the influence of Claude and\nPoussin, and of the common teaching of the present day,--with those\nadopted by the Byzantine mosaicist to express the nature of these trees.\n\n\u00a7 XI. The reader is doubtless aware that the olive is one of the most\ncharacteristic and beautiful features of all Southern scenery. On the\nslopes of the northern Apennines, olives are the usual forest timber;\nthe whole of the Val d'Arno is wooded with them, every one of its\ngardens is filled with them, and they grow in orchard-like ranks out of\nits fields of maize, or corn, or vine; so that it is physically\nimpossible, in most parts of the neighborhood of Florence, Pistoja,\nLucca, or Pisa, to choose any site of landscape which shall not owe its\nleading character to the foliage of these trees. What the elm and oak\nare to England, the olive is to Italy; nay, more than this, its presence\nis so constant, that, in the case of at least four fifths of the\ndrawings made by any artist in North Italy, he must have been somewhat\nimpeded by branches of olive coming between him and the landscape. Its\nclassical associations double its importance in Greece; and in the Holy\nLand the remembrances connected with it are of course more touching than\ncan ever belong to any other tree of the field. Now, for many years\nback, at least one third out of all the landscapes painted by English\nartists have been chosen from Italian scenery; sketches in Greece and in\nthe Holy Land have become as common as sketches on Hampstead Heath; our\ngalleries also are full of sacred subjects, in which, if any background\nbe introduced at all, the foliage of the olive ought to have been a\nprominent feature.\n\nAnd here I challenge the untravelled English reader to tell me what an\nolive-tree is like?\n\n\u00a7 XII. I know he cannot answer my challenge. He has no more idea of an\nolive-tree than if olives grew only in the fixed stars. Let him meditate\na little on this one fact, and consider its strangeness, and what a\nwilful and constant closing of the eyes to the most important truths it\nindicates on the part of the modern artist. Observe, a want of\nperception, not of science. I do not want painters to tell me any\nscientific facts about olive-trees. But it had been well for them to\nhave felt and seen the olive-tree; to have loved it for Christ's sake,\npartly also for the helmed Wisdom's sake which was to the heathen in\nsome sort as that nobler Wisdom which stood at God's right hand, when He\nfounded the earth and established the heavens. To have loved it, even to\nthe hoary dimness of its delicate foliage, subdued and faint of hue, as\nif the ashes of the Gethsemane agony had been cast upon it for ever; and\nto have traced, line by line, the gnarled writhing of its intricate\nbranches, and the pointed fretwork of its light and narrow leaves,\ninlaid on the blue field of the sky, and the small rosy-white stars of\nits spring blossoming, and the beads of sable fruit scattered by autumn\nalong its topmost boughs--the right, in Israel, of the stranger, the\nfatherless, and the widow,--and, more than all, the softness of the\nmantle, silver grey, and tender like the down on a bird's breast, with\nwhich, far away, it veils the undulation of the mountains;--these it had\nbeen well for them to have seen and drawn, whatever they had left\nunstudied in the gallery.\n\n\u00a7 XIII. And if the reader would know the reason why this has not been\ndone (it is one instance only out of the myriads which might be given of\nsightlessness in modern art), and will ask the artists themselves, he\nwill be informed of another of the marvellous contradictions and\ninconsistencies in the base Renaissance art; for it will be answered\nhim, that it is not right, nor according to law, to draw trees so that\none should be known from another, but that trees ought to be generalized\ninto a universal idea of a tree: that is to say, that the very school\nwhich carries its science in the representation of man down to the\ndissection of the most minute muscle, refuses so much science to the\ndrawing of a tree as shall distinguish one species from another; and\nalso, while it attends to logic, and rhetoric, and perspective, and\natmosphere, and every other circumstance which is trivial, verbal,\nexternal, or accidental, in what it either says or sees, it will _not_\nattend to what is essential and substantial,--being intensely\nsolicitous, for instance, if it draws two trees, one behind the other,\nthat the farthest off shall be as much smaller as mathematics show that\nit should be, but totally unsolicitous to show, what to the spectator is\na far more important matter, whether it is an apple or an orange tree.\n\n\u00a7 XIV. This, however, is not to our immediate purpose. Let it be granted\nthat an idea of an olive-tree is indeed to be given us in a special\nmanner; how, and by what language, this idea is to be conveyed, are\nquestions on which we shall find the world of artists again divided; and\nit was this division which I wished especially to illustrate by\nreference to the mosaics of St. Mark's.\n\nNow the main characteristics of an olive-tree are these. It has sharp\nand slender leaves of a greyish green, nearly grey on the under surface,\nand resembling, but somewhat smaller than, those of our common willow.\nIts fruit, when ripe, is black and lustrous; but of course so small,\nthat, unless in great quantity, it is not conspicuous upon the tree. Its\ntrunk and branches are peculiarly fantastic in their twisting, showing\ntheir fibres at every turn; and the trunk is often hollow, and even rent\ninto many divisions like separate stems, but the extremities are\nexquisitely graceful, especially in the setting on of the leaves; and\nthe notable and characteristic effect of the tree in the distance is of\na rounded and soft mass or ball of downy foliage.\n\n\u00a7 XV. Supposing a modern artist to address himself to the rendering of\nthis tree with his best skill: he will probably draw accurately the\ntwisting of the branches, but yet this will hardly distinguish the tree\nfrom an oak: he will also render the color and intricacy of the foliage,\nbut this will only confuse the idea of an oak with that of a willow. The\nfruit, and the peculiar grace of the leaves at the extremities, and the\nfibrous structure of the stems, will all be too minute to be rendered\nconsistently with his artistical feeling of breadth, or with the amount\nof labor which he considers it dexterous and legitimate to bestow upon\nthe work: but, above all, the rounded and monotonous form of the head of\nthe tree will be at variance with his ideas of \"composition;\" he will\nassuredly disguise or break it, and the main points of the olive-tree\nwill all at last remain untold.\n\n\u00a7 XVI. Now observe, the old Byzantine mosaicist begins his work at\nenormous disadvantage. It is to be some one hundred and fifty feet above\nthe eye, in a dark cupola; executed not with free touches of the pencil,\nbut with square pieces of glass; not by his own hand, but by various\nworkmen under his superintendence; finally, not with a principal purpose\nof drawing olive-trees, but mainly as a decoration of the cupola. There\nis to be an olive-tree beside each apostle, and their stems are to be\nthe chief lines which divide the dome. He therefore at once gives up the\nirregular twisting of the boughs hither and thither, but he will not\ngive up their fibres. Other trees have irregular and fantastic branches,\nbut the knitted cordage of fibres is the olive's own. Again, were he to\ndraw the leaves of their natural size, they would be so small that their\nforms would be invisible in the darkness; and were he to draw them so\nlarge as that their shape might be seen, they would look like laurel\ninstead of olive. So he arranges them in small clusters of five each,\nnearly of the shape which the Byzantines give to the petals of the lily,\nbut elongated so as to give the idea of leafage upon a spray; and these\nclusters,--his object always, be it remembered, being _decoration_ not\nless than _representation_,--he arranges symmetrically on each side of\nhis branches, laying the whole on a dark ground most truly suggestive of\nthe heavy rounded mass of the tree, which, in its turn, is relieved\nagainst the gold of the cupola. Lastly, comes the question respecting\nthe fruit. The whole power and honor of the olive is in its fruit; and,\nunless that be represented, nothing is represented. But if the berries\nwere colored black or green, they would be totally invisible; if of\nany other color, utterly unnatural, and violence would be done to the\nwhole conception. There is but one conceivable means of showing them,\nnamely to represent them as golden. For the idea of golden fruit of\nvarious kinds was already familiar to the mind, as in the apples of the\nHesperides, without any violence to the distinctive conception of the\nfruit itself.[51] So the mosaicist introduced small round golden berries\ninto the dark ground between each leaf, and his work was done.\n\n[Illustration: Plate IV.\n               Mosaics of Olive-tree and Flowers.]\n\n\u00a7 XVII. On the opposite plate, the uppermost figure on the left is a\ntolerably faithful representation of the general effect of one of these\ndecorative olive-trees; the figure on the right is the head of the tree\nalone, showing the leaf clusters, berries, and _interlacing_ of the\nboughs as they leave the stem. Each bough is connected with a separate\nline of fibre in the trunk, and the junctions of the arms and stem are\nindicated, down to the very root of the tree, with a truth in structure\nwhich may well put to shame the tree anatomy of modern times.\n\n\u00a7 XVIII. The white branching figures upon the serpentine band below are\ntwo of the clusters of flowers which form the foreground of a mosaic in\nthe atrium. I have printed the whole plate in blue, because that color\napproaches more nearly than black to the distant effect of the mosaics,\nof which the darker portions are generally composed of blue, in greater\nquantity than any other color. But the waved background in this\ninstance, is of various shades of blue and green alternately, with one\nnarrow black band to give it force; the whole being intended to\nrepresent the distant effect and color of deep grass, and the wavy line\nto _express its bending motion_, just as the same symbol is used to\nrepresent the waves of water. Then the two white clusters are\nrepresentative of the distinctly visible herbage close to the\nspectator, having buds and flowers of two kinds, springing in one case\nout of the midst of twisted grass, and in the other out of their own\nproper leaves; the clusters being kept each so distinctly symmetrical,\nas to form, when set side by side, an ornamental border of perfect\narchitectural severity; and yet each cluster different from the next,\nand every flower, and bud, and knot of grass, varied in form and\nthought. The way the mosaic tesser\u00e6 are arranged, so as to give the\nwrithing of the grass blades round the stalks of the flowers, is\nexceedingly fine.\n\nThe tree circles below are examples of still more severely conventional\nforms, adopted, on principle, when the decoration is to be in white and\ngold, instead of color; these ornaments being cut in white marble on the\noutside of the church, and the ground laid in with gold, though\nnecessarily here represented, like the rest of the plate, in blue. And\nit is exceedingly interesting to see how the noble workman, the moment\nhe is restricted to more conventional materials, retires into more\nconventional forms, and reduces his various leafage into symmetry, now\nnearly perfect; yet observe, in the central figure, where the symbolic\nmeaning of the vegetation beside the cross required it to be more\ndistinctly indicated, he has given it life and growth by throwing it\ninto unequal curves on the opposite sides.\n\n\u00a7 XIX. I believe the reader will now see, that in these mosaics, which\nthe careless traveller is in the habit of passing by with contempt,\nthere is a depth of feeling and of meaning greater than in most of the\nbest sketches from nature of modern times; and, without entering into\nany question whether these conventional representations are as good as,\nunder the required limitations, it was possible to render them, they are\nat all events good enough completely to illustrate that mode of\nsymbolical expression which appeals altogether to thought, and in no\nwise trusts to realization. And little as, in the present state of our\nschools, such an assertion is likely to be believed, the fact is that\nthis kind of expression is the _only one allowable in noble art_.\n\n\u00a7 XX. I pray the reader to have patience with me for a few moments. I do\nnot mean that no art is noble but Byzantine mosaic; but no art is noble\nwhich in any wise depends upon direct imitation for its effect upon the\nmind. This was asserted in the opening chapters of \"Modern Painters,\"\nbut not upon the highest grounds; the results at which we have now\narrived in our investigation of early art, will enable me to place it on\na loftier and firmer foundation.\n\n\u00a7 XXI. We have just seen that all great art is the work of the whole\nliving creature, body and soul, and chiefly of the soul. But it is not\nonly _the work_ of the whole creature, it likewise _addresses_ the whole\ncreature. That in which the perfect being speaks, must also have the\nperfect being to listen. I am not to spend my utmost spirit, and give\nall my strength and life to my work, while you, spectator or hearer,\nwill give me only the attention of half your soul. You must be all mine,\nas I am all yours; it is the only condition on which we can meet each\nother. All your faculties, all that is in you of greatest and best, must\nbe awake in you, or I have no reward. The painter is not to cast the\nentire treasure of his human nature into his labor, merely to please a\npart of the beholder: not merely to delight his senses, not merely to\namuse his fancy, not merely to beguile him into emotion, not merely to\nlead him into thought, but to do _all_ this. Senses, fancy, feeling,\nreason, the whole of the beholding spirit, must be stilled in attention\nor stirred with delight; else the laboring spirit has not done its work\nwell. For observe, it is not merely its _right_ to be thus met, face to\nface, heart to heart; but it is its _duty_ to evoke its answering of the\nother soul; its trumpet call must be so clear, that though the challenge\nmay by dulness or indolence be unanswered, there shall be no error as to\nthe meaning of the appeal; there must be a summons in the work, which it\nshall be our own fault if we do not obey. We require this of it, we\nbeseech this of it. Most men do not know what is in them, till they\nreceive this summons from their fellows: their hearts die within them,\nsleep settles upon them, the lethargy of the world's miasmata; there is\nnothing for which they are so thankful as for that cry, \"Awake, thou\nthat sleepest.\" And this cry must be most loudly uttered to their\nnoblest faculties; first of all to the imagination, for that is the most\ntender, and the soonest struck into numbness by the poisoned air; so\nthat one of the main functions of art in its service to man, is to\narouse the imagination from its palsy, like the angel troubling the\nBethesda pool; and the art which does not do this is false to its duty,\nand degraded in its nature. It is not enough that it be well imagined,\nit must task the beholder also to imagine well; and this so\nimperatively, that if he does not choose to rouse himself to meet the\nwork, he shall not taste it, nor enjoy it in any wise. Once that he is\nwell awake, the guidance which the artist gives him should be full and\nauthoritative: the beholder's imagination must not be suffered to take\nits own way, or wander hither and thither; but neither must it be left\nat rest; and the right point of realization, for any given work of art,\nis that which will enable the spectator to complete it for himself, in\nthe exact way the artist would have him, but not that which will save\nhim the trouble of effecting the completion. So soon as the idea is\nentirely conveyed, the artist's labor should cease; and every touch\nwhich he adds beyond the point when, with the help of the beholder's\nimagination, the story ought to have been told, is a degradation to his\nwork. So that the art is wrong, which either realizes its subject\ncompletely, or fails in giving such definite aid as shall enable it to\nbe realized by the beholding imagination.\n\n\u00a7 XXII. It follows, therefore, that the quantity of finish or detail\nwhich may rightly be bestowed upon any work, depends on the number and\nkind of ideas which the artist wishes to convey, much more than on the\namount of realization necessary to enable the imagination to grasp them.\nIt is true that the differences of judgment formed by one or another\nobserver are in great degree dependent on their unequal imaginative\npowers, as well as their unequal efforts in following the artist's\nintention; and it constantly happens that the drawing which appears\nclear to the painter in whose mind the thought is formed, is slightly\ninadequate to suggest it to the spectator. These causes of false\njudgment, or imperfect achievement, must always exist, but they are of\nno importance. For, in nearly every mind, the imaginative power, however\nunable to act independently, is so easily helped and so brightly\nanimated by the most obscure suggestion, that there is no form of\nartistical language which will not readily be seized by it, if once it\nset itself intelligently to the task; and even without such effort there\nare few hieroglyphics of which, once understanding that it is to take\nthem as hieroglyphics, it cannot make itself a pleasant picture.\n\n\u00a7 XXIII. Thus, in the case of all sketches, etchings, unfinished\nengravings, &c., no one ever supposes them to be imitations. Black\noutlines on white paper cannot produce a deceptive resemblance of\nanything; and the mind, understanding at once that it is to depend on\nits own powers for great part of its pleasure, sets itself so actively\nto the task that it can completely enjoy the rudest outline in which\nmeaning exists. Now, when it is once in this temper, the artist is\ninfinitely to be blamed who insults it by putting anything into his work\nwhich is not suggestive: having summoned the imaginative power, he must\nturn it to account and keep it employed, or it will run against him in\nindignation. Whatever he does merely to realize and substantiate an idea\nis impertinent; he is like a dull story-teller, dwelling on points which\nthe hearer anticipates or disregards. The imagination will say to him:\n\"I knew all that before; I don't want to be told that. Go on; or be\nsilent, and let me go on in my own way. I can tell the story better than\nyou.\"\n\nObserve, then, whenever finish is given for the sake of realization, it\nis wrong; whenever it is given for the sake of adding ideas it is right.\nAll true finish consists in the addition of ideas, that is to say, in\ngiving the imagination more food; for once well awaked, it is ravenous\nfor food: but the painter who finishes in order to substantiate takes\nthe food out of its mouth, and it will turn and rend him.\n\n\u00a7 XXIV. Let us go back, for instance, to our olive grove,--or, lest the\nreader should be tired of olives, let it be an oak copse,--and consider\nthe difference between the substantiating and the imaginative methods of\nfinish in such a subject. A few strokes of the pencil, or dashes of\ncolor, will be enough to enable the imagination to conceive a tree; and\nin those dashes of color Sir Joshua Reynolds would have rested, and\nwould have suffered the imagination to paint what more it liked for\nitself, and grow oaks, or olives, or apples, out of the few dashes of\ncolor at its leisure. On the other hand, Hobbima, one of the worst of\nthe realists, smites the imagination on the mouth, and bids it be\nsilent, while he sets to work to paint his oak of the right green, and\nfill up its foliage laboriously with jagged touches, and furrow the bark\nall over its branches, so as, if possible, to deceive us into supposing\nthat we are looking at a real oak; which, indeed, we had much better do\nat once, without giving any one the trouble to deceive us in the matter.\n\n\u00a7 XXV. Now, the truly great artist neither leaves the imagination to\nitself, like Sir Joshua, nor insults it by realization, like Hobbima,\nbut finds it continual employment of the happiest kind. Having summoned\nit by his vigorous first touches, he says to it: \"Here is a tree for\nyou, and it is to be an oak. Now I know that you can make it green and\nintricate for yourself, but that is not enough: an oak is not only green\nand intricate, but its leaves have most beautiful and fantastic forms\nwhich I am very sure you are not quite able to complete without help; so\nI will draw a cluster or two perfectly for you, and then you can go on\nand do all the other clusters. So far so good: but the leaves are not\nenough; the oak is to be full of acorns, and you may not be quite able\nto imagine the way they grow, nor the pretty contrast of their glossy\nalmond-shaped nuts with the chasing of their cups; so I will draw a\nbunch or two of acorns for you, and you can fill up the oak with others\nlike them. Good: but that is not enough; it is to be a bright day in\nsummer, and all the outside leaves are to be glittering in the sunshine\nas if their edges were of gold: I cannot paint this, but you can; so I\nwill really gild some of the edges nearest you,[52] and you can turn\nthe gold into sunshine, and cover the tree with it. Well done: but still\nthis is not enough; the tree is so full foliaged and so old that the\nwood birds come in crowds to build there; they are singing, two or three\nunder the shadow of every bough. I cannot show you them all; but here is\na large one on the outside spray, and you can fancy the others inside.\"\n\n\u00a7 XXVI. In this way the calls upon the imagination are multiplied as a\ngreat painter finishes; and from these larger incidents he may proceed\ninto the most minute particulars, and lead the companion imagination to\nthe veins in the leaves and the mosses on the trunk, and the shadows of\nthe dead leaves upon the grass, but always multiplying thoughts, or\nsubjects of thought, never working for the sake of realization; the\namount of realization actually reached depending on his space, his\nmaterials, and the nature of the thoughts he wishes to suggest. In the\nsculpture of an oak-tree, introduced above an Adoration of the Magi on\nthe tomb of the Doge Marco Dolfino (fourteenth century), the sculptor\nhas been content with a few leaves, a single acorn, and a bird; while,\non the other hand, Millais' willow-tree with the robin, in the\nbackground of his \"Ophelia,\" or the foreground of Hunt's \"Two Gentlemen\nof Verona,\" carries the appeal to the imagination into particulars so\nmultiplied and minute, that the work nearly reaches realization. But it\ndoes not matter how near realization the work may approach in its\nfulness, or how far off it may remain in its slightness, so long as\nrealization is not the end proposed, but the informing one spirit of the\nthoughts of another. And in this greatness and simplicity of purpose all\nnoble art is alike, however slight its means, or however perfect, from\nthe rudest mosaics of St. Mark's to the most tender finishing of the\n\"Huguenot\" or the \"Ophelia.\"\n\n\u00a7 XXVII. Only observe, in this matter, that a greater degree of\nrealization is often allowed, for the sake of color, than would be right\nwithout it. For there is not any distinction between the artists of the\ninferior and the nobler schools more definite than this; that the first\n_color for the sake of realization_, and the second _realize for the\nsake of color_. I hope that, in the fifth chapter, enough has been said\nto show the nobility of color, though it is a subject on which I would\nfain enlarge whenever I approach it: for there is none that needs more\nto be insisted upon, chiefly on account of the opposition of the persons\nwho have no eye for color, and who, being therefore unable to understand\nthat it is just as divine and distinct in its power as music (only\ninfinitely more varied in its harmonies), talk of it as if it were\ninferior and servile with respect to the other powers of art;[53]\nwhereas it is so far from being this, that wherever it enters it must\ntake the mastery, and, whatever else is sacrificed for its sake, _it_,\nat least, must be right. This is partly the case even with music: it is\nat our choice, whether we will accompany a poem with music, or not; but,\nif we do, the music _must_ be right, and neither discordant nor\ninexpressive. The goodness and sweetness of the poem cannot save it, if\nthe music be harsh or false; but, if the music be right, the poem may be\ninsipid or inharmonious, and still saved by the notes to which it is\nwedded. But this is far more true of color. If that be wrong, all is\nwrong. No amount of expression or invention can redeem an ill-colored\npicture; while, on the other hand, if the color be right, there is\nnothing it will not raise or redeem; and, therefore, wherever color\nenters at all, anything _may_ be sacrificed to it, and, rather than it\nshould be false or feeble, everything _must_ be sacrificed to it: so\nthat, when an artist touches color, it is the same thing as when a poet\ntakes up a musical instrument; he implies, in so doing, that he is a\nmaster, up to a certain point, of that instrument, and can produce sweet\nsound from it, and is able to fit the course and measure of his words to\nits tones, which, if he be not able to do, he had better not have\ntouched it. In like manner, to add color to a drawing is to undertake\nfor the perfection of a visible music, which, if it be false, will\nutterly and assuredly mar the whole work; if true, proportionately\nelevate it, according to its power and sweetness. But, in no case ought\nthe color to be added in order to increase the realization. The drawing\nor engraving is all that the imagination needs. To \"paint\" the subject\nmerely to make it more real, is only to insult the imaginative power and\nto vulgarize the whole. Hence the common, though little understood\nfeeling, among men of ordinary cultivation, that an inferior sketch is\nalways better than a bad painting; although, in the latter, there may\nverily be more skill than in the former. For the painter who has\npresumed to touch color without perfectly understanding it, not for the\ncolor's sake, nor because he loves it, but for the sake of completion\nmerely, has committed two sins against us; he has dulled the imagination\nby not trusting it far enough, and then, in this languid state, he\noppresses it with base and false color; for all color that is not\nlovely, is discordant; there is no mediate condition. So, therefore,\nwhen it is permitted to enter at all, it must be with the\npredetermination that, cost what it will, the color shall be right and\nlovely: and I only wish that, in general, it were better understood that\na _painter's_ business is _to paint_, primarily; and that all\nexpression, and grouping, and conceiving, and what else goes to\nconstitute design, _are of less importance than color, in a colored\nwork_. And so they were always considered in the noble periods; and\nsometimes all resemblance to nature whatever (as in painted windows,\nilluminated manuscripts, and such other work) is sacrificed to the\nbrilliancy of color; sometimes distinctness of form to its richness, as\nby Titian, Turner, and Reynolds; and, which is the point on which we are\nat present insisting, sometimes, in the pursuit of its utmost\nrefinements on the surfaces of objects, an amount of realization becomes\nconsistent with noble art, which would otherwise be altogether\ninadmissible, that is to say, which no great mind could otherwise have\neither produced or enjoyed. The extreme finish given by the\nPre-Raphaelites is rendered noble chiefly by their love of color.\n\n\u00a7 XXVIII. So then, whatever may be the means, or whatever the more\nimmediate end of any kind of art, all of it that is good agrees in this,\nthat it is the expression of one soul talking to another, and is\nprecious according to the greatness of the soul that utters it. And\nconsider what mighty consequences follow from our acceptance of this\ntruth! what a key we have herein given us for the interpretation of the\nart of all time! For, as long as we held art to consist in any high\nmanual skill, or successful imitation of natural objects, or any\nscientific and legalized manner of performance whatever, it was\nnecessary for us to limit our admiration to narrow periods and to few\nmen. According to our own knowledge and sympathies, the period chosen\nmight be different, and our rest might be in Greek statues, or Dutch\nlandscapes, or Italian Madonnas; but, whatever our choice, we were\ntherein captive, barred from all reverence but of our favorite masters,\nand habitually using the language of contempt towards the whole of the\nhuman race to whom it had not pleased Heaven to reveal the arcana of the\nparticular craftsmanship we admired, and who, it might be, had lived\ntheir term of seventy years upon the earth, and fitted themselves\ntherein for the eternal world, without any clear understanding,\nsometimes even with an insolent disregard, of the laws of perspective\nand chiaroscuro.\n\nBut let us once comprehend the holier nature of the art of man, and\nbegin to look for the meaning of the spirit, however syllabled, and the\nscene is changed; and we are changed also. Those small and dexterous\ncreatures whom once we worshipped, those fur-capped divinities with\nsceptres of camel's hair, peering and poring in their one-windowed\nchambers over the minute preciousness of the labored canvas; how are\nthey swept away and crushed into unnoticeable darkness! And in their\nstead, as the walls of the dismal rooms that enclosed them, and us, are\nstruck by the four winds of Heaven, and rent away, and as the world\nopens to our sight, lo! far back into all the depths of time, and forth\nfrom all the fields that have been sown with human life, how the harvest\nof the dragon's teeth is springing! how the companies of the gods are\nascending out of the earth! The dark stones that have so long been the\nsepulchres of the thoughts of nations, and the forgotten ruins wherein\ntheir faith lay charnelled, give up the dead that were in them; and\nbeneath the Egyptian ranks of sultry and silent rock, and amidst the dim\ngolden lights of the Byzantine dome, and out of the confused and cold\nshadows of the Northern cloister, behold, the multitudinous souls come\nforth with singing, gazing on us with the soft eyes of newly\ncomprehended sympathy, and stretching their white arms to us across the\ngrave, in the solemn gladness of everlasting brotherhood.\n\n\u00a7 XXIX. The other danger to which, it was above said, we were primarily\nexposed under our present circumstances of life, is the pursuit of vain\npleasure, that is to say, false pleasure; delight, which is not indeed\ndelight; as knowledge vainly accumulated, is not indeed knowledge. And\nthis we are exposed to chiefly in the fact of our ceasing to be\nchildren. For the child does not seek false pleasure; its pleasures are\ntrue, simple, and instinctive: but the youth is apt to abandon his early\nand true delight for vanities,--seeking to be like men, and sacrificing\nhis natural and pure enjoyments to his pride. In like manner, it seems\nto me that modern civilization sacrifices much pure and true pleasure to\nvarious forms of ostentation from which it can receive no fruit.\nConsider, for a moment, what kind of pleasures are open to human nature,\nundiseased. Passing by the consideration of the pleasures of the higher\naffections, which lie at the root of everything, and considering the\ndefinite and practical pleasures of daily life, there is, first, the\npleasure of doing good; the greatest of all, only apt to be despised\nfrom not being often enough tasted: and then, I know not in what order\nto put them, nor does it matter,--the pleasure of gaining knowledge; the\npleasure of the excitement of imagination and emotion (or poetry and\npassion); and, lastly, the gratification of the senses, first of the\neye, then of the ear, and then of the others in their order.\n\n\u00a7 XXX. All these we are apt to make subservient to the desire of praise;\nnor unwisely, when the praise sought is God's and the conscience's: but\nif the sacrifice is made for man's admiration, and knowledge is only\nsought for praise, passion repressed or affected for praise, and the\narts practised for praise, we are feeding on the bitterest apples of\nSodom, suffering always ten mortifications for one delight. And it seems\nto me, that in the modern civilized world we make such sacrifice doubly:\nfirst, by laboring for merely ambitious purposes; and secondly, which is\nthe main point in question, by being ashamed of simple pleasures, more\nespecially of the pleasure in sweet color and form, a pleasure evidently\nso necessary to man's perfectness and virtue, that the beauty of color\nand form has been given lavishly throughout the whole of creation, so\nthat it may become the food of all, and with such intricacy and subtlety\nthat it may deeply employ the thoughts of all. If we refuse to accept\nthe natural delight which the Deity has thus provided for us, we must\neither become ascetics, or we must seek for some base and guilty\npleasures to replace those of Paradise, which we have denied ourselves.\n\nSome years ago, in passing through some of the cells of the Grand\nChartreuse, noticing that the window of each apartment looked across the\nlittle garden of its inhabitant to the wall of the cell opposite, and\ncommanded no other view, I asked the monk beside me, why the window was\nnot rather made on the side of the cell whence it would open to the\nsolemn fields of the Alpine valley. \"We do not come here,\" he replied,\n\"to look at the mountains.\"\n\n\u00a7 XXXI. The same answer is given, practically, by the men of this\ncentury, to every such question; only the walls with which they enclose\nthemselves are those of pride, not of prayer. But in the middle ages it\nwas otherwise. Not, indeed, in landscape itself, but in the art which\ncan take the place of it, in the noble color and form with which they\nillumined, and into which they wrought, every object around them that\nwas in any wise subjected to their power, they obeyed the laws of their\ninner nature, and found its proper food. The splendor and fantasy even\nof dress, which in these days we pretend to despise, or in which, if we\neven indulge, it is only for the sake of vanity, and therefore to our\ninfinite harm, were in those early days studied for love of their true\nbeauty and honorableness, and became one of the main helps to dignity of\ncharacter, and courtesy of bearing. Look back to what we have been told\nof the dress of the early Venetians, that it was so invented \"that in\nclothing themselves with it, they might clothe themselves also with\nmodesty and honor;\"[54] consider what nobleness of expression there is\nin the dress of any of the portrait figures of the great times, nay,\nwhat perfect beauty, and more than beauty, there is in the folding of\nthe robe round the imagined form even of the saint or of the angel; and\nthen consider whether the grace of vesture be indeed a thing to be\ndespised. We cannot despise it if we would; and in all our highest\npoetry and happiest thought we cling to the magnificence which in daily\nlife we disregard. The essence of modern romance is simply the return of\nthe heart and fancy to the things in which they naturally take pleasure;\nand half the influence of the best romances, of Ivanhoe, or Marmion, or\nthe Crusaders, or the Lady of the Lake, is completely dependent upon the\naccessaries of armor and costume. Nay, more than this, deprive the Iliad\nitself of its costume, and consider how much of its power would be lost.\nAnd that delight and reverence which we feel in, and by means of, the\nmere imagination of these accessaries, the middle ages had in the vision\nof them; the nobleness of dress exercising, as I have said, a perpetual\ninfluence upon character, tending in a thousand ways to increase\ndignity and self-respect, and together with grace of gesture, to induce\nserenity of thought.\n\n\u00a7 XXXII. I do not mean merely in its magnificence; the most splendid\ntime was not the best time. It was still in the thirteenth\ncentury,--when, as we have seen, simplicity and gorgeousness were justly\nmingled, and the \"leathern girdle and clasp of bone\" were worn, as well\nas the embroidered mantle,--that the manner of dress seems to have been\nnoblest. The chain mail of the knight, flowing and falling over his form\nin lapping waves of gloomy strength, was worn under full robes of one\ncolor in the ground, his crest quartered on them, and their borders\nenriched with subtle illumination. The women wore first a dress close to\nthe form in like manner, and then long and flowing robes, veiling them\nup to the neck, and delicately embroidered around the hem, the sleeves,\nand the girdle. The use of plate armor gradually introduced more\nfantastic types; the nobleness of the form was lost beneath the steel;\nthe gradually increasing luxury and vanity of the age strove for\ncontinual excitement in more quaint and extravagant devices; and in the\nfifteenth century, dress reached its point of utmost splendor and fancy,\nbeing in many cases still exquisitely graceful, but now, in its morbid\nmagnificence, devoid of all wholesome influence on manners. From this\npoint, like architecture, it was rapidly degraded; and sank through the\nbuff coat, and lace collar, and jack-boot, to the bag-wig, tailed coat,\nand high-heeled shoes; and so to what it is now.\n\n\u00a7 XXXIII. Precisely analogous to this destruction of beauty in dress,\nhas been that of beauty in architecture; its color, and grace, and\nfancy, being gradually sacrificed to the base forms of the Renaissance,\nexactly as the splendor of chivalry has faded into the paltriness of\nfashion. And observe the form in which the necessary reaction has taken\nplace; necessary, for it was not possible that one of the strongest\ninstincts of the human race could be deprived altogether of its natural\nfood. Exactly in the degree that the architect withdrew from his\nbuildings the sources of delight which in early days they had so richly\npossessed, demanding, in accordance with the new principles of taste,\nthe banishment of all happy color and healthy invention, in that degree\nthe minds of men began to turn to landscape as their only resource. The\npicturesque school of art rose up to address those capacities of\nenjoyment for which, in sculpture, architecture, or the higher walks of\npainting, there was employment no more; and the shadows of Rembrandt,\nand savageness of Salvator, arrested the admiration which was no longer\npermitted to be rendered to the gloom or the grotesqueness of the Gothic\naisle. And thus the English school of landscape, culminating in Turner,\nis in reality nothing else than a healthy effort to fill the void which\nthe destruction of Gothic architecture has left.\n\n\u00a7 XXXIV. But the void cannot thus be completely filled; no, nor filled\nin any considerable degree. The art of landscape-painting will never\nbecome thoroughly interesting or sufficing to the minds of men engaged\nin active life, or concerned principally with practical subjects. The\nsentiment and imagination necessary to enter fully into the romantic\nforms of art are chiefly the characteristics of youth; so that nearly\nall men as they advance in years, and some even from their childhood\nupwards, must be appealed to, if at all, by a direct and substantial\nart, brought before their daily observation and connected with their\ndaily interests. No form of art answers these conditions so well as\narchitecture, which, as it can receive help from every character of mind\nin the workman, can address every character of mind in the spectator;\nforcing itself into notice even in his most languid moments, and\npossessing this chief and peculiar advantage, that it is the property of\nall men. Pictures and statues may be jealously withdrawn by their\npossessors from the public gaze, and to a certain degree their safety\nrequires them to be so withdrawn; but the outsides of our houses belong\nnot so much to us as to the passer-by, and whatever cost and pains we\nbestow upon them, though too often arising out of ostentation, have at\nleast the effect of benevolence.\n\n\u00a7 XXXV. If, then, considering these things, any of my readers should\ndetermine, according to their means, to set themselves to the revival\nof a healthy school of architecture in England, and wish to know in few\nwords how this may be done, the answer is clear and simple. First, let\nus cast out utterly whatever is connected with the Greek, Roman, or\nRenaissance architecture, in principle or in form. We have seen above,\nthat the whole mass of the architecture, founded on Greek and Roman\nmodels, which we have been in the habit of building for the last three\ncenturies, is utterly devoid of all life, virtue, honorableness, or\npower of doing good. It is base, unnatural, unfruitful, unenjoyable, and\nimpious. Pagan in its origin, proud and unholy in its revival, paralyzed\nin its old age, yet making prey in its dotage of all the good and living\nthings that were springing around it in their youth, as the dying and\ndesperate king, who had long fenced himself so strongly with the towers\nof it, is said to have filled his failing veins with the blood of\nchildren;[55] an architecture invented, as it seems, to make plagiarists\nof its architects, slaves of its workmen, and Sybarites of its\ninhabitants; an architecture in which intellect is idle, invention\nimpossible, but in which all luxury is gratified, and all insolence\nfortified;--the first thing we have to do is to cast it out, and shake\nthe dust of it from our feet for ever. Whatever has any connexion with\nthe five orders, or with any one of the orders,--whatever is Doric, or\nIonic, or Tuscan, or Corinthian, or Composite, or in any way Grecized or\nRomanized; whatever betrays the smallest respect for Vitruvian laws, or\nconformity with Palladian work,--that we are to endure no more. To\ncleanse ourselves of these \"cast clouts and rotten rags\" is the first\nthing to be done in the court of our prison.\n\n\u00a7 XXXVI. Then, to turn our prison into a palace is an easy thing. We\nhave seen above, that exactly in the degree in which Greek and Roman\narchitecture is lifeless, unprofitable, and unchristian, in that same\ndegree our own ancient Gothic is animated, serviceable, and faithful. We\nhave seen that it is flexible to all duty, enduring to all time,\ninstructive to all hearts, honorable and holy in all offices. It is\ncapable alike of all lowliness and all dignity, fit alike for cottage\nporch or castle gateway; in domestic service familiar, in religious,\nsublime; simple, and playful, so that childhood may read it, yet clothed\nwith a power that can awe the mightiest, and exalt the loftiest of human\nspirits: an architecture that kindles every faculty in its workman, and\naddresses every emotion in its beholder; which, with every stone that is\nlaid on its solemn walls, raises some human heart a step nearer heaven,\nand which from its birth has been incorporated with the existence, and\nin all its form is symbolical of the faith, of Christianity. In this\narchitecture let us henceforward build, alike the church, the palace,\nand the cottage; but chiefly let us use it for our civil and domestic\nbuildings. These once ennobled, our ecclesiastical work will be exalted\ntogether with them: but churches are not the proper scenes for\nexperiments in untried architecture, nor for exhibitions of unaccustomed\nbeauty. It is certain that we must often fail before we can again build\na natural and noble Gothic: let not our temples be the scenes of our\nfailures. It is certain that we must offend many deep-rooted prejudices,\nbefore ancient Christian architecture[56] can be again received by all\nof us: let not religion be the first source of such offence. We shall\nmeet with difficulties in applying Gothic architecture to churches,\nwhich would in no wise affect the designs of civil buildings, for the\nmost beautiful forms of Gothic chapels are not those which are best\nfitted for Protestant worship. As it was noticed in the second volume,\nwhen speaking of the Cathedral of Torcello it seems not unlikely, that\nas we study either the science of sound, or the practice of the early\nChristians, we may see reason to place the pulpit generally at the\nextremity of the apse or chancel; an arrangement entirely destructive of\nthe beauty of a Gothic church, as seen in existing examples, and\nrequiring modifications of its design in other parts with which we\nshould be unwise at present to embarrass ourselves; besides, that the\neffort to introduce the style exclusively for ecclesiastical purposes,\nexcites against it the strong prejudices of many persons who might\notherwise be easily enlisted among its most ardent advocates. I am quite\nsure, for instance, that if such noble architecture as has been employed\nfor the interior of the church just built in Margaret Street[57] had\nbeen seen in a civil building, it would have decided the question with\nmany men at once; whereas, at present, it will be looked upon with fear\nand suspicion, as the expression of the ecclesiastical principles of a\nparticular party. But, whether thus regarded or not, this church\nassuredly decides one question conclusively, that of our present\ncapability of Gothic design. It is the first piece of architecture I\nhave seen, built in modern days, which is free from all signs of\ntimidity or incapacity. In general proportion of parts, in refinement\nand piquancy of mouldings, above all, in force, vitality, and grace of\nfloral ornament, worked in a broad and masculine manner, it challenges\nfearless comparison with the noblest work of any time. Having done this,\nwe may do anything; there need be no limits to our hope or our\nconfidence; and I believe it to be possible for us, not only to equal,\nbut far to surpass, in some respects, any Gothic yet seen in Northern\ncountries. In the introduction of figure-sculpture, we must, indeed, for\nthe present, remain utterly inferior, for we have no figures to study\nfrom. No architectural sculpture was ever good for anything which did\nnot represent the dress and persons of the people living at the time;\nand our modern dress will _not_ form decorations for spandrils and\nniches. But in floral sculpture we may go far beyond what has yet been\ndone, as well as in refinement of inlaid work and general execution.\nFor, although the glory of Gothic architecture is to receive the rudest\nwork, it refuses not the best; and, when once we have been content to\nadmit the handling of the simplest workman, we shall soon be rewarded by\nfinding many of our simple workmen become cunning ones: and, with the\nhelp of modern wealth and science, we may do things like Giotto's\ncampanile, instead of like our own rude cathedrals; but better than\nGiotto's campanile, insomuch as we may adopt the pure and perfect forms\nof the Northern Gothic, and work them out with the Italian refinement.\nIt is hardly possible at present to imagine what may be the splendor of\nbuildings designed in the forms of English and French thirteenth century\n_surface_ Gothic, and wrought out with the refinement of Italian art in\nthe details, and with a deliberate resolution, since we cannot have\nfigure sculpture, to display in them the beauty of every flower and herb\nof the English fields, each by each; doing as much for every tree that\nroots itself in our rocks, and every blossom that drinks our summer\nrains, as our ancestors did for the oak, the ivy, and the rose. Let this\nbe the object of our ambition, and let us begin to approach it, not\nambitiously, but in all humility, accepting help from the feeblest\nhands; and the London of the nineteenth century may yet become as Venice\nwithout her despotism, and as Florence without her dispeace.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [46] In the works of Turner and the Pre-Raphaelites.\n\n  [47] Observe, I speak of these various principles as self-evident,\n    only under the present circumstances of the world, not as if they\n    had always been so; and I call them now self-evident, not merely\n    because they seem so to myself, but because they are felt to be so\n    likewise by all the men in whom I place most trust. But granting\n    that they are not so, then their very disputability proves the state\n    of infancy above alleged, as characteristic of the world. For I do\n    not suppose that any Christian reader will doubt the first great\n    truth, that whatever facts or laws are important to mankind, God has\n    made ascertainable by mankind; and that as the decision of all these\n    questions is of vital importance to the race, that decision must\n    have been long ago arrived at, unless they were still in a state of\n    childhood.\n\n  [48] I intended to have given a sketch in this place (above referred\n    to) of the probable results of the daguerreotype and calotype within\n    the next few years, in modifying the application of the engraver's\n    art, but I have not had time to complete the experiments necessary\n    to enable me to speak with certainty. Of one thing, however, I have\n    little doubt, that an infinite service will soon be done to a large\n    body of our engravers; namely, the making them draughtsmen (in black\n    and white) on paper instead of steel.\n\n  [49] I mean art in its highest sense. All that men do ingeniously is\n    art, in one sense. In fact, we want a definition of the word \"art\"\n    much more accurate than any in our minds at present. For, strictly\n    speaking, there is no such thing as \"fine\" or \"high\" art. All _art_\n    is a low and common thing, and what we indeed respect is not art at\n    all, but _instinct_ or _inspiration_ expressed by the help of art.\n\n  [50] \"_Socrates_. This, then, was what I asked you; whether that\n    which puts anything else to service, and the thing which is put to\n    service by it, are always two different things?\n\n    _Alcibiades._ I think so.\n\n    _Socrates._ What shall we then say of the leather-cutter? Does he\n    cut his leather with his instruments only, or with his hands also?\n\n    _Alcibiades._ With his hands also.\n\n    _Socrates._ Does he not use his eyes as well as his hands?\n\n    _Alcibiades._ Yes.\n\n    _Socrates._ And we agreed that the thing which uses and the thing\n    which is used, were different things?\n\n    _Alcibiades._ Yes.\n\n    _Socrates._ Then the leather-cutter is not the same thing as his\n    eyes or hands?\n\n    _Alcibiades._ So it appears.\n\n    _Socrates._ Does not, then, man make use of his whole body?\n\n    _Alcibiades._ Assuredly.\n\n    _Socrates._ Then the man is not the same thing as his body?\n\n    _Alcibiades._ It seems so.\n\n    _Socrates._ What, then, _is_ the man?\n\n    _Alcibiades._ I know not.\"\n\n    _Plato_, Alcibiades I.\n\n  [51] Thus the grapes pressed by Excesse are partly golden (Spenser,\n    book ii. cant. 12.):\n\n            \"Which did themselves amongst the leaves enfold,\n             As lurking from the view of covetous guest,\n             That the weake boughes, with so rich load opprest\n             Did bow adowne as overburdened.\"\n\n  [52] The reader must not suppose that the use of gold, in this manner,\n    is confined to early art. Tintoret, the greatest master of pictorial\n    effect that ever existed, has gilded the ribs of the fig-leaves in\n    his \"Resurrection,\" in the Scuola di San Rocco.\n\n  [53] Nothing is more wonderful to me than to hear the pleasure of the\n    eye, in color, spoken of with disdain as \"sensual,\" while people\n    exalt that of the ear in music. Do they really suppose the eye is a\n    less noble bodily organ than the ear,--that the organ by which\n    nearly all our knowledge of the external universe is communicated to\n    us, and through which we learn the wonder and the love, can be less\n    exalted in its own peculiar delight than the ear, which is only for\n    the communication of the ideas which owe to the eye their very\n    existence? I do not mean to depreciate music: let it be loved and\n    reverenced as is just; only let the delight of the eye be reverenced\n    more. The great power of music over the multitude is owing, not to\n    its being less but _more_ sensual than color; it is so distinctly\n    and so richly sensual, that it can be idly enjoyed; it is exactly at\n    the point where the lower and higher pleasures of the senses and\n    imagination are balanced; so that pure and great minds love it for\n    its invention and emotion, and lower minds for its sensual power.\n\n  [54] Vol. II. Appendix 7.\n\n  [55] Louis the Eleventh. \"In the month of March, 1481, Louis was\n    seized with a fit of apoplexy at _St. B\u00e9noit-du-lac-mort_, near\n    Chinon. He remained speechless and bereft of reason three days; and\n    then but very imperfectly restored, he languished in a miserable\n    state.... To cure him,\" says a contemporary historian, \"wonderful\n    and terrible medicines were compounded. It was reported among the\n    people that his physicians opened the veins of little children, and\n    made him drink their blood, to correct the poorness of his\n    own.\"--_Bussey's History of France._ London, 1850.\n\n  [56] Observe, I call Gothic \"Christian\" architecture, not\n    \"ecclesiastical.\" There is a wide difference. I believe it is the\n    only architecture which Christian men should build, but not at all\n    an architecture necessarily connected with the services of their\n    church.\n\n  [57] Mr. Hope's Church, in Margaret Street, Portland Place. I do not\n    altogether like the arrangements of color in the brickwork; but\n    these will hardly attract the eye, where so much has been already\n    done with precious and beautiful marble, and is yet to be done in\n    fresco. Much will depend, however, upon the coloring of this latter\n    portion. I wish that either Holman Hunt or Millais could be\n    prevailed upon to do at least some of these smaller frescoes.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\n1. ARCHITECT OF THE DUCAL PALACE.\n\nPopular tradition and a large number of the chroniclers ascribe the\nbuilding of the Ducal Palace to that Filippo Calendario who suffered\ndeath for his share in the conspiracy of Faliero. He was certainly one\nof the leading architects of the time, and had for several years the\nsuperintendence of the works of the Palace; but it appears, from the\ndocuments collected by the Abb\u00e9 Cadorin, that the first designer of the\nPalace, the man to whom we owe the adaptation of the Frari traceries to\ncivil architecture, was Pietro Baseggio, who is spoken of expressly as\n\"formerly the Chief Master of our New Palace,\"[58] in the decree of\n1361, quoted by Cadorin, and who, at his death, left Calendario his\nexecutor. Other documents collected by Zanotto, in his work on \"Venezia\ne le sue Lagune,\" show that Calendario was for a long time at sea, under\nthe commands of the Signory, returning to Venice only three or four\nyears before his death; and that therefore the entire management of the\nworks of the Palace, in the most important period, must have been\nentrusted to Baseggio.\n\nIt is quite impossible, however, in the present state of the Palace, to\ndistinguish one architect's work from another in the older parts; and I\nhave not in the text embarrassed the reader by any attempt at close\ndefinition of epochs before the great junction of the Piazzetta Fa\u00e7ade\nwith the older palace in the fifteenth century. Here, however, it is\nnecessary that I should briefly state the observations I was able to\nmake on the relative dates of the earlier portions.\n\nIn the description of the Fig-tree angle, given in the eighth chapter of\nVol. II., I said that it seemed to me somewhat earlier than that of the\nVine, and the reader might be surprised at the apparent opposition of\nthis statement to my supposition that the Palace was built gradually\nround from the Rio Fa\u00e7ade to the Piazzetta. But in the two great open\narcades there is no succession of work traceable; from the Vine angle to\nthe junction with the fifteenth century work, above and below, all seems\nnearly of the same date, the only question being of the accidental\nprecedence of workmanship of one capital or another; and I think, from\nits style, that the Fig-tree angle must have been first completed. But\nin the upper stories of the Palace there are enormous differences of\nstyle. On the Rio Fa\u00e7ade, in the upper story, are several series of\nmassive windows of the third order, corresponding exactly in mouldings\nand manner of workmanship to those of the chapter-house of the Frari,\nand consequently carrying us back to a very early date in the fourteenth\ncentury: several of the capitals of these windows, and two richly\nsculptured string-courses in the wall below, are of Byzantine\nworkmanship, and in all probability fragments of the Ziani Palace. The\ntraceried windows on the Rio Fa\u00e7ade, and the two eastern windows on the\nSea Fa\u00e7ade, are all of the finest early fourteenth century work,\nmasculine and noble in their capitals and bases to the highest degree,\nand evidently contemporary with the very earliest portions of the lower\narcades. But the moment we come to the windows of the Great Council\nChamber the style is debased. The mouldings are the same, but they are\ncoarsely worked, and the heads set amidst the leafage of the capitals\nquite valueless and vile.\n\nI have not the least doubt that these window-jambs and traceries were\nrestored after the great fire;[59] and various other restorations have\ntaken place since, beginning with the removal of the traceries from all\nthe windows except the northern one of the Sala del Scrutinio, behind\nthe Porta della Carta, where they are still left. I made out four\nperiods of restoration among these windows, each baser than the\npreceding. It is not worth troubling the reader about them, but the\ntraveller who is interested in the subject may compare two of them in\nthe same window; the one nearer the sea of the two belonging to the\nlittle room at the top of the Palace on the Piazzetta Fa\u00e7ade, between\nthe Sala del Gran Consiglio and that of the Scrutinio. The seaward jamb\nof that window is of the first, and the opposite jamb of the second,\nperiod of these restorations. These are all the points of separation in\ndate which I could discover by internal evidence. But much more might be\nmade out by any Venetian antiquary whose time permitted him thoroughly\nto examine any existing documents which allude to or describe the parts\nof the Palace spoken of in the important decrees of 1340, 1342, and\n1344; for the first of these decrees speaks of certain \"columns looking\ntowards the Canal\"[60] or sea, as then existing, and I presume these\ncolumns to have been part of the Ziani Palace, corresponding to the part\nof that palace on the Piazzetta where were the \"red columns\" between\nwhich Calendario was executed; and a great deal more might be determined\nby any one who would thoroughly unravel the obscure language of those\ndecrees.\n\nMeantime, in order to complete the evidence respecting the main dates\nstated in the text, I have collected here such notices of the building\nof the Ducal Palace as appeared to me of most importance in the various\nchronicles I examined. I could not give them all in the text, as they\nrepeat each other, and would have been tedious; but they will be\ninteresting to the antiquary, and it is to be especially noted in all of\nthem how the Palazzo _Vecchio_ is invariably distinguished, either\ndirectly or by implication, from the Palazzo Nuovo. I shall first\ntranslate the piece of the Zancarol Chronicle given by Cadorin, which\nhas chiefly misled the Venetian antiquaries. I wish I could put the rich\nold Italian into old English, but must be content to lose its raciness,\nas it is necessary that the reader should be fully acquainted with its\nfacts.\n\n\"It was decreed that none should dare to propose to the Signory of\nVenice to ruin the _old_ palace and rebuild it new and more richly, and\nthere was a penalty of one thousand ducats against any one who should\nbreak it. Then the Doge, wishing to set forward the public good, said to\nthe Signory, ... that they ought to rebuild the fa\u00e7ades of the _old_\npalace, and that it ought to be restored, to do honor to the nation: and\nso soon as he had done speaking, the Avogadori demanded the penalty from\nthe Doge, for having disobeyed the law; and the Doge with ready mind\npaid it, remaining in his opinion that the said fabric ought to be\nbuilt. And so, in the year 1422, on the 20th day of September, it was\npassed in the Council of the Pregadi that the said new palace should be\nbegun, and the expense should be borne by the Signori del Sal; and so,\non the 24th day of March, 1424, it was begun to throw down the _old_\npalace, and to build it anew.\"--_Cadorin_, p. 129.\n\nThe day of the month, and the council in which the decree was passed,\nare erroneously given by this Chronicle. Cadorin has printed the words\nof the decree itself, which passed in the Great Council on the 27th\nSeptember: and these words are, fortunately, much to our present\npurpose. For as more than one fa\u00e7ade is spoken of in the above extract,\nthe Marchese Selvatico was induced to believe that both the front to the\nsea and that to the Piazzetta had been destroyed; whereas, the \"fa\u00e7ades\"\nspoken of are evidently those of the Ziani Palace. For the words of the\ndecree (which are much more trustworthy than those of the Chronicle,\neven if there were any inconsistency between them) run thus: \"Palatium\nnostrum fabricetur et fiat in forma decora et convenienti, quod\nrespondeat _solemnissimo principio palatii nostri novi_.\" Thus the new\ncouncil chamber and fa\u00e7ade to the sea are called the \"most venerable\nbeginning of our _New_ Palace;\" and the rest was ordered to be designed\nin accordance with these, as was actually the case as far as the Porta\ndella Carta. But the Renaissance architects who thenceforward proceeded\nwith the fabric, broke through the design, and built everything else\naccording to their own humors.\n\nThe question may be considered as set at rest by these words of the\ndecree, even without any internal or any farther documentary evidence.\nBut rather for the sake of impressing the facts thoroughly on the\nreader's mind, than of any additional proof, I shall quote a few more of\nthe best accredited Chronicles.\n\nThe passage given by Bettio, from the Sivos Chronicle, is a very\nimportant parallel with that from the Zancarol above:\n\n\"Essendo molto vecchio, e quasi rovinoso el Palazzo sopra la piazza, fo\ndeliberato di far quella parte tutta da novo, et continuarla com' \u00e8\nquella della Sala grande, et cosi il Lunedi 27 Marzo 1424 fu dato\nprincipio a ruinare detto Palazzo vecchio dalla parte, ch' \u00e8 verso\npanateria cio\u00e8 della Giustizia, ch' \u00e8 nelli occhi di sopra le colonne\nfino alla Chiesa et fo fatto anco la porta grande, com' \u00e8 al presente,\ncon la sala che si addimanda la Libraria.\"[61]\n\nWe have here all the facts told us in so many words: the \"old palace\" is\ndefinitely stated to have been \"on the piazza,\" and it is to be rebuilt\n\"like the part of the great saloon.\" The very point from which the newer\nbuildings commenced is told us; but here the chronicler has carried his\nattempt at accuracy too far. The point of junction is, as stated above,\nat the third pillar beyond the medallion of Venice; and I am much at a\nloss to understand what could have been the disposition of these three\npillars where they joined the Ziani Palace, and how they were connected\nwith the arcade of the inner cortile. But with these difficulties, as\nthey do not bear on the immediate question, it is of no use to trouble\nthe reader.\n\nThe next passage I shall give is from a Chronicle in the Marcian\nLibrary, bearing title, \"Supposta di Zancaruol;\" but in which I could\nnot find the passage given by Cadorin from, I believe, a manuscript of\nthis Chronicle at Vienna. There occurs instead of it the following thus\nheaded:--\n\n\"Come _la parte nova_ del Palazzo fuo hedificata _novamente_.\n\n\"El Palazzo novo de Venesia quella parte che xe verso la Chiesia de S.\nMarcho fuo prexo chel se fesse del 1422 e fosse pagado la spexa per li\nofficiali del sal. E fuo fatto per sovrastante G. Nicolo Barberigo cum\nprovision de ducati X doro al mexe e fuo fabricado e fatto nobelissimo.\nCome fin ancho di el sta e fuo grande honor a la Signoria de Venesia e a\nla sua Citta.\"\n\nThis entry, which itself bears no date, but comes between others dated\n22nd July and 27th December, is interesting, because it shows the first\ntransition of the idea of _newness_, from the Grand Council Chamber to\nthe part built under Foscari. For when Mocenigo's wishes had been\nfulfilled, and the old palace of Ziani had been destroyed, and another\nbuilt in its stead, the Great Council Chamber, which was \"the new\npalace\" compared with Ziani's, became \"the old palace\" compared with\nFoscari's; and thus we have, in the body of the above extract, the whole\nbuilding called \"the new palace of Venice;\" but in the heading of it, we\nhave \"the new _part_ of the palace\" applied to the part built by\nFoscari, in contradistinction to the Council Chamber.\n\nThe next entry I give is important, because the writing of the MS. in\nwhich it occurs, No. 53 in the Correr Museum, shows it to be probably\nnot later than the end of the fifteenth century:\n\n\"El palazo nuovo de Venixia zoe quella parte che se sora la piazza verso\nla giesia di Miss. San Marcho del 1422 fo principiado, el qual fo fato e\nfinito molto belo, chome al presente se vede nobilissimo, et a la\nfabricha de quello fo deputado Miss. Nicolo Barberigo, soprastante con\nducati dieci doro al mexe.\"\n\nWe have here the part built by Foscari distinctly called the Palazzo\nNuovo, as opposed to the Great Council Chamber, which had now completely\ntaken the position of the Palazzo Vecchio, and is actually so called by\nSansovino. In the copy of the Chronicle of Paolo Morosini, and in the\nMSS. numbered respectively 57, 59, 74, and 76 in the Correr Museum, the\npassage above given from No. 53 is variously repeated with slight\nmodifications and curtailments; the entry in the Morosini Chronicle\nbeing headed, \"Come fu principiato il palazo che guarda sopra la piaza\ngrande di S. Marco,\" and proceeding in the words, \"El Palazo Nuovo di\nVenetia, cio\u00e8 quella parte che e sopra la piaza,\" &c., the writers being\ncautious, in all these instances, to _limit their statement_ to the part\nfacing the Piazza, that no reader might suppose the Council Chamber to\nhave been built or begun at the same time; though, as long as to the end\nof the sixteenth century, we find the Council Chamber still included in\nthe expression \"Palazzo Nuovo.\" Thus, in the MS. No. 75 in the Correr\nMuseum, which is about that date, we have \"Del 1422, a di 20 Settembre\nfu preso nel consegio grando de dover _compir_ el Palazo Novo, e dovesen\nfare la spessa li officialli del Sal (61. M. 2. B.).\" And, so long as\nthis is the case, the \"Palazzo Vecchio\" always means the Ziani Palace.\nThus, in the next page of this same MS. we have \"a di 27 Marzo (1424 by\ncontext) fo principia a butar zosso, el _Palazzo Vecchio_ per refarlo da\nnovo, e poi se he\" (and so it is done); and in the MS. No. 81, \"Del\n1424, fo gittado zoso el _Palazzo Vecchio_ per refarlo de nuovo, a di 27\nMarzo.\" But in the time of Sansovino the Ziani Palace was quite\nforgotten; the Council Chamber was then the _old_ palace, and Foscari's\npart was the new. His account of the \"Palazzo Publico\" will now be\nperfectly intelligible; but, as the work itself is easily accessible, I\nshall not burden the reader with any farther extracts, only noticing\nthat the chequering of the fa\u00e7ade with red and white marbles, which he\nascribes to Foscari, may or may not be of so late a date, as there is\nnothing in the style of the work which can be produced as evidence.\n\n\n2. THEOLOGY OF SPENSER.\n\nThe following analysis of the first books of the \"Fa\u00ebrie Queen,\" may be\ninteresting to readers who have been in the habit of reading the noble\npoem too hastily to connect its parts completely together; and may\nperhaps induce them to more careful study of the rest of the poem.\n\nThe Redcrosse Knight is Holiness,--the \"Pietas\" of St. Mark's, the\n\"Devotio\" of Orcagna,--meaning, I think, in general, Reverence and Godly\nFear.\n\nThis Virtue, in the opening of the book, has Truth (or Una) at its side,\nbut presently enters the Wandering Wood, and encounters the serpent\nError; that is to say, Error in her universal form, the first enemy of\nReverence and Holiness; and more especially Error as founded on\nlearning; for when Holiness strangles her,\n\n  \"Her vomit _full of bookes and papers was_,\n   With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did lacke.\"\n\nHaving vanquished this first open and palpable form of Error, as\nReverence and Religion must always vanquish it, the Knight encounters\nHypocrisy, or Archimagus; Holiness cannot detect Hypocrisy, but\nbelieves him, and goes home with him; whereupon Hypocrisy succeeds in\nseparating Holiness from Truth; and the Knight (Holiness) and Lady\n(Truth) go forth separately from the house of Archimagus.\n\nNow observe: the moment Godly Fear, or Holiness, is separated from\nTruth, he meets Infidelity, or the Knight Sans Foy; Infidelity having\nFalsehood, or Duesa, riding behind him. The instant the Redcrosse Knight\nis aware of the attack of Infidelity, he\n\n  \"Gan fairly couch his speare, and towards ride.\"\n\nHe vanquishes and slays Infidelity; but is deceived by his companion,\nFalsehood, and takes her for his lady: thus showing the condition of\nReligion, when, after being attacked by Doubt, and remaining victorious,\nit is nevertheless seduced, by any form of Falsehood, to pay reverence\nwhere it ought not. This, then, is the first fortune of Godly Fear\nseparated from Truth. The poet then returns to Truth, separated from\nGodly Fear. She is immediately attended by a lion, or Violence, which\nmakes her dreaded wherever she comes; and when she enters the mart of\nSuperstition, this Lion tears Kirkrapine in pieces: showing how Truth,\nseparated from Godliness, does indeed put an end to the abuses of\nSuperstition, but does so violently and desperately. She then meets\nagain with Hypocrisy, whom she mistakes for her own lord, or Godly Fear,\nand travels a little way under his guardianship (Hypocrisy thus not\nunfrequently appearing to defend the Truth), until they are both met by\nLawlessness, or the Knight Sans Loy, whom Hypocrisy cannot resist.\nLawlessness overthrows Hypocrisy, and seizes upon Truth, first slaying\nher lion attendant: showing that the first aim of licence is to destroy\nthe force and authority of Truth. Sans Loy then takes Truth captive, and\nbears her away. Now this Lawlessness is the \"unrighteousness,\" or\n\"adikia,\" of St. Paul; and his bearing Truth away captive, is a type of\nthose \"who hold the truth in unrighteousness,\"--that is to say,\ngenerally, of men who, knowing what is true, make the truth give way to\ntheir own purposes, or use it only to forward them, as is the case with\nso many of the popular leaders of the present day. Una is then delivered\nfrom Sans Loy by the satyrs, to show that Nature, in the end, must work\nout the deliverance of the truth, although, where it has been captive to\nLawlessness, that deliverance can only be obtained through Savageness,\nand a return to barbarism. Una is then taken from among the satyrs by\nSatyrane, the son of a satyr and a \"lady myld, fair Thyamis,\" (typifying\nthe early steps of renewed civilization, and its rough and hardy\ncharacter \"nousled up in life and manners wilde,\") who, meeting again\nwith Sans Loy, enters instantly into rough and prolonged combat with\nhim: showing how the early organization of a hardy nation must be\nwrought out through much discouragement from Lawlessness. This contest\nthe poet leaving for the time undecided, returns to trace the adventures\nof the Redcrosse Knight, or Godly Fear, who, having vanquished\nInfidelity, presently is led by Falsehood to the house of Pride: thus\nshowing how religion, separated from truth, is first tempted by doubts\nof God, and then by the pride of life. The description of this house of\nPride is one of the most elaborate and noble pieces in the poem; and\nhere we begin to get at the proposed system of Virtues and Vices. For\nPride, as queen, has six other vices yoked in her chariot; namely,\nfirst, Idleness, then Gluttony, Lust, Avarice, Envy, and Anger, all\ndriven on by \"Sathan, with a smarting whip in hand.\" From these lower\nvices and their company, Godly Fear, though lodging in the house of\nPride, holds aloof; but he is challenged, and has a hard battle to fight\nwith Sans Joy, the brother of Sans Foy: showing, that though he has\nconquered Infidelity, and does not give himself up to the allurements of\nPride, he is yet exposed, so long as he dwells in her house, to distress\nof mind and loss of his accustomed rejoicing before God. He, however,\nhaving partly conquered Despondency, or Sans Joy, Falsehood goes down to\nHades, in order to obtain drugs to maintain the power or life of\nDespondency; but, meantime, the Knight leaves the house of Pride:\nFalsehood pursues and overtakes him, and finds him by a fountain side,\nof which the waters are\n\n                           \"Dull and slow,\n  And all that drinke thereof do faint and feeble grow.\"\n\nOf which the meaning is, that Godly Fear, after passing through the\nhouse of Pride, is exposed to drowsiness and feebleness of watch; as,\nafter Peter's boast, came Peter's sleeping, from weakness of the flesh,\nand then, last of all, Peter's fall. And so it follows: for the\nRedcrosse Knight, being overcome with faintness by drinking of the\nfountain, is thereupon attacked by the giant Orgoglio, overcome and\nthrown by him into a dungeon. This Orgoglio is Orgueil, or Carnal Pride;\nnot the pride of life, spiritual and subtle, but the common and vulgar\npride in the power of this world: and his throwing the Redcrosse Knight\ninto a dungeon, is a type of the captivity of true religion under the\ntemporal power of corrupt churches, more especially of the Church of\nRome; and of its gradually wasting away in unknown places, while carnal\npride has the pre\u00ebminence over all things. That Spenser means,\nespecially, the pride of the Papacy, is shown by the 16th stanza of the\nbook; for there the giant Orgoglio is said to have taken Duessa, or\nFalsehood, for his \"deare,\" and to have set upon her head a triple\ncrown, and endowed her with royal majesty, and made her to ride upon a\nseven-headed beast.\n\nIn the meantime, the dwarf, the attendant of the Redcrosse Knight, takes\nhis arms, and finding Una tells her of the captivity of her lord. Una,\nin the midst of her mourning, meets Prince Arthur, in whom, as Spenser\nhimself tells us, is set forth generally Magnificence; but who, as is\nshown by the choice of the hero's name, is more especially the\nmagnificence, or literally, \"great doing\" of the kingdom of England.\nThis power of England, going forth with Truth, attacks Orgoglio, or the\nPride of Papacy, slays him; strips Duessa, or Falsehood, naked; and\nliberates the Redcrosse Knight. The magnificent and well-known\ndescription of Despair follows, by whom the Redcrosse Knight is hard\nbested, on account of his past errors and captivity, and is only saved\nby Truth, who, perceiving him to be still feeble, brings him to the\nhouse of Coelia, called, in the argument of the canto, Holiness, but\nproperly, Heavenly Grace, the mother of the Virtues. Her \"three\ndaughters, well up-brought,\" are Faith, Hope, and Charity. Her porter is\nHumility; because Humility opens the door of Heavenly Grace. Zeal and\nReverence are her chamberlains, introducing the new comers to her\npresence; her groom, or servant, is Obedience; and her physician,\nPatience. Under the commands of Charity, the matron Mercy rules over\nher hospital, under whose care the Knight is healed of his sickness; and\nit is to be especially noticed how much importance Spenser, though never\nceasing to chastise all hypocrisies and mere observances of form,\nattaches to true and faithful _penance_ in effecting this cure. Having\nhis strength restored to him, the Knight is trusted to the guidance of\nMercy, who, leading him forth by a narrow and thorny way, first\ninstructs him in the seven works of Mercy, and then leads him to the\nhill of Heavenly Contemplation; whence, having a sight of the New\nJerusalem, as Christian of the Delectable Mountains, he goes forth to\nthe final victory over Satan, the old serpent, with which the book\ncloses.\n\n\n3. AUSTRIAN GOVERNMENT IN ITALY.\n\nI cannot close these volumes without expressing my astonishment and\nregret at the facility with which the English allow themselves to be\nmisled by any representations, however openly groundless or ridiculous,\nproceeding from the Italian Liberal party, respecting the present\nadministration of the Austrian Government. I do not choose here to enter\ninto any political discussion, or express any political opinion; but it\nis due to justice to state the simple facts which came under my notice\nduring my residence in Italy. I was living at Venice through two entire\nwinters, and in the habit of familiar association both with Italians and\nAustrians, my own antiquarian vocations rendering such association\npossible without exciting the distrust of either party. During this\nwhole period, I never once was able to ascertain, from any liberal\nItalian, that he had a single _definite_ ground of complaint against the\nGovernment. There was much general grumbling and vague discontent; but I\nnever was able to bring one of them to the point, or to discover what it\nwas that they wanted, or in what way they felt themselves injured; nor\ndid I ever myself witness an instance of oppression on the part of the\nGovernment, though several of much kindness and consideration. The\nindignation of those of my own countrymen and countrywomen whom I\nhappened to see during their sojourn in Venice was always vivid, but by\nno means large in its grounds. English ladies on their first arrival\ninvariably began the conversation with the same remark: \"What a\ndreadful thing it was to be ground under the iron heel of despotism!\"\nUpon closer inquiries it always appeared that being \"ground under the\nheel of despotism\" was a poetical expression for being asked for one's\npassport at San Juliano, and required to fetch it from San Lorenzo, full\na mile and a quarter distant. In like manner, travellers, after two or\nthree days' residence in the city, used to return with pitiful\nlamentations over \"the misery of the Italian people.\" Upon inquiring\nwhat instances they had met with of this misery, it invariably turned\nout that their gondoliers, after being paid three times their proper\nfare, had asked for something to drink, and had attributed the fact of\ntheir being thirsty to the Austrian Government. The misery of the\nItalians consists in having three festa days a week, and doing in their\ndays of exertion about one fourth as much work as an English laborer.\n\nThere is, indeed, much true distress occasioned by the measures which\nthe Government is sometimes compelled to take in order to repress\nsedition; but the blame of this lies with those whose occupation is the\nexcitement of sedition. So also there is much grievous harm done to\nworks of art by the occupation of the country by so large an army; but\nfor the mode in which that army is quartered, the Italian municipalities\nare answerable, not the Austrians. Whenever I was shocked by finding, as\nabove-mentioned at Milan, a cloister, or a palace, occupied by soldiery,\nI always discovered, on investigation, that the place had been given by\nthe municipality; and that, beyond requiring that lodging for a certain\nnumber of men should be found in such and such a quarter of the town,\nthe Austrians had nothing to do with the matter. This does not, however,\nmake the mischief less: and it is strange, if we think of it, to see\nItaly, with all her precious works of art, made a continual\nbattle-field; as if no other place for settling their disputes could be\nfound by the European powers, than where every random shot may destroy\nwhat a king's ransom cannot restore.[62] It is exactly as if the\ntumults in Paris could he settled no otherwise than by fighting them out\nin the Gallery of the Louvre.\n\n\n4. DATE OF THE PALACES OF THE BYZANTINE RENAISSANCE.\n\nIn the sixth article of the Appendix to the first volume, the question\nof the date of the Casa Dario and Casa Trevisan was deferred until I\ncould obtain from my friend Mr. Rawdon Brown, to whom the former palace\nonce belonged, some more distinct data respecting this subject than I\npossessed myself.\n\nSpeaking first of the Casa Dario, he says: \"Fontana dates it from about\nthe year 1450, and considers it the earliest specimen of the\narchitecture founded by Pietro Lombardo, and followed by his sons,\nTullio and Antonio. In a Sanuto autograph miscellany, purchased by me\nlong ago, and which I gave to St. Mark's Library, are two letters from\nGiovanni Dario, dated 10th and 11th July, 1485, in the neighborhood of\nAdrianople; where the Turkish camp found itself, and Bajazet II.\nreceived presents from the Soldan of Egypt, from the Schah of the Indies\n(query Grand Mogul), and from the King of Hungary: of these matters,\nDario's letters give many curious details. Then, in the _printed_\nMalipiero Annals, page 136 (which err, I think, by a year), the\nSecretary Dario's negotiations at the Porte are alluded to; and in date\nof 1484 he is stated to have returned to Venice, having quarrelled with\nthe Venetian bailiff at Constantinople: the annalist adds, that\n'Giovanni Dario was a native of Candia, and that the Republic was so\nwell satisfied with him for having concluded peace with Bajazet, that he\nreceived, as a gift from his country, an estate at Noventa, in the\nPaduan territory, worth 1500 ducats, and 600 ducats in cash for the\ndower of one of his daughters.' These largesses probably enabled him to\nbuild his house about the year 1486, and are doubtless hinted at in the\ninscription, which I restored A.D. 1837; _it had no date_, and ran thus,\nURBIS . GENIO . JOANNES . DARIVS. In the Venetian history of Paolo\nMorosini, page 594, it is also mentioned, that Giovanni Dario was,\nmoreover, the Secretary who concluded the peace between Mahomet, the\nconqueror of Constantinople, and Venice, A.D. 1478; but, unless he build\nhis house by proxy, that date has nothing to do with it; and in my mind,\nthe fact of the present, and the inscription, warrant one's dating it\n1486, and not 1450.\n\n\"The Trevisan-Cappello House, in Canonica, was once the property (A.D.\n1578) of a Venetian dame, fond of cray-fish, according to a letter of\nhers in the archives, whereby she thanks one of her lovers for some\nwhich he had sent her from Treviso to Florence, of which she was then\nGrand Duchess. Her name has perhaps found its way into the English\nannuals. Did you ever hear of Bianca Cappello? She bought that house of\nthe Trevisana family, by whom Selva (in Cicognara) and Fontana\n(following Selva) say it was ordered of the Lombardi, at the\ncommencement of the sixteenth century: but the inscription on its\nfa\u00e7ade, thus,\n\n  SOLI  | |  HONOR. ET\n  DEO   | |  GLORIA.\n\nreminding one both of the Dario House, and of the words NON NOBIS DOMINE\ninscribed on the fa\u00e7ade of the Loredano Vendramin Palace at S. Marcuola\n(now the property of the Duchess of Berri), of which Selva found proof\nin the Vendramin Archives that it was commenced by Sante Lombardo, A.D.\n1481, is in favor of its being classed among the works of the fifteenth\ncentury.\"\n\n\n5. RENAISSANCE SIDE OF DUCAL PALACE.\n\nIn passing along the Rio del Palazzo the traveller ought especially to\nobserve the base of the Renaissance building, formed by alternately\ndepressed and raised pyramids, the depressed portions being _casts_ of\nthe projecting ones, which are truncated on the summits. The work cannot\nbe called rustication, for it is cut as sharply and delicately as a\npiece of ivory, but it thoroughly answers the end which rustication\nproposes, and misses: it gives the base of the building a look of\ncrystalline hardness, actually resembling, and that very closely, the\nappearance presented by the fracture of a piece of cap quartz; while yet\nthe light and shade of its alternate recesses and projections are so\nvaried as to produce the utmost possible degree of delight to the eye,\nattainable by a geometrical pattern so simple. Yet, with all this high\nmerit, it is not a base which could be brought into general use. Its\nbrilliancy and piquancy are here set off with exquisite skill by its\nopposition to mouldings, in the upper part of the building, of an almost\neffeminate delicacy, and its complexity is rendered delightful by its\ncontrast with the ruder bases of the other buildings of the city; but it\nwould look meagre if it were employed to sustain bolder masses above,\nand would become wearisome if the eye were once thoroughly familiarized\nwith it by repetition.\n\n\n6. CHARACTER OF THE DOGE MICHELE MOROSINI.\n\nThe following extracts from the letter of Count Charles Morosini, above\nmentioned, appear to set the question at rest.\n\n\"It is our unhappy destiny that, during the glory of the Venetian\nrepublic, no one took the care to leave us a faithful and conscientious\nhistory: but I hardly know whether this misfortune should be laid to the\ncharge of the historians themselves, or of those commentators who have\ndestroyed their trustworthiness by new accounts of things, invented by\nthemselves. As for the poor Morosini, we may perhaps save his honor by\nassembling a conclave of our historians, in order to receive their\nunited sentence; for, in this case, he would have the absolute majority\non his side, nearly all the authors bearing testimony to his love for\nhis country and to the magnanimity of his heart. I must tell you that\nthe history of Daru is not looked upon with esteem by well-informed men;\nand it is said that he seems to have no other object in view than to\nobscure the glory of all actions. I know not on what authority the\nEnglish writer depends; but he has, perhaps, merely copied the statement\nof Daru.... I have consulted an ancient and authentic MS. belonging to\nthe Venieri family, a MS. well known, and certainly better worthy of\nconfidence than Daru's history, and it says nothing of M. Morosini but\nthat he was elected Doge to the delight and joy of all men. Neither do\nthe Savina or Dolfin Chronicles say a word of the shameful speculation;\nand our best informed men say that the reproach cast by some historians\nagainst the Doge perhaps arose from a mistaken interpretation of the\nwords pronounced by him, and reported by Marin Sanuto, that 'the\nspeculation would sooner or later have been advantageous to the\ncountry.' But this single consideration is enough to induce us to form a\nfavorable conclusion respecting the honor of this man, namely, that he\nwas not elected Doge until after he had been entrusted with many\nhonorable embassies to the Genoese and Carrarese, as well as to the King\nof Hungary and Amadeus of Savoy; and if in these embassies he had not\nshown himself a true lover of his country, the republic not only would\nnot again have entrusted him with offices so honorable, but would never\nhave rewarded him with the dignity of Doge, therein to succeed such a\nman as Andrea Contarini; and the war of Chioggia, during which it is\nsaid that he tripled his fortune by speculations, took place during the\nreign of Contarini, 1379, 1380, while Morosini was absent on foreign\nembassies.\"\n\n\n7. MODERN EDUCATION.\n\nThe following fragmentary notes on this subject have been set down at\ndifferent times. I have been accidentally prevented from arranging them\nproperly for publication, but there are one or two truths in them which\nit is better to express insufficiently than not at all.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBy a large body of the people of England and of Europe a man is called\neducated if he can write Latin verses and construe a Greek chorus. By\nsome few more enlightened persons it is confessed that the construction\nof hexameters is not in itself an important end of human existence; but\nthey say, that the general discipline which a course of classical\nreading gives to the intellectual powers, is the final object of our\nscholastical institutions.\n\nBut it seems to me, there is no small error even in this last and more\nphilosophical theory. I believe, that what it is most honorable to know,\nit is also most profitable to learn; and that the science which it is\nthe highest power to possess, it is also the best exercise to acquire.\n\nAnd if this be so, the question as to what should be the materiel of\neducation, becomes singularly simplified. It might be matter of dispute\nwhat processes have the greatest effect in developing the intellect; but\nit can hardly be disputed what facts it is most advisable that a man\nentering into life should accurately know.\n\nI believe, in brief, that he ought to know three things:\n\n  First.   Where he is.\n  Secondly.   Where he is going.\n  Thirdly.   What he had best do, under those circumstances.\n\nFirst. Where he is.--That is to say, what sort of a world he has got\ninto; how large it is; what kind of creatures live in it, and how; what\nit is made of, and what may be made of it.\n\nSecondly. Where he is going.--That is to say, what chances or reports\nthere are of any other world besides this; what seems to be the nature\nof that other world; and whether, for information respecting it, he had\nbetter consult the Bible, Koran, or Council of Trent.\n\nThirdly. What he had best do under those circumstances.--That is to say,\nwhat kind of faculties he possesses; what are the present state and\nwants of mankind; what is his place in society; and what are the\nreadiest means in his power of attaining happiness and diffusing it. The\nman who knows these things, and who has had his will so subdued in the\nlearning them, that he is ready to do what he knows he ought, I should\ncall educated; and the man who knows them not,--uneducated, though he\ncould talk all the tongues of Babel.\n\nOur present European system of so-called education ignores, or despises,\nnot one, nor the other, but all the three, of these great branches of\nhuman knowledge.\n\nFirst: It despises Natural History.--Until within the last year or two,\nthe instruction in the physical sciences given at Oxford consisted of a\ncourse of twelve or fourteen lectures on the Elements of Mechanics or\nPneumatics, and permission to ride out to Shotover with the Professor of\nGeology. I do not know the specialties of the system pursued in the\nacademies of the Continent; but their practical result is, that unless a\nman's natural instincts urge him to the pursuit of the physical sciences\ntoo strongly to be resisted, he enters into life utterly ignorant of\nthem. I cannot, within my present limits, even so much as count the\nvarious directions in which this ignorance does evil. But the main\nmischief of it is, that it leaves the greater number of men without the\nnatural food which God intended for their intellects. For one man who is\nfitted for the study of words, fifty are fitted for the study of things,\nand were intended to have a perpetual, simple, and religious delight in\nwatching the processes, or admiring the creatures, of the natural\nuniverse. Deprived of this source of pleasure, nothing is left to them\nbut ambition or dissipation; and the vices of the upper classes of\nEurope are, I believe, chiefly to be attributed to this single cause.\n\nSecondly: It despises Religion.--I do not say it despises \"Theology,\"\nthat is to say, _Talk_ about God. But it despises \"Religion;\" that is to\nsay, the \"binding\" or training to God's service. There is much talk and\nmuch teaching in all our academies, of which the effect is not to bind,\nbut to loosen, the elements of religious faith. Of the ten or twelve\nyoung men who, at Oxford, were my especial friends, who sat with me\nunder the same lectures on Divinity, or were punished with me for\nmissing lecture by being sent to evening prayers,[63] four are now\nzealous Romanists,--a large average out of twelve; and while thus our\nown universities profess to teach Protestantism, and do not, the\nuniversities on the Continent profess to teach Romanism, and do\nnot,--sending forth only rebels and infidels. During long residence on\nthe Continent, I do not remember meeting with above two or three young\nmen, who either believed in revelation, or had the grace to hesitate in\nthe assertion of their infidelity.\n\nWhence, it seems to me, we may gather one of two things; either that\nthere is nothing in any European form of religion so reasonable or\nascertained, as that it can be taught securely to our youth, or fastened\nin their minds by any rivets of proof which they shall not be able to\nloosen the moment they begin to think; or else, that no means are taken\nto train them in such demonstrable creeds.\n\nIt seems to me the duty of a rational nation to ascertain (and to be at\nsome pains in the matter) which of these suppositions is true; and, if\nindeed no proof can be given of any supernatural fact, or Divine\ndoctrine, stronger than a youth just out of his teens can overthrow in\nthe first stirrings of serious thought, to confess this boldly; to get\nrid of the expense of an Establishment, and the hypocrisy of a Liturgy;\nto exhibit its cathedrals as curious memorials of a by-gone\nsuperstition, and, abandoning all thoughts of the next world, to set\nitself to make the best it can of this.\n\nBut if, on the other hand, there _does_ exist any evidence by which the\nprobability of certain religious facts may be shown, as clearly, even,\nas the probabilities of things not absolutely ascertained in\nastronomical or geological science, let this evidence be set before all\nour youth so distinctly, and the facts for which it appears inculcated\nupon them so steadily, that although it may be possible for the evil\nconduct of after life to efface, or for its earnest and protracted\nmeditation to modify, the impressions of early years, it may not be\npossible for our young men, the instant they emerge from their\nacademies, to scatter themselves like a flock of wild fowl risen out of\na marsh, and drift away on every irregular wind of heresy and apostasy.\n\nLastly: Our system of European education despises Politics.--That is to\nsay, the science of the relations and duties of men to each other. One\nwould imagine, indeed, by a glance at the state of the world, that there\nwas no such science. And, indeed, it is one still in its infancy.\n\nIt implies, in its full sense, the knowledge of the operations of the\nvirtues and vices of men upon themselves and society; the understanding\nof the ranks and offices of their intellectual and bodily powers in\ntheir various adaptations to art, science, and industry; the\nunderstanding of the proper offices of art, science, and labor\nthemselves, as well as of the foundations of jurisprudence, and broad\nprinciples of commerce; all this being coupled with practical knowledge\nof the present state and wants of mankind.\n\nWhat, it will be said, and is all this to be taught to schoolboys? No;\nbut the first elements of it, all that are necessary to be known by an\nindividual in order to his acting wisely in any station of life, might\nbe taught, not only to every schoolboy, but to every peasant. The\nimpossibility of equality among men; the good which arises from their\ninequality; the compensating circumstances in different states and\nfortunes; the honorableness of every man who is worthily filling his\nappointed place in society, however humble; the proper relations of poor\nand rich, governor and governed; the nature of wealth, and mode of its\ncirculation; the difference between productive and unproductive labor;\nthe relation of the products of the mind and hand; the true value of\nworks of the higher arts, and the possible amount of their production;\nthe meaning of \"Civilization,\" its advantages and dangers; the meaning\nof the term \"Refinement;\" the possibilities of possessing refinement in\na low station, and of losing it in a high one; and, above all, the\nsignificance of almost every act of a man's daily life, in its ultimate\noperation upon himself and others;--all this might be, and ought to be,\ntaught to every boy in the kingdom, so completely, that it should be\njust as impossible to introduce an absurd or licentious doctrine among\nour adult population, as a new version of the multiplication table. Nor\nam I altogether without hope that some day it may enter into the heads\nof the tutors of our schools to try whether it is not as easy to make an\nEton boy's mind as sensitive to falseness in policy, as his ear is at\npresent to falseness in prosody.\n\nI know that this is much to hope. That English ministers of religion\nshould ever come to desire rather to make a youth acquainted with the\npowers of nature and of God, than with the powers of Greek particles;\nthat they should ever think it more useful to show him how the great\nuniverse rolls upon its course in heaven, than how the syllables are\nfitted in a tragic metre; that they should hold it more advisable for\nhim to be fixed in the principles of religion than in those of syntax;\nor, finally, that they should ever come to apprehend that a youth likely\nto go straight out of college into parliament, might not unadvisably\nknow as much of the Peninsular as of the Peloponnesian War, and be as\nwell acquainted with the state of Modern Italy as of old Etruria;--all\nthis however unreasonably, I _do_ hope, and mean to work for. For though\nI have not yet abandoned all expectation of a better world than this, I\nbelieve this in which we live is not so good as it might be. I know\nthere are many people who suppose French revolutions, Italian\ninsurrections, Caffre wars, and such other scenic effects of modern\npolicy, to be among the normal conditions of humanity. I know there are\nmany who think the atmosphere of rapine, rebellion, and misery which\nwraps the lower orders of Europe more closely every day, is as natural a\nphenomenon as a hot summer. But God forbid! There are ills which flesh\nis heir to, and troubles to which man is born; but the troubles which he\nis born to are as sparks which fly _upward_, not as flames burning to\nthe nethermost Hell. The Poor we must have with us always, and sorrow is\ninseparable from any hour of life; but we may make their poverty such as\nshall inherit the earth, and the sorrow, such as shall be hallowed by\nthe hand of the Comforter, with everlasting comfort. We _can_, if we\nwill but shake off this lethargy and dreaming that is upon us, and take\nthe pains to think and act like men, we can, I say, make kingdoms to be\nlike well-governed households, in which, indeed, while no care or\nkindness can prevent occasional heart-burnings, nor any foresight or\npiety anticipate all the vicissitudes of fortune, or avert every stroke\nof calamity, yet the unity of their affection and fellowship remains\nunbroken, and their distress is neither embittered by division,\nprolonged by imprudence, nor darkened by dishonor.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe great leading error of modern times is the mistaking erudition for\neducation. I call it the leading error, for I believe that, with little\ndifficulty, nearly every other might be shown to have root in it; and,\nmost assuredly, the worst that are fallen into on the subject of art.\n\nEducation then, briefly, is the leading human souls to what is best, and\nmaking what is best out of them; and these two objects are always\nattainable together, and by the same means; the training which makes men\nhappiest in themselves, also makes them most serviceable to others. True\neducation, then, has respect, first to the ends which are proposable to\nthe man, or attainable by him; and, secondly, to the material of which\nthe man is made. So far as it is able, it chooses the end according to\nthe material: but it cannot always choose the end, for the position of\nmany persons in life is fixed by necessity; still less can it choose\nthe material; and, therefore, all it can do, is to fit the one to the\nother as wisely as may be.\n\nBut the first point to be understood, is that the material is as various\nas the ends; that not only one man is unlike another, but _every_ man is\nessentially different from _every_ other, so that no training, no\nforming, nor informing, will ever make two persons alike in thought or\nin power. Among all men, whether of the upper or lower orders, the\ndifferences are eternal and irreconcilable, between one individual and\nanother, born under absolutely the same circumstances. One man is made\nof agate, another of oak; one of slate, another of clay. The education\nof the first is polishing; of the second, seasoning; of the third,\nrending; of the fourth, moulding. It is of no use to season the agate;\nit is vain to try to polish the slate; but both are fitted, by the\nqualities they possess, for services in which they may be honored.\n\nNow the cry for the education of the lower classes, which is heard every\nday more widely and loudly, is a wise and a sacred cry, provided it be\nextended into one for the education of _all_ classes, with definite\nrespect to the work each man has to do, and the substance of which he is\nmade. But it is a foolish and vain cry, if it be understood, as in the\nplurality of cases it is meant to be, for the expression of mere craving\nafter knowledge, irrespective of the simple purposes of the life that\nnow is, and blessings of that which is to come.\n\nOne great fallacy into which men are apt to fall when they are reasoning\non this subject is: that light, as such, is always good; and darkness,\nas such, always evil. Far from it. Light untempered would be\nannihilation. It is good to them that sit in darkness and in the shadow\nof death; but, to those that faint in the wilderness, so also is the\nshadow of the great rock in a weary land. If the sunshine is good, so\nalso the cloud of the latter rain. Light is only beautiful, only\navailable for life, when it is tempered with shadow; pure light is\nfearful, and unendurable by humanity. And it is not less ridiculous to\nsay that the light, as such, is good in itself, than to say that the\ndarkness is good in itself. Both are rendered safe, healthy, and useful\nby the other; the night by the day, the day by the night; and we could\njust as easily live without the dawn as without the sunset, so long as\nwe are human. Of the celestial city we are told there shall be \"no night\nthere,\" and then we shall know even as also we are known: but the night\nand the mystery have both their service here; and our business is not to\nstrive to turn the night into day, but to be sure that we are as they\nthat watch for the morning.\n\nTherefore, in the education either of lower or upper classes, it matters\nnot the least how much or how little they know, provided they know just\nwhat will fit them to do their work, and to be happy in it. What the sum\nor the nature of their knowledge ought to be at a given time or in a\ngiven case, is a totally different question: the main thing to be\nunderstood is, that a man is not educated, in any sense whatsoever,\nbecause he can read Latin, or write English, or can behave well in a\ndrawingroom; but that he is only educated if he is happy, busy,\nbeneficent, and effective in the world; that millions of peasants are\ntherefore at this moment better educated than most of those who call\nthemselves gentlemen; and that the means taken to \"educate\" the lower\nclasses in any other sense may very often be productive of a precisely\nopposite result.\n\nObserve: I do not say, nor do I believe, that the lower classes ought\nnot to be better educated, in millions of ways, than they are. I believe\n_every man in a Christian kingdom ought to be equally well educated_.\nBut I would have it education to purpose; stern, practical,\nirresistible, in moral habits, in bodily strength and beauty, in all\nfaculties of mind capable of being developed under the circumstances of\nthe individual, and especially in the technical knowledge of his own\nbusiness; but yet, infinitely various in its effort, directed to make\none youth humble, and another confident; to tranquillize this mind, to\nput some spark of ambition into that; now to urge, and now to restrain:\nand in the doing of all this, considering knowledge as one only out of\nmyriads of means in its hands, or myriads of gifts at its disposal; and\ngiving it or withholding it as a good husbandman waters his garden,\ngiving the full shower only to the thirsty plants, and at times when\nthey are thirsty, whereas at present we pour it upon the heads of our\nyouth as the snow falls on the Alps, on one and another alike, till they\ncan bear no more, and then take honor to ourselves because here and\nthere a river descends from their crests into the valleys, not\nobserving that we have made the loaded hills themselves barren for ever.\n\nFinally: I hold it for indisputable, that the first duty of a state is\nto see that every child born therein shall be well housed, clothed, fed,\nand educated, till it attain years of discretion. But in order to the\neffecting this, the government must have an authority over the people of\nwhich we now do not so much as dream; and I cannot in this place pursue\nthe subject farther.\n\n\n8. EARLY VENETIAN MARRIAGES.\n\nGalliciolli, lib. ii. \u00a7 1757, insinuates a doubt of the general custom,\nsaying \"it would be more reasonable to suppose that only twelve maidens\nwere married in public on St. Mark's day;\" and Sandi also speaks of\ntwelve only. All evidence, however, is clearly in favor of the popular\ntradition; the most curious fact connected with the subject being the\nmention, by Herodotus, of the mode of marriage practised among the\nIllyrian \"Veneti\" of his time, who presented their maidens for marriage\non one day in each year; and, with the price paid for those who were\nbeautiful, gave dowries to those who had no personal attractions.\n\nIt is very curious to find the traces of this custom existing, though in\na softened form, in Christian times. Still, I admit that there is little\nconfidence to be placed in the mere concurrence of the Venetian\nChroniclers, who, for the most part, copied from each other: but the\nbest and most complete account I have read, is that quoted by\nGalliciolli from the \"Matricola de' Casseleri,\" written in 1449; and, in\nthat account, the words are quite unmistakable. \"It was anciently the\ncustom of Venice, that _all the brides_ (novizze) of Venice, when they\nmarried, should be married by the bishop, in the Church of S. Pietro di\nCastello, on St. Mark's day, which is the 31st of January.\" Rogers quotes\nNavagiero to the same effect; and Sansovino is more explicit still. \"It\nwas the custom to contract marriages openly; and when the deliberations\nwere completed, the damsels assembled themselves in St. Pietro di\nCastello, for the feast of St. Mark, in February.\"\n\n\n9. CHARACTER OF THE VENETIAN ARISTOCRACY.\n\nThe following noble answer of a Venetian ambassador, Giustiniani, on the\noccasion of an insult offered him at the court of Henry the Eighth, is\nas illustrative of the dignity which there yet remained in the character\nand thoughts of the Venetian noble, as descriptive, in few words, of the\nearly faith and deeds of his nation. He writes thus to the Doge, from\nLondon, on the 15th of April, 1516:\n\n\"By my last, in date of the 30th ult., I informed you that the\ncountenances of some of these lords evinced neither friendship nor\ngoodwill, and that much language had been used to me of a nature\nbordering not merely on arrogance, but even on outrage; and not having\nspecified this in the foregoing letters, I think fit now to mention it\nin detail. Finding myself at the court, and talking familiarly about\nother matters, two lay lords, great personages in this kingdom, inquired\nof me 'whence it came that your Excellency was of such slippery faith,\nnow favoring one party and then the other?' Although these words ought\nto have irritated me, I answered them with all discretion, 'that you did\nkeep, and ever had kept your faith; the maintenance of which has placed\nyou in great trouble, and subjected you to wars of longer duration than\nyou would otherwise have experienced; descending to particulars in\njustification of your Sublimity.' Whereupon one of them replied, '_Isti\nVeneti sunt piscatores._'[64] Marvellous was the command I then had over\nmyself in not giving vent to expressions which might have proved\ninjurious to your Signory; and with extreme moderation I rejoined, 'that\nhad he been at Venice, and seen our Senate, and the Venetian nobility,\nhe perhaps would not speak thus; and moreover, were he well read in our\nhistory, both concerning the origin of our city and the grandeur of your\nExcellency's feats, neither the one nor the other would seem to him\nthose of fishermen; yet,' said I, 'did fishermen found the Christian\nfaith, and we have been those fishermen who defended it against the\nforces of the Infidel, our fishing-boats being galleys and ships, our\nhooks the treasure of St. Mark, and our bait the life-blood of our\ncitizens, who died for the Christian faith.'\"\n\nI take this most interesting passage from a volume of despatches\naddressed from London to the Signory of Venice, by the ambassador\nGiustiniani, during the years 1516-1519; despatches not only full of\nmatters of historical interest, but of the most delightful every-day\ndescription of all that went on at the English court. They were\ntranslated by Mr. Brown from the original letters, and will, I believe,\nsoon be published, and I hope also, read and enjoyed: for I cannot close\nthese volumes without expressing a conviction, which has long been\nforcing itself upon my mind, that _restored_ history is of little more\nvalue than restored painting or architecture; that the only history\nworth reading is that written at the time of which it treats, the\nhistory of what was done and seen, heard out of the mouths of the men\nwho did and saw. One fresh draught of such history is worth more than a\nthousand volumes of abstracts, and reasonings, and suppositions, and\ntheories; and I believe that, as we get wiser, we shall take little\ntrouble about the history of nations who have left no distinct records\nof themselves, but spend our time only in the examination of the\nfaithful documents which, in any period of the world, have been left,\neither in the form of art or literature, portraying the scenes, or\nrecording the events, which in those days were actually passing before\nthe eyes of men.\n\n\n10. FINAL APPENDIX.\n\nThe statements respecting the dates of Venetian buildings made\nthroughout the preceding pages, are founded, as above stated, on careful\nand personal examination of all the mouldings, or other features\navailable as evidence, of every palace of importance in the city. Three\nparts, at least, of the time occupied in the completion of the work have\nbeen necessarily devoted to the collection of these evidences, of which\nit would be quite useless to lay the mass before the reader; but of\nwhich the leading points must be succinctly stated, in order to show the\nnature of my authority for any of the conclusions expressed in the text.\n\nI have therefore collected in the plates which illustrate this article\nof the Appendix, for the examination of any reader who may be interested\nby them, as many examples of the evidence-bearing details as are\nsufficient for the proof required, especially including all the\nexceptional forms; so that the reader may rest assured that if I had\nbeen able to lay before him all the evidence in my possession, it would\nhave been still more conclusive than the portion now submitted to him.\n\n[Illustration: Plate V.\n               BYZANTINE BASES.]\n\nWe must examine in succession the Bases, Doorways and Jambs, Capitals,\nArchivolts, Cornices, and Tracery Bars, of Venetian architecture.\n\n\n  _I. Bases._\n\nThe principal points we have to notice are the similarity and simplicity\nof the Byzantine bases in general, and the distinction between those of\nTorcello and Murano, and of St. Mark's, as tending to prove the early\ndates attributed in the text to the island churches. I have sufficiently\nillustrated the forms of the Gothic bases in Plates X., XI., and XIII.\nof the first volume, so that I here note chiefly the Byzantine or\nRomanesque ones, adding two Gothic forms for the sake of comparison.\n\nThe most characteristic examples, then, are collected in Plate V.\nopposite; namely:\n\n            1, 2, 3, 4. In the upper gallery of apse of Murano.\n            5. Lower shafts of apse. Murano.\n            6. Casa Falier.\n            7. Small shafts of panels. Casa Farsetti.\n            8. Great shafts and plinth. Casa Farsetti.\n            9. Great lower shafts. Fondaco de' Turchi.\n           10. Ducal Palace, upper arcade.\n PLATE V.  11. General late Gothic form.\n Vol. III. 12. Tomb of Dogaressa Vital Michele, in St. Mark's atrium.\n           13. Upper arcade of Madonnetta House.\n           14. Rio-Foscari House.\n           15. Upper arcade. Terraced House.\n           16, 17, 18. Nave. Torcello.\n           19, 20. Transepts. St. Mark's.\n           21. Nave. St. Mark's.\n           22. External pillars of northern portico. St. Mark's.\n           23, 24. Clustered pillars of northern portico. St. Mark's.\n           25, 26. Clustered pillars of southern portico. St. Mark's.\n\nNow, observe, first, the enormous difference in style between the bases\n1 to 5, and the rest in the upper row, that is to say, between the bases\nof Murano and the twelfth and thirteenth century bases of Venice; and,\nsecondly, the difference between the bases 16 to 20 and the rest in the\nlower row, that is to say, between the bases of Torcello (with those of\nSt. Mark's which belong to the nave, and which may therefore be supposed\nto be part of the earlier church), and the later ones of the St. Mark's\nFa\u00e7ade.\n\nSecondly: Note the fellowship between 5 and 6, one of the evidences of\nthe early date of the Casa Falier.\n\nThirdly: Observe the slurring of the upper roll into the cavetto, in 13,\n14, and 15, and the consequent relationship established between three\nmost important buildings, the Rio-Foscari House, Terraced House, and\nMadonnetta House.\n\nFourthly: Byzantine bases, if they have an incision between the upper\nroll and cavetto, are very apt to approach the form of fig. 23, in which\nthe upper roll is cut out of the flat block, and the ledge beneath it is\nsloping. Compare Nos. 7, 8, 9, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26. On the other\nhand, the later Gothic base, 11, has always its upper roll well\ndeveloped, and, generally, the fillet between it and the cavetto\nvertical. The sloping fillet is indeed found down to late periods; and\nthe vertical fillet, as in No. 12, in Byzantine ones; but still, when a\nbase has such a sloping fillet and peculiarly graceful sweeping cavetto,\nas those of No. 10, looking as if they would run into one line with each\nother, it is strong presumptive evidence of its belonging to an early,\nrather than a late period.\n\nThe base 12 is the boldest example I could find of the exceptional form\nin early times; but observe, in this, that the upper roll is larger than\nthe lower. This is _never_ the case in late Gothic, where the proportion\nis always as in fig. 11. Observe that in Nos. 8 and 9 the upper rolls\nare at least as large as the lower, an important evidence of the dates\nof the Casa Farsetti and Fondaco de' Turchi.\n\nLastly: Note the peculiarly steep profile of No. 22, with reference to\nwhat is said of this base in Vol. II. Appendix 9.\n\n\n  _II. Doorways and Jambs._\n\nThe entrances to St. Mark's consist, as above mentioned, of great\ncircular or ogee porches; underneath which the real open entrances, in\nwhich the valves of the bronze doors play, are square headed.\n\n[Illustration: Fig. I.]\n\nThe mouldings of the jambs of these doors are highly curious, and the\nmost characteristic are therefore represented in one view. The outsides\nof the jambs are lowest.\n\n  _a_. Northern lateral door.\n  _b_. First northern door of the fa\u00e7ade.\n  _c_. Second door of the fa\u00e7ade.\n  _d_. Fourth door of the fa\u00e7ade.\n  _e_. Central door of the fa\u00e7ade.\n\nI wish the reader especially to note the arbitrary character of the\ncurves and incisions; all evidently being drawn by hand, none being\nsegments of circles, none like another, none influenced by any visible\nlaw. I do not give these mouldings as beautiful; they are, for the most\npart, very poor in effect, but they are singularly characteristic of the\nfree work of the time.\n\nThe kind of door to which these mouldings belong, is shown, with the\nother groups of doors, in Plate XIV. Vol. II. fig. 6 _a_. Then 6 _b_, 6\n_c_, 6 _d_ represent the groups of doors in which the Byzantine\ninfluence remained energetic, admitting slowly the forms of the pointed\nGothic; 7 _a_, with the gable above, is the intermediate group between\nthe Byzantine and Gothic schools; 7 _b_, 7 _c_, 7 _d_, 7 _e_ are the\nadvanced guards of the Gothic and Lombardic invasions, representative of\na large number of thirteenth century arcades and doors. Observe that 6\n_d_ is shown to be of a late school by its finial, and 6 _e_ of the\nlatest school by its finial, complete ogee arch (instead of round or\npointed), and abandonment of the lintel.\n\nThese examples, with the exception of 6 _a_, which is a general form,\nare all actually existing doors; namely:\n\n  6 _b._ In the Fondamenta Venier, near St. Maria della Salute.\n  6 _c._ In the Calle delle Botteri, between the Rialto and San Cassan.\n  6 _d._ Main door of San Gregorio.\n  6 _e._ Door of a palace in Rio San Paternian.\n  7 _a._ Door of a small courtyard near house of Marco Polo.\n  7 _b._ Arcade in narrow canal, at the side of Casa Barbaro.\n  7 _c._ At the turn of the canal, close to the Ponte dell' Angelo.\n  7 _d._ In Rio San Paternian (a ruinous house).\n  7 _e._ At the turn of the canal on which the Sotto Portico della Stua\n           opens, near San Zaccaria.\n\nIf the reader will take a magnifying glass to the figure 6 _d_, he will\nsee that its square ornaments, of which, in the real door, each contains\na rose, diminish to the apex of the arch; a very interesting and\ncharacteristic circumstance, showing the subtle feeling of the Gothic\nbuilders. They must needs diminish the ornamentation, in order to\nsympathize with the delicacy of the point of the arch. The magnifying\nglass will also show the Bondumieri shield in No. 7 _d_, and the Leze\nshield in No. 7 _e_, both introduced on the keystones in the grand early\nmanner. The mouldings of these various doors will be noticed under the\nhead Archivolt.\n\n[Illustration: Plate VI.\n               BYZANTINE JAMBS.]\n\nNow, throughout the city we find a number of doors resembling the square\ndoors of St. Mark, and occurring with rare exceptions either in\nbuildings of the Byzantine period, or imbedded in restored houses;\nnever, in a single instance, forming a connected portion of any late\nbuilding; and they therefore furnish a most important piece of evidence,\nwherever they are part of the original structure of a _Gothic_ building,\nthat such building is one of the advanced guards of the Gothic school,\nand belongs to its earliest period.\n\nOn Plate VI., opposite, are assembled all the important examples I could\nfind in Venice of these mouldings. The reader will see at a glance their\npeculiar character, and unmistakable likeness to each other. The\nfollowing are the references:\n\n            1. Door in Calle Mocenigo.\n            2. Angle of tomb of Dogaressa Vital Michele.\n            3. Door in Sotto Portico, St. Apollonia (near Ponte di\n                  Canonica).\n            4. Door in Calle della Verona (another like it is close by).\n            5. Angle of tomb of Doge Marino Morosini.\n            6, 7. Door in Calle Mocenigo.\n            8. Door in Campo S. Margherita.\n Plate VI.  9. Door at Traghetto San Samuele, on south side of Grand\n Vol. III.       Canal.\n           10. Door at Ponte St. Toma.\n           11. Great door of Church of Servi.\n           12. In Calle della Chiesa, Campo San Filippo e Giacomo.\n           13. Door of house in Calle di Rimedio (Vol. II.).\n           14. Door in Fondaco de' Turchi.\n           15. Door in Fondamenta Malcanton, near Campo S. Margherita.\n           16. Door in south side of Canna Reggio.\n           17, 18. Doors in Sotto Portico dei Squellini.\n\nThe principal points to be noted in these mouldings are their curious\ndifferences of level, as marked by the dotted lines, more especially in\n14, 15, 16, and the systematic projection of the outer or lower\nmouldings in 16, 17, 18. Then, as points of evidence, observe that 1 is\nthe jamb and 6 the archivolt (7 the angle on a larger scale) of the\nbrick door given in my folio work from Ramo di rimpetto Mocenigo, one of\nthe evidences of the early date of that door; 8 is the jamb of the door\nin Campo Santa Margherita (also given in my folio work), fixing the\nearly date of that also; 10 is from a Gothic door opening off the Ponte\nSt. Toma; and 11 is also from a Gothic building. All the rest are from\nByzantine work, or from ruins. The angle of the tomb of Marino Morosini\n(5) is given for comparison only.\n\nThe doors with the mouldings 17, 18, are from the two ends of a small\ndark passage, called the Sotto Portico dei Squellini, opening near Ponte\nCappello, on the Rio-Marin: 14 is the outside one, arranged as usual,\nand at _a_, in the rough stone, are places for the staples of the door\nvalve; 15, at the other end of the passage, opening into the little\nCorte dei Squellini, is set with the part _a_ outwards, it also having\nplaces for hinges; but it is curious that the rich moulding should be\nset in towards the dark passage, though natural that the doors should\nboth open one way.\n\n[Illustration: Plate VII.\n               GOTHIC JAMBS.]\n\nThe next Plate, VII., will show the principal characters of the Gothic\njambs, and the total difference between them and the Byzantine ones. Two\nmore Byzantine forms, 1 and 2, are given here for the sake of\ncomparison; then 3, 4, and 5 are the common profiles of simple jambs of\ndoors in the Gothic period; 6 is one of the jambs of the Frari windows,\ncontinuous into the archivolt, and meeting the traceries, where the line\nis set upon it at the extremity of its main slope; 7 and 8 are jambs of\nthe Ducal Palace windows, in which the great semicircle is the half\nshaft which sustains the traceries, and the rest of the profile is\ncontinuous in the archivolt; 17, 18, and 19 are the principal piers of\nthe Ducal Palace; and 20, from St. Fermo of Verona, is put with them in\norder to show the step of transition from the Byzantine form 2 to the\nGothic chamfer, which is hardly represented at Venice. The other\nprofiles on the plate are all late Gothic, given to show the gradual\nincrease of complexity without any gain of power. The open lines in 12,\n14, 16, etc., are the parts of the profile cut into flowers or cable\nmouldings; and so much incised as to show the constant outline of the\ncavetto or curve beneath them. The following are the references:\n\n             1. Door in house of Marco Polo.\n             2. Old door in a restored church of St. Cassan.\n             3, 4, 5. Common jambs of Gothic doors.\n             6. Frari windows.\n             7, 8. Ducal Palace windows.\n             9. Casa Priuli, great entrance.\n            10. San Stefano, great door.\n PLATE VII. 11. San Gregorio, door opening to the water.\n Vol. III.  12. Lateral door, Frari.\n            13. Door of Campo San Zaccaria.\n            14. Madonna dell'Orto.\n            15. San Gregorio, door in the fa\u00e7ade.\n            16. Great lateral door, Frari.\n            17. Pilaster at Vine angle, Ducal Palace.\n            18. Pier, inner cortile, Ducal Palace.\n            19. Pier, under the medallion of Venice, on the Piazetta\n                  fa\u00e7ade of the Ducal Palace.\n\n\n  _III. Capitals._\n\nI shall here notice the various facts I have omitted in the text of the\nwork.\n\nFirst, with respect to the Byzantine Capitals represented in Plate VII.\nVol. II., I omitted to notice that figs. 6 and 7 represent two sides of\nthe same capital at Murano (though one is necessarily drawn on a smaller\nscale than the other). Fig. 7 is the side turned to the light, and fig.\n6 to the shade, the inner part, which is quite concealed, not being\ntouched at all.\n\nWe have here a conclusive proof that these capitals were cut for their\nplace in the apse; therefore I have always considered them as tests of\nVenetian workmanship, and, on the strength of that proof, have\noccasionally spoken of capitals as of true Venetian work, which M.\nLazari supposes to be of the Lower Empire. No. 11, from St. Mark's, was\nnot above noticed. The way in which the cross is gradually left in\ndeeper relief as the sides slope inwards and away from it, is highly\npicturesque and curious.\n\nNo. 9 has been reduced from a larger drawing, and some of the life and\ncharacter of the curves lost in consequence. It is chiefly given to show\nthe irregular and fearless freedom of the Byzantine designers, no two\nparts of the foliage being correspondent; in the original it is of white\nmarble, the ground being colored blue.\n\nPlate X. Vol. II. represents the four principal orders of Venetian\ncapitals in their greatest simplicity, and the profiles of the most\ninteresting examples of each. The figures 1 and 4 are the two great\nconcave and convex groups, and 2 and 3 the transitional. Above each type\nof form I have put also an example of the group of flowers which\nrepresent it in nature: fig. 1 has a lily; fig. 2 a variety of the\nTulipa sylvestris; figs. 3 and 4 forms of the magnolia. I prepared this\nplate in the early spring, when I could not get any other examples,[65]\nor I would rather have had two different species for figs. 3 and 4; but\nthe half-open magnolia will answer the purpose, showing the beauty of\nthe triple curvature in the sides.\n\nI do not say that the forms of the capitals are actually taken from\nflowers, though assuredly so in some instances, and partially so in the\ndecoration of nearly all. But they were designed by men of pure and\nnatural feeling for beauty, who therefore instinctively adopted the\nforms represented, which are afterwards proved to be beautiful by their\nfrequent occurrence in common flowers.\n\nThe convex forms, 3 and 4, are put lowest in the plate only because they\nare heaviest; they are the earliest in date, and have already been\nenough examined.\n\nI have added a plate to this volume (Plate XII.), which should have\nappeared in illustration of the fifth chapter of Vol. II., but was not\nfinished in time. It represents the central capital and two of the\nlateral ones of the Fondaco de' Turchi, the central one drawn very\nlarge, in order to show the excessive simplicity of its chiselling,\ntogether with the care and sharpness of it, each leaf being expressed by\na series of sharp furrows and ridges. Some slight errors in the large\ntracings from which the engraving was made have, however, occasioned a\nloss of spring in the curves, and the little fig. 4 of Plate X. Vol. II.\ngives a truer idea of the distant effect of the capital.\n\nThe profiles given in Plate X. Vol. II. are the following:\n\n       1. _a._ Main capitals, upper arcade, Madonnetta House.\n          _b._ Main capitals, upper arcade, Casa Falier.\n          _c._ Lateral capitals, upper arcade, Fondaco de' Turchi.\n          _d._ Small pillars of St. Mark's Pulpit.\n          _e._ Casa Farsetti.\n          _f._ Inner capitals of arcade of Ducal Palace.\n          _g._ Plinth of the house[66] at Apostoli.\n          _h._ Main capitals of house at Apostoli.\n          _i._ Main capitals, upper arcade, Fondaco de' Turchi.\n       2. _a._ Lower arcade, Fondaco de' Turchi.\n          _b, c._ Lower pillars, house at Apostoli.\n          _d._ San Simeon Grande.\n PLATE X. _e._ Restored house on Grand Canal. Three of the old arches left.\n vol. II. _f._ Upper arcade, Ducal Palace.\n          _g._ Windows of third order, central shaft, Ducal Palace.\n          _h._ Windows of third order, lateral shaft, Ducal Palace.\n          _i._ Ducal Palace, main shafts.\n          _k._ Piazzetta shafts.\n       3. _a._ St. Mark's Nave.\n          _b, c._ Lily capitals, St. Mark's.\n       4. _a._ Fondaco de' Turchi, central shaft, upper arcade.\n          _b._ Murano, upper arcade.\n          _c._ Murano, lower arcade.\n          _d._ Tomb of St. Isidore.\n          _e._ General late Gothic profile.\n\nThe last two sections are convex in effect, though not in reality; the\nbulging lines being carved into bold flower-work.\n\nThe capitals belonging to the groups 1 and 2, in the Byzantine times,\nhave already been illustrated in Plate VIII. Vol. II.; we have yet to\ntrace their succession in the Gothic times. This is done in Plate II. of\nthis volume, which we will now examine carefully. The following are the\ncapitals represented in that plate:\n\n           1. Small shafts of St. Mark's Pulpit.\n           2. From the transitional house in the Calle di Rimedio (conf.\n                Vol. II.).\n           3. General simplest form of the middle Gothic capital.\n           4. Nave of San Giacomo de Lorio.\n           5. Casa Falier.\n           6. Early Gothic house in Campo Sta. M^a. Mater Domini.\n PLATE II. 7. House at the Apostoli.\n Vol. III. 8. Piazzetta shafts.\n           9. Ducal Palace, upper arcade.\n          10. Palace of Marco Querini.\n          11. Fondaco de' Turchi.\n          12. Gothic palaces in Campo San Polo.\n          13. Windows of fourth order, Plate XVI. Vol. II.\n          14. Nave of Church of San Stefano.\n          15. Late Gothic Palace at the Miracoli.\n\nThe two lateral columns form a consecutive series: the central column is\na group of exceptional character, running parallel with both. We will\ntake the lateral ones first. 1. Capital of pulpit of St. Mark's\n(representative of the simplest concave forms of the Byzantine period).\nLook back to Plate VIII. Vol. II., and observe that while all the forms\nin that plate are contemporaneous, we are now going to follow a series\n_consecutive_ in time, which begins from fig. 1, either in that plate or\nin this; that is to say, with the simplest possible condition to be\nfound at the time; and which proceeds to develope itself into gradually\nincreasing richness, while the _already rich_ capitals of the old school\ndie at its side. In the forms 14 and 15 (Plate VIII.) the Byzantine\nschool expired; but from the Byzantine simple capital (1, Plate II.\nabove) which was coexistent with them, sprang another hardy race of\ncapitals, whose succession we have now to trace.\n\nThe form 1, Plate II. is evidently the simplest conceivable condition of\nthe truncated capital, long ago represented generally in Vol. I., being\nonly rounded a little on its side to fit it to the shaft. The next step\nwas to place a leaf beneath each of the truncations (fig. 4, Plate II.,\nSan Giacomo de Lorio), the end of the leaf curling over at the top in a\nsomewhat formal spiral, partly connected with the traditional volute of\nthe Corinthian capital. The sides are then enriched by the addition of\nsome ornament, as a shield (fig. 7) or rose (fig. 10), and we have the\nformed capital of the early Gothic. Fig. 10, being from the palace of\nMarco Querini, is certainly not later than the middle of the thirteenth\ncentury (see Vol. II.), and fig. 7, is, I believe, of the same date; it\nis one of the bearing capitals of the lower story of the palace at the\nApostoli, and is remarkably fine in the treatment of its angle leaves,\nwhich are not deeply under-cut, but show their magnificent sweeping\nunder surface all the way down, not as a leaf surface, but treated like\nthe gorget of a helmet, with a curved line across it like that where the\ngorget meets the mail. I never saw anything finer in simple design. Fig.\n10 is given chiefly as a certification of date, and to show the\ntreatment of the capitals of this school on a small scale. Observe the\nmore expansive head in proportion to the diameter of the shaft, the\nleaves being drawn from the angles, as if gathered in the hand, till\ntheir edges meet; and compare the rule given in Vol. I. Chap. IX. \u00a7 XIV.\nThe capitals of the remarkable house, of which a portion is represented\nin Fig. XXXI. Vol. II., are most curious and pure examples of this\ncondition; with experimental trefoils, roses, and leaves introduced\nbetween their volutes. When compared with those of the Querini Palace,\nthey form one of the most important evidences of the date of the\nbuilding.\n\nFig. 13. One of the bearing capitals, already drawn on a small scale in\nthe windows represented in Plate XVI. Vol. II.\n\nNow, observe. The capital of the form of fig. 10 appeared sufficient to\nthe Venetians for all ordinary purposes; and they used it in common\nwindows to the latest Gothic periods, but yet with certain differences\nwhich at once show the lateness of the work. In the first place, the\nrose, which at first was flat and quatrefoiled, becomes, after some\nexperiments, a round ball dividing into three leaves, closely resembling\nour English ball flower, and probably derived from it; and, in other\ncases, forming a bold projecting bud in various degrees of contraction\nor expansion. In the second place, the extremities of the angle leaves\nare wrought into rich flowing lobes, and bent back so as to lap against\ntheir own breasts; showing lateness of date in exact proportion to the\nlooseness of curvature. Fig. 3 represents the general aspect of these\nlater capitals, which may be conveniently called the rose capitals of\nVenice; two are seen on service, in Plate VIII. Vol. I., showing\ncomparatively early date by the experimental form of the six-foiled\nrose. But for elaborate edifices this form was not sufficiently rich;\nand there was felt to be something awkward in the junction of the leaves\nat the bottom. Therefore, four other shorter leaves were added at the\nsides, as in fig. 13, Plate II., and as generally represented in Plate\nX. Vol. II. fig. 1. This was a good and noble step, taken very early in\nthe thirteenth century; and all the best Venetian capitals were\nthenceforth of this form. Those which followed, and rested in the common\nrose type, were languid and unfortunate: I do not know a single good\nexample of them after the first half of the thirteenth century.\n\nBut the form reached in fig. 13 was quickly felt to be of great value\nand power. One would have thought it might have been taken straight from\nthe Corinthian type; but it is clearly the work of men who were making\nexperiments for themselves. For instance, in the central capital of Fig.\nXXXI. Vol. II., there is a trial condition of it, with the intermediate\nleaf set behind those at the angles (the reader had better take a\nmagnifying glass to this woodcut; it will show the character of the\ncapitals better). Two other experimental forms occur in the Casa Cicogna\n(Vol. II.), and supply one of the evidences which fix the date of that\npalace. But the form soon was determined as in fig. 13, and then means\nwere sought of recommending it by farther decoration.\n\nThe leaves which are used in fig. 13, it will be observed, have lost\nthe Corinthian volute, and are now pure and plain leaves, such as were\nused in the Lombardic Gothic of the early thirteenth century all over\nItaly. Now in a round-arched gateway at Verona, certainly not later than\n1300; the pointed leaves of this pure form are used in one portion of\nthe mouldings, and in another are enriched by having their surfaces\ncarved each into a beautiful ribbed and pointed leaf. The capital, fig.\n6, Plate II., is nothing more than fig. 13 so enriched; and the two\nconditions are quite contemporary, fig. 13 being from a beautiful series\nof fourth order windows in Campo Sta. M^a. Mater Domini, already drawn\nin my folio work.\n\nFig. 13 is representative of the richest conditions of Gothic capital\nwhich existed at the close of the thirteenth century. The builder of the\nDucal Palace amplified them into the form of fig. 9, but varying the\nleafage in disposition and division of lobes in every capital; and the\nworkmen trained under him executed many noble capitals for the Gothic\npalaces of the early fourteenth century, of which fig. 12, from a palace\nin the Campo St. Polo, is one of the most beautiful examples. In figs. 9\nand 12 the reader sees the Venetian Gothic capital in its noblest\ndevelopement. The next step was to such forms as fig. 15, which is\ngenerally characteristic of the late fourteenth and early fifteenth\ncentury Gothic, and of which I hope the reader will at once perceive the\nexaggeration and corruption.\n\nThis capital is from a palace near the Miracoli, and it is remarkable\nfor the delicate, though corrupt, ornament on its abacus, which is\nprecisely the same as that on the pillars of the screen of St. Mark's.\nThat screen is a monument of very great value, for it shows the entire\ncorruption of the Gothic power, and the style of the later palaces\naccurately and completely defined in all its parts, and is dated 1380;\nthus at once furnishing us with a limiting date, which throws all the\nnoble work of the early Ducal Palace, and all that is like it in Venice,\nthoroughly back into the middle of the fourteenth century at the latest.\n\nFig. 2 is the simplest condition of the capital universally employed in\nthe windows of the second order, noticed above, Vol. II., as belonging\nto a style of great importance in the transitional architecture of\nVenice. Observe, that in all the capitals given in the lateral columns\nin Plate II., the points of the leaves _turn over_. But in this central\ngroup they lie _flat_ against the angle of the capital, and form a\npeculiarly light and lovely succession of forms, occurring only in their\npurity in the windows of the second order, and in some important\nmonuments connected with them.\n\nIn fig. 2 the leaf at the angle is cut, exactly in the manner of an\nEgyptian bas-relief, _into_ the stone, with a raised edge round it, and\na raised rib up the centre; and this mode of execution, seen also in\nfigs. 4 and 7, is one of the collateral evidences of early date. But in\nfigs. 5 and 8, where more elaborate effect was required, the leaf is\nthrown out boldly with an even edge from the surface of the capital, and\nenriched on its own surface: and as the treatment of fig. 2 corresponds\nwith that of fig. 4, so that of fig. 5 corresponds with that of fig. 6;\n2 and 5 having the upright leaf, 4 and 6 the bending leaves; but all\ncontemporary.\n\nFig. 5 is the central capital of the windows of Casa Falier, drawn in\nPlate XV. Vol. II.; and one of the leaves set on its angles is drawn\nlarger at fig. 7, Plate XX. Vol. II. It has no rib, but a sharp raised\nridge down its centre; and its lobes, of which the reader will observe\nthe curious form,--round in the middle one, truncated in the sides,--are\nwrought with a precision and care which I have hardly ever seen\nequalled: but of this more presently.\n\nThe next figure (8, Plate II.) is the most important capital of the\nwhole transitional period, that employed on the two columns of the\nPiazzetta. These pillars are said to have been _raised_ in the close of\nthe twelfth century, but I cannot find even the most meagre account of\ntheir bases, capitals, or, which seems to me most wonderful, of that\nnoble winged lion, one of the grandest things produced by medi\u00e6val art,\nwhich all men admire, and none can draw. I have never yet seen a\nfaithful representation of his firm, fierce, and fiery strength. I\nbelieve that both he and the capital which bears him are late thirteenth\ncentury work. I have not been up to the lion, and cannot answer for it;\nbut if it be not thirteenth century work, it is as good; and respecting\nthe capitals, there can be small question. They are of exactly the date\nof the oldest tombs, bearing crosses, outside of St. John and Paul; and\nare associated with all the other work of the transitional period, from\n1250 to 1300 (the bases of these pillars, representing the trades of\nVenice, ought, by the by, to have been mentioned as among the best early\nefforts of Venetian grotesque); and, besides, their abaci are formed by\nfour reduplications of the dentilled mouldings of St. Mark's, which\nnever occur after the year 1300.\n\nNothing can be more beautiful or original than the adaptation of these\nbroad bearing abaci; but as they have nothing to do with the capital\nitself, and could not easily be brought into the space, they are omitted\nin Plate II., where fig. 8 shows the bell of the capital only. Its\nprofile is curiously subtle,--apparently concave everywhere, but in\nreality concave (all the way down) only on the angles, and slightly\nconvex at the sides (the profile through the side being 2 _k_, Plate X.\nVol. II.); in this subtlety of curvature, as well as in the simple\ncross, showing the influence of early times.\n\nThe leaf on the angle, of which more presently, is fig. 5, Plate XX.\nVol. II.\n\nConnected with this school of transitional capitals we find a form in\nthe later Gothic, such as fig. 14, from the Church of San Stefano; but\nwhich appears in part derived from an old and rich Byzantine type, of\nwhich fig. 11, from the Fondaco de' Turchi, is a characteristic example.\n\nI must now take the reader one step farther, and ask him to examine,\nfinally, the treatment of the leaves, down to the cutting of their most\nminute lobes, in the series of capitals of which we have hitherto only\nsketched the general forms.\n\nIn all capitals with nodding leaves, such as 6 and 9 in Plate II., the\nreal form of the leaf is not to be seen, except in perspective; but, in\norder to render the comparison more easy, I have in Plate XX. Vol. II.\nopened all the leaves out, as if they were to be dried in a herbarium,\nonly leaving the furrows and sinuosities of surface, but laying the\noutside contour nearly flat upon the page, except for a particular\nreason in figs. 2, 10, 11, and 15.\n\nI shall first, as usual, give the references, and then note the points\nof interest.\n\n           1, 2, 3. Fondaco de' Turchi, upper arcade.\n           4. Greek pillars brought from St. Jean d'Acre.\n           5. Piazzetta shafts.\n           6. Madonnetta House.\n PLATE XX. 7. Casa Falier.\n  Vol. II. 8. Palace near St. Eustachio.\n           9. Tombs, outside of St. John and Paul.\n          10. Tomb of Giovanni Soranzo.\n          11. Tomb of Andrea Dandolo.\n          12, 13, 14. Ducal Palace.\n\nN.B. The upper row, 1 to 4, is Byzantine, the next transitional, the\nlast two Gothic.\n\nFig. 1. The leaf of the capital No. 6, Plate VIII. Vol. II. Each lobe of\nthe leaf has a sharp furrow up to its point, from its root.\n\nFig. 2. The leaf of the capital on the right hand, at the top of Plate\nXII. in this volume. The lobes worked in the same manner, with deep\nblack drill holes between their points.\n\nFig. 3. One of the leaves of fig. 14, Plate VIII. Vol. II. fully\nunfolded. The lobes worked in the same manner, but left shallow, so as\nnot to destroy the breadth of light; the central line being drawn by\ndrill holes, and the interstices between lobes cut black and deep.\n\nFig. 4. Leaf with flower; pure Byzantine work, showing whence the\ntreatment of all the other leaves has been derived.\n\nFig. 6. For the sake of symmetry, this is put in the centre: it is the\nearliest of the three in this row; taken from the Madonnetta House,\nwhere the capitals have leaves both at their sides and angles. The tall\nangle leaf, with its two lateral ones, is given in the plate; and there\nis a remarkable distinction in the mode of workmanship of these leaves,\nwhich, though found in a palace of the Byzantine period, is indicative\nof a tendency to transition; namely, that the sharp furrow is now drawn\n_only to the central lobe_ of each division of the leaf, and the rest of\nthe surface of the leaf is left nearly flat, a slight concavity only\nmarking the division of the extremities. At the base of these leaves\nthey are perfectly flat, only cut by the sharp and narrow furrow, as an\nelevated table-land is by ravines.\n\nFig. 5. A more advanced condition; the fold at the recess, between each\ndivision of the leaf, carefully expressed, and the concave or depressed\nportions of the extremities marked more deeply, as well as the central\nfurrow, and a rib added in the centre.\n\nFig. 7. A contemporary, but more finished form; the sharp furrows\nbecoming softer, and the whole leaf more flexible.\n\nFig. 8. An exquisite form of the same period, but showing still more\nadvanced naturalism, from a very early group of third order windows,\nnear the Church of St. Eustachio on the Grand Canal.\n\nFig. 9. Of the same time, from a small capital of an angle shaft of the\nsarcophagi at the _side_ of St. John and Paul, in the little square\nwhich is adorned by the Colleone statue. This leaf is very quaint and\npretty in giving its midmost lateral divisions only two lobes each,\ninstead of the usual three or four.\n\nFig. 10. Leaf employed in the cornice of the tomb of the Doge Giovanni\nSoranzo, who died in 1312. It nods over, and has three ribs on its upper\nsurface; thus giving us the completed ideal form of the leaf, but its\nexecution is still very archaic and severe.\n\nNow the next example, fig. 11, is from the tomb of the Doge Andrea\nDandolo, and therefore executed between 1354 and 1360; and this leaf\nshows the Gothic naturalism and refinement of curvature fully developed.\nIn this forty years' interval, then, the principal advance of Gothic\nsculpture is to be placed.\n\nI had prepared a complete series of examples, showing this advance, and\nthe various ways in which the separations of the ribs, a most\ncharacteristic feature, are more and more delicately and scientifically\ntreated, from the beginning to the middle of the fourteenth century, but\nI feared that no general reader would care to follow me into these\nminuti\u00e6, and have cancelled this portion of the work, at least for the\npresent, the main point being, that the reader should feel the full\nextent of the change, which he can hardly fail to do in looking from\nfig. 10 to figs. 11 and 12. I believe that fig. 12 is the earlier of the\ntwo; and it is assuredly the finer, having all the elasticity and\nsimplicity of the earliest forms, with perfect flexibility added. In\nfig. 11 there is a perilous element beginning to develope itself into\none feature, namely, the extremities of the leaves, which, instead of\nmerely nodding over, now curl completely round into a kind of ball. This\noccurs early, and in the finest Gothic work, especially in cornices and\nother running mouldings: but it is a fatal symptom, a beginning of the\nintemperance of the later Gothic, and it was followed out with singular\navidity; the ball of coiled leafage increasing in size and complexity,\nand at last becoming the principal feature of the work; the light\nstriking on its vigorous projection, as in fig. 14. Nearly all the\nRenaissance Gothic of Venice depends upon these balls for effect, a late\ncapital being generally composed merely of an upper and lower range of\nleaves terminating in this manner.\n\nIt is very singular and notable how, in this loss of _temperance_, there\nis loss of _life_. For truly healthy and living leaves do not bind\nthemselves into knots at the extremities. They bend, and wave, and nod,\nbut never curl. It is in disease, or in death, by blight, or frost, or\npoison only, that leaves in general assume this ingathered form. It is\nthe flame of autumn that has shrivelled them, or the web of the\ncaterpillar that has bound them: and thus the last forms of the Venetian\nleafage set forth the fate of Venetian pride; and, in their utmost\nluxuriance and abandonment, perish as if eaten of worms.\n\nAnd now, by glancing back to Plate X. Vol. II, the reader will see in a\nmoment the kind of evidence which is found of the date of capitals in\ntheir profiles merely. Observe: we have seen that the treatment of the\nleaves in the Madonnetta House seemed \"indicative of a tendency to\ntransition.\" Note their profile, 1_a_, and its close correspondence with\n1 _h_, which is actually of a transitional capital from the upper arcade\nof second order windows in the Apostoli Palace; yet both shown to be\nvery close to the Byzantine period, if not belonging to it, by their\nfellowship with the profile _i_, from the Fondaco de' Turchi. Then note\nthe close correspondence of all the other profiles in that line, which\nbelong to the concave capitals or plinths of the Byzantine palaces, and\nnote their composition, the abacus being, in idea, merely an echo or\nreduplication of the capital itself; as seen in perfect simplicity in\nthe profile _f_, which is a roll under a _tall_ concave curve forming\nthe bell of the capital, with a roll and _short_ concave curve for its\nabacus. This peculiar abacus is an unfailing test of early date; and our\nfinding this simple profile used for the Ducal Palace (_f_), is strongly\nconfirmatory of all our former conclusions.\n\nThen the next row, 2, are the Byzantine and early Gothic semi-convex\ncurves, in their pure forms, having no roll below; but often with a roll\nadded, as at _f_, and in certain early Gothic conditions curiously fused\ninto it, with a cavetto between, as _b_, _c_, _d_. But the more archaic\nform is as at _f_ and _k_; and as these two profiles are from the Ducal\nPalace and Piazzetta shafts, they join again with the rest of the\nevidence of their early date. The profiles _i_ and _k_ are both most\nbeautiful; _i_ is that of the great capitals of the Ducal Palace, and\nthe small profiles between it and _k_ are the varieties used on the\nfillet at its base. The profile _i_ should have had leaves springing\nfrom it, as 1 _h_ has, only more boldly, but there was no room for them.\n\nThe reader cannot fail to discern at a glance the fellowship of the\nwhole series of profiles, 2 _a_ to _k_, nor can he but with equal ease\nobserve a marked difference in 4 _d_ and 4 _e_ from any others in the\nplate; the bulging outlines of leafage being indicative of the luxuriant\nand flowing masses, no longer expressible with a simple line, but to be\nconsidered only as confined within it, of the later Gothic. Now _d_ is a\ndated profile from the tomb of St. Isidore, 1355, which by its dog-tooth\nabacus and heavy leafage distinguishes itself from all the other\nprofiles, and therefore throws them back into the first half of the\ncentury. But, observe, it still retains the noble swelling root. This\ncharacter soon after vanishes; and, in 1380, the profile _e_, at once\nheavy, feeble, and ungraceful, with a meagre and valueless abacus hardly\ndiscernible, is characteristic of all the capitals of Venice.\n\nNote, finally, this contraction of the abacus. Compare 4 _c_, which is\nthe earliest form in the plate, from Murano, with 4 _e_, which is the\nlatest. The other profiles show the gradual process of change; only\nobserve, in 3_a_ the abacus is not drawn; it is so bold that it would\nnot come into the plate without reducing the bell curve to too small a\nscale.\n\nSo much for the evidence derivable from the capitals; we have next to\nexamine that of the archivolts or arch mouldings.\n\n[Illustration: Plate VIII.\n               BYZANTINE ARCHIVOLTS.]\n\n\n  _IV. Archivolts._\n\nIn Plate VIII., opposite, are arranged in one view all the conditions of\nByzantine archivolt employed in Venice, on a large scale. It will be\nseen in an instant that there can be no mistaking the manner of their\nmasonry. The soffit of the arch is the horizontal line at the bottom of\nall these profiles, and each of them (except 13, 14) is composed of two\nslabs of marble, one for the soffit, another for the face of the arch;\nthe one on the soffit is worked on the edge into a roll (fig. 10) or\ndentil (fig. 9), and the one on the face is bordered on the other side\nby another piece let edgeways into the wall, and also worked into a roll\nor dentil: in the richer archivolts a cornice is added to this roll, as\nin figs. 1 and 4, or takes its place, as in figs. 1, 3, 5, and 6; and in\nsuch richer examples the facestone, and often the soffit, are\nsculptured, the sculpture being cut into their surfaces, as indicated in\nfig. 11. The concavities cut in the facestones of 1, 2, 4, 5, 6 are all\nindicative of sculpture in effect like that of Fig. XXVI. Vol. II., of\nwhich archivolt fig. 5, here, is the actual profile. The following are\nthe references to the whole:\n\n             1. Rio-Foscari House.\n             2. Terraced House, entrance door.\n             3. Small Porticos of St. Mark's, external arches.\n             4. Arch on the canal at Ponte St. Toma.\n             5. Arch of Corte del Remer.\n             6. Great outermost archivolt of central door, St. Mark's.\n PLATE VIII. 7. Inner archivolt of southern porch, St. Mark's Fa\u00e7ade.\n  Vol. III.  8. Inner archivolt of central entrance, St. Mark's.\n             9. Fondaco de' Turchi, main arcade.\n            10. Byzantine restored house on Grand Canal, lower arcade.\n            11. Terraced House, upper arcade.\n            12. Inner archivolt of northern porch of fa\u00e7ade, St. Mark's.\n            13 and 14. Transitional forms.\n\n[Illustration: Plate IX.\n               GOTHIC ARCHIVOLTS.]\n\nThere is little to be noted respecting these forms, except that, in fig.\n1, the two lower rolls, with the angular projections between, represent\nthe fall of the mouldings of two proximate arches on the abacus of the\nbearing shaft; their two cornices meeting each other, and being\ngradually narrowed into the little angular intermediate piece, their\nsculptures being slurred into the contracted space, a curious proof of\nthe earliness of the work. The real archivolt moulding is the same as\nfig. 4 _c c_, including only the midmost of the three rolls in fig. 1.\n\nIt will be noticed that 2, 5, 6, and 8 are sculptured on the soffits as\nwell as the faces; 9 is the common profile of arches decorated only with\ncolored marble, the facestone being colored, the soffit white. The\neffect of such a moulding is seen in the small windows at the right hand\nof Fig. XXVI. Vol. II.\n\nThe reader will now see that there is but little difficulty in\nidentifying Byzantine work, the archivolt mouldings being so similar\namong themselves, and so unlike any others. We have next to examine the\nGothic forms.\n\nFigs. 13 and 14 in Plate VIII. represent the first brick mouldings of\nthe transitional period, occurring in such instances as Fig. XXIII. or\nFig. XXXIII. Vol. II. (the soffit stone of the Byzantine mouldings being\ntaken away), and this profile, translated into solid stone, forms the\nalmost universal moulding of the windows of the second order. These two\nbrick mouldings are repeated, for the sake of comparison, at the top of\nPlate IX. opposite; and the upper range of mouldings which they\ncommence, in that plate, are the brick mouldings of Venice in the early\nGothic period. All the forms below are in stone; and the moulding 2,\ntranslated into stone, forms the universal archivolt of the early\npointed arches of Venice, and windows of second and third orders. The\nmoulding 1 is much rarer, and used for the most part in doors only.\n\nThe reader will see at once the resemblance of character in the various\nflat brick mouldings, 3 to 11. They belong to such arches as 1 and 2 in\nPlate XVII. Vol. II.; or 6 _b_, 6 _c_, in Plate XIV. Vol. II., 7 and 8\nbeing actually the mouldings of those two doors; the whole group being\nperfectly defined, and separate from all the other Gothic work in\nVenice, and clearly the result of an effort to imitate, in brickwork,\nthe effect of the flat sculptured archivolts of the Byzantine times.\n(See Vol. II. Chap. VII. \u00a7 XXXVII.)\n\nThen comes the group 14 to 18 in stone, derived from the mouldings 1 and\n2; first by truncation, 14; then by beading the truncated angle, 15, 16.\nThe occurrence of the profile 16 in the three beautiful windows\nrepresented in the uppermost figure of Plate XVIII. Vol. I. renders that\ngroup of peculiar interest, and is strong evidence of its antiquity.\nThen a cavetto is added, 17; first shallow and then deeper, 18, which is\nthe common archivolt moulding of the central Gothic door and window:\nbut, in the windows of the early fourth order, this moulding is\ncomplicated by various additions of dog-tooth mouldings under the\ndentil, as in 20; or the _gabled_ dentil (see fig. 20, Plate IX. Vol.\nI), as fig. 21; or both, as figs 23, 24. All these varieties expire in\nthe advanced period, and the established moulding for windows is 29. The\nintermediate group, 25 to 28, I found only in the high windows of the\nthird order in the Ducal Palace, or in the Chapter-house of the Frari,\nor in the arcades of the Ducal Palace; the great outside lower arcade of\nthe Ducal Palace has the profile 31, the left-hand side being the\ninnermost.\n\nNow observe, all these archivolts, without exception, assume that the\nspectator looks from the outside only: none are complete on both sides;\nthey are essentially _window_ mouldings, and have no resemblance to\nthose of our perfect Gothic arches prepared for traceries. If they were\nall completely drawn in the plate, they should be as fig. 25, having a\ngreat depth of wall behind the mouldings, but it was useless to\nrepresent this in every case. The Ducal Palace begins to show mouldings\non both sides, 28, 31; and 35 is a _complete_ arch moulding from the\napse of the Frari. That moulding, though so perfectly developed, is\nearlier than the Ducal Palace, and with other features of the building,\nindicates the completeness of the Gothic system, which made the\narchitect of the Ducal Palace found his work principally upon that\nchurch.\n\nThe other examples in this plate show the various modes of combination\nemployed in richer archivolts. The triple change of slope in 38 is very\ncurious. The references are as follows:\n\n            1. Transitional to the second order.\n            2. Common second order.\n            3. Brick, at Corte del Forno, Round arch.\n            4. Door at San Giovanni Grisostomo.\n            5. Door at Sotto Portico della Stua.\n            6. Door in Campo St. Luca, of rich brickwork.\n            7. Round door at Fondamenta Venier.\n            8. Pointed door. Fig. 6_c_, Plate XIV. Vol. II.\n            9. Great pointed arch, Salizzada San Lio.\n           10. Round door near Fondaco de' Turchi.\n           11. Door with Lion, at Ponte della Corona.\n           12. San Gregorio, Fa\u00e7ade.\n           13. St. John and Paul, Nave.\n           14. Rare early fourth order, at San Cassan.\n           15. General early Gothic archivolt.\n           16. Same, from door in Rio San G. Grisostomo.\n           17. Casa Vittura.\n           18. Casa Sagredo, Unique thirds. Vol. II.\n           19. Murano Palace, Unique fourths.[67]\n PLATE IX. 20. Pointed door of Four-Evangelist House.[68]\n Vol. III. 21. Keystone door in Campo St. M. Formosa.\n           22. Rare fourths, at St. Pantaleon.\n           23. Rare fourths, Casa Papadopoli.\n           24. Rare fourths, Chess house.[69]\n           25. Thirds of Frari Cloister.\n           26. Great pointed arch of Frari Cloister.\n           27. Unique thirds, Ducal Palace.\n           28. Inner Cortile, pointed arches, Ducal Palace.\n           29. Common fourth and fifth order Archivolt.\n           30. Unique thirds, Ducal Palace.\n           31. Ducal Palace, lower arcade.\n           32. Casa Priuli, arches in the inner court.\n           33. Circle above the central window, Ducal Palace.\n           34. Murano apse.\n           35. Acute-pointed arch, Frari.\n           36. Door of Accademia delle belle Arti.\n           37. Door in Calle Tiossi, near Four-Evangelist House.\n           38. Door in Campo San Polo.\n           39. Door of palace at Ponte Marcello.\n           40. Door of a palace close to the Church of the Miracoli.\n\n\n  _V. Cornices._\n\nPlate X. represents, in one view, the cornices or string-courses of\nVenice, and the abaci of its capitals, early and late; these two\nfeatures being inseparably connected, as explained in Vol. I.\n\nThe evidence given by these mouldings is exceedingly clear. The two\nupper lines in the Plate, 1-11, 12-24, are all plinths from Byzantine\nbuildings. The reader will at once observe their unmistakable\nresemblances. The row 41 to 50 are contemporary abaci of capitals; 52,\n53, 54, 56, are examples of late Gothic abaci; and observe, especially,\nthese are all rounded at the _top_ of the cavetto, but the Byzantine\nabaci are rounded, if at all, at the _bottom_ of the cavetto (see 7, 8,\n9, 10, 20, 28, 46). Consider what a valuable test of date this is, in\nany disputable building.\n\nAgain, compare 28, 29, one from St. Mark's, the other from the Ducal\nPalace, and observe the close resemblance, giving farther evidence of\nearly date in the palace.\n\n25 and 50 are drawn to the same scale. The former is the wall-cornice,\nthe latter the abacus of the great shafts, in the Casa Loredan; the one\npassing into the other, as seen in Fig. XXVIII. Vol. I. It is curious to\nwatch the change in proportion, while the moulding, all but the lower\nroll, remains the same.\n\n[Illustration: Plate X.\n               CORNICES AND ABACI.]\n\nThe following are the references:\n\n            1. Common plinth of St. Mark's.\n            2. Plinth above lily capitals, St. Mark's.\n            3, 4. Plinths in early surface Gothic.\n            5. Plinth of door in Campo St. Luca.\n            6. Plinth of treasury door, St. Mark's.\n            7. Archivolts of nave, St. Mark's.\n            8. Archivolts of treasury door, St. Mark's.\n            9. Moulding of circular window in St. John and Paul.\n           10. Chief decorated narrow plinth, St. Mark's.\n           11. Plinth of door, Campo St. Margherita.\n           12. Plinth of tomb of Doge Vital Falier.\n           13. Lower plinth, Fondaco de' Turchi, and Terraced House.\n           14. Running plinth of Corte del Remer.\n           15. Highest plinth at top of Fondaco de' Turchi.\n           16. Common Byzantine plinth.\n           17. Running plinth of Casa Falier.\n           18. Plinth of arch at Ponte St. Toma.\n           19, 20, 21. Plinths of tomb of Doge Vital Falier.\n           22. Plinth of window in Calle del Pistor.\n           23. Plinth of tomb of Dogaressa Vital Michele.\n           24. Archivolt in the Frari.\n           25. Running plinth, Casa Loredan.\n           26. Running plinth, under pointed arch, in Salizzada San Lio.\n           27. Running plinth, Casa Erizzo.\n PLATE X.  28. Circles in portico of St. Mark's.\n Vol. III. 29. Ducal Palace cornice, lower arcade.\n           30. Ducal Palace cornice, upper arcade.\n           31. Central Gothic plinth.\n           32. Late Gothic plinth.\n           33. Late Gothic plinth, Casa degli Ambasciatori.\n           34. Late Gothic plinth, Palace near the Jesuiti.\n           35, 36. Central balcony cornice.\n           37. Plinth of St. Mark's balustrade.\n           38. Cornice of the Frari, in brick, cabled.\n           39. Central balcony plinth.\n           40. Uppermost cornice, Ducal Palace.\n           41. Abacus of lily capitals, St. Mark's.\n           42. Abacus, Fondaco de' Turchi.\n           43. Abacus, large capital of Terraced House.\n           44. Abacus, Fondaco de' Turchi.\n           45. Abacus, Ducal Palace, upper arcade.\n           46. Abacus, Corte del Remer.\n           47. Abacus, small pillars, St. Mark's pulpit.\n           48. Abacus, Murano and Torcello.\n           49. Abacus, Casa Farsetti.\n           50. Abacus, Casa Loredan, lower story.\n           51. Abacus, capitals of Frari.\n           52. Abacus, Casa Cavalli (plain).\n           53. Abacus, Casa Priuli (flowered).\n           54. Abacus, Casa Foscari (plain).\n           55. Abacus, Casa Priuli (flowered).\n           56. Abacus, Plate II. fig. 15.\n           57. Abacus, St. John and Paul.\n           58. Abacus, St. Stefano.\n\nIt is only farther to be noted, that these mouldings are used in various\nproportions, for all kinds of purposes: sometimes for true cornices;\nsometimes for window-sills; sometimes, 3 and 4 (in the Gothic time)\nespecially, for dripstones of gables: 11 and such others form little\nplinths or abaci at the spring of arches, such as those shown at _a_,\nFig. XXIII. Vol. II. Finally, a large number of superb Byzantine\ncornices occur, of the form shown at the top of the arch in Plate V.\nVol. II., having a profile like 16 or 19 here; with nodding leaves of\nacanthus thrown out from it, being, in fact, merely one range of the\nleaves of a Byzantine capital unwrapped, and formed into a continuous\nline. I had prepared a large mass of materials for the illustration of\nthese cornices, and the Gothic ones connected with them; but found the\nsubject would take up another volume, and was forced, for the present,\nto abandon it. The lower series of profiles, 7 to 12 in Plate XV. Vol.\nI, shows how the leaf-ornament is laid on the simple early cornices.\n\n\n  _VI. Traceries._\n\nWe have only one subject more to examine, the character of the early and\nlate Tracery Bars.\n\nThe reader may perhaps have been surprised at the small attention given\nto traceries in the course of the preceding volumes: but the reason is,\nthat there are no _complicated_ traceries at Venice belonging to the\ngood Gothic time, with the single exception of those of the Casa\nCicogna; and the magnificent arcades of the Ducal Palace Gothic are so\nsimple as to require little explanation.\n\nThere are, however, two curious circumstances in the later traceries;\nthe first, that they are universally considered by the builder (as the\nold Byzantines considered sculptured surfaces of stone) as material out\nof which a certain portion is _to be cut_, to fill his window. A fine\nNorthern Gothic tracery is a complete and systematic arrangement of\narches and foliation, _adjusted_ to the form of the window; but a\nVenetian tracery is a piece of a larger composition, cut to the shape of\nthe window. In the Porta della Carta, in the Church of the Madonna\ndell'Orto, in the Casa Bernardo on the Grand Canal, in the old Church of\nthe Misericordia, and wherever else there are rich traceries in Venice,\nit will always be found that a certain arrangement of quatrefoils and\nother figures has been planned as if it were to extend indefinitely into\nmiles of arcade; and out of this colossal piece of marble lace, a piece\nin the shape of a window is cut, mercilessly and fearlessly: whatever\nfragments and odd shapes of interstice, remnants of this or that figure\nof the divided foliation, may occur at the edge of the window, it\nmatters not; all are cut across, and shut in by the great outer\narchivolt.\n\nIt is very curious to find the Venetians treating what in other\ncountries became of so great individual importance, merely as a kind of\ndiaper ground, like that of their chequered colors on the walls. There\nis great grandeur in the idea, though the system of their traceries was\nspoilt by it: but they always treated their buildings as masses of color\nrather than of line; and the great traceries of the Ducal Palace itself\nare not spared any more than those of the minor palaces. They are cut\noff at the flanks in the middle of the quatrefoils, and the terminal\nmouldings take up part of the breadth of the poor half of a quatrefoil\nat the extremity.\n\nOne other circumstance is notable also. In good Northern Gothic the\ntracery bars are of a constant profile, the same on both sides; and if\nthe plan of the tracery leaves any interstices so small that there is\nnot room for the full profile of the tracery bar all round them, those\ninterstices are entirely closed, the tracery bars being supposed to have\nmet each other. But in Venice, if an interstice becomes anywhere\ninconveniently small, the tracery bar is sacrificed; cut away, or in\nsome way altered in profile, in order to afford more room for the light,\nespecially in the early traceries, so that one side of a tracery bar is\noften quite different from the other. For instance, in the bars 1 and 2,\nPlate XI., from the Frari and St. John and Paul, the uppermost side is\ntowards a great opening, and there was room for the bevel or slope to\nthe cusp; but in the other side the opening was too small, and the bar\nfalls vertically to the cusp. In 5 the uppermost side is to the narrow\naperture, and the lower to the small one; and in fig. 9, from the Casa\nCicogna, the uppermost side is to the apertures of the tracery, the\nlowermost to the arches beneath, the great roll following the design of\nthe tracery; while 13 and 14 are left without the roll at the base of\ntheir cavettos on the uppermost sides, which are turned to narrow\napertures. The earliness of the Casa Cicogna tracery is seen in a moment\nby its being moulded on the face only. It is in fact nothing more than a\nseries of quatrefoiled apertures in the solid wall of the house, with\nmouldings on their faces, and magnificent arches of pure pointed fifth\norder sustaining them below.\n\n[Illustration: Plate XI.\n               TRACERY BARS.]\n\nThe following are the references to the figures in the plate:\n\n            1. Frari.\n            2. Apse, St. John and Paul.\n            3. Frari.\n            4. Ducal Palace, inner court, upper window.\n            5. Madonna dell'Orto.\n            6. St. John and Paul.\n            7. Casa Bernardo.\n            8. Casa Contarini Fasan.\n            9. Casa Cicogna.\n           10. 11. Frari.\n           12. Murano Palace (see note, p. 265).\n PLATE XI. 13. Misericordia.\n Vol. III. 14. Palace of the younger Foscari.[70]\n           15. Casa d'Oro; great single windows.\n           16. Hotel Danieli.\n           17. Ducal Palace.\n           18. Casa Erizzo, on Grand Canal.\n           19. Main story, Casa Cavalli.\n           20. Younger Foscari.\n           21. Ducal Palace, traceried windows.\n           22. Porta della Carta.\n           23. Casa d'Oro.\n           24. Casa d'Oro, upper story.\n           25. Casa Facanon.\n           26. Casa Cavalli, near Post-Office.\n\nIt will be seen at a glance that, except in the very early fillet\ntraceries of the Frari and St. John and Paul, Venetian work consists of\nroll traceries of one general pattern. It will be seen also, that 10 and\n11 from the Frari, furnish the first examples of the form afterwards\ncompletely developed in 17, the tracery bar of the Ducal Palace; but\nthat this bar differs from them in greater strength and squareness, and\nin adding a recess between its smaller roll and the cusp. Observe, that\nthis is done for strength chiefly; as, in the contemporary tracery (21)\nof the upper windows, no such additional thickness is used.\n\nFigure 17 is slightly inaccurate. The little curved recesses behind the\nsmaller roll are not equal on each side; that next the cusp is smallest,\nbeing about 5/8 of an inch, while that next the cavetto is about 7/8; to\nsuch an extent of subtlety did the old builders carry their love of\nchange.\n\nThe return of the cavetto in 21, 23, and 26, is comparatively rare, and\nis generally a sign of later date.\n\n[Illustration: Fig. II.]\n\n[Illustration: Fig. III.]\n\nThe reader must observe that the great sturdiness of the form of the\nbars, 5, 9, 17, 24, 25, is a consequence of the peculiar office of\nVenetian traceries in supporting the mass of the building above, already\nnoticed in Vol. II.; and indeed the forms of the Venetian Gothic are,\nin many other ways, influenced by the difficulty of obtaining stability\non sandy foundations. One thing is especially noticeable in all their\narrangements of traceries; namely, the endeavor to obtain equal and\nhorizontal pressure along the whole breadth of the building, not the\ndivided and local pressures of Northern Gothic. This object is\nconsiderably aided by the structure of the balconies, which are of great\nservice in knitting the shafts together, forming complete tie-beams of\nmarble, as well as a kind of rivets, at their bases. For instance, at\n_b_, Fig. II., is represented the masonry of the base of the upper\narcade of the Ducal Palace, showing the root of one of its main shafts,\nwith the binding balconies. The solid stones which form the foundation\nare much broader than the balcony shafts, so that the socketed\narrangement is not seen: it is shown as it would appear in a\nlongitudinal section. The balconies are not let into the circular\nshafts, but fitted to their circular curves, so as to grasp them, and\nriveted with metal; and the bars of stone which form the tops of the\nbalconies are of great strength and depth, the small trefoiled arches\nbeing cut out of them as in Fig. III., so as hardly to diminish their\nbinding power. In the lighter independent balconies they are often cut\ndeeper; but in all cases the bar of stone is nearly independent of the\nsmall shafts placed beneath it, and would stand firm though these were\nremoved, as at _a_, Fig. II., supported either by the main shafts of\nthe traceries, or by its own small pilasters with semi-shafts at their\nsides, of the plan _d_, Fig. II., in a continuous balcony, and _e_ at\nthe angle of one.\n\nThere is one more very curious circumstance illustrative of the Venetian\ndesire to obtain horizontal pressure. In all the Gothic staircases with\nwhich I am acquainted, out of Venice, in which vertical shafts are used\nto support an inclined line, those shafts are connected by arches rising\neach above the other, with a little bracket above the capitals, on the\nside where it is necessary to raise the arch; or else, though less\ngracefully, with a longer curve to the lowest side of the arch.\n\nBut the Venetians seem to have had a morbid horror of arches which were\nnot _on a level_. They could not endure the appearance of the roof of\none arch bearing against the side of another; and rather than introduce\nthe idea of obliquity into bearing curves, they abandoned the arch\nprinciple altogether; so that even in their richest Gothic staircases,\nwhere trefoiled arches, exquisitely decorated, are used on the landings,\nthey ran the shafts on the sloping stair simply into the bar of stone\nabove them, and used the excessively ugly and valueless arrangement of\nFig. II., rather than sacrifice the sacred horizontality of their arch\nsystem.\n\n[Illustration: Fig. IV.]\n\nIt will be noted, in Plate XI., that the form and character of the\ntracery bars themselves are independent of the position or projection of\nthe cusps on their flat sides. In this respect, also, Venetian traceries\nare peculiar, the example 22 of the Porta della Carta being the only one\nin the plate which is subordinated according to the Northern system. In\nevery other case the form of the aperture is determined, either by a\nflat and solid cusp as in 6, or by a pierced cusp as in 4. The effect of\nthe pierced cusp is seen in the uppermost figure, Plate XVIII. Vol. II.;\nand its derivation from the solid cusp will be understood, at once, from\nthe woodcut Fig. IV., which represents a series of the flanking stones\nof any arch of the fifth order, such as _f_ in Plate III. Vol. I.\n\n[Illustration: Fig. V.]\n\nThe first on the left shows the condition of cusp in a perfectly simple\nand early Gothic arch, 2 and 3 are those of common arches of the fifth\norder, 4 is the condition in more studied examples of the Gothic\nadvanced guard, and 5 connects them all with the system of traceries.\nIntroducing the common archivolt mouldings on the projecting edge of 2\nand 3, we obtain the bold and deep fifth order window, used down to the\nclose of the fourteenth century or even later, and always grand in its\ndepth of cusp, and consequently of shadow; but the narrow cusp 4 occurs\nalso in very early work, and is piquant when set beneath a bold flat\narchivolt, as in Fig. V., from the Corte del Forno at Santa Marina. The\npierced cusp gives a peculiar lightness and brilliancy to the window,\nbut is not so sublime. In the richer buildings the surface of the flat\nand solid cusp is decorated with a shallow trefoil (see Plate VIII. Vol.\nI.), or, when the cusp is small, with a triangular incision only, as\nseen in figs. 7 and 8, Plate XI. The recesses on the sides of the other\ncusps indicate their single or double lines of foliation. The cusp of\nthe Ducal Palace has a fillet only round its edge, and a ball of red\nmarble on its truncated point, and is perfect in its grand simplicity;\nbut in general the cusps of Venice are far inferior to those of Verona\nand of the other cities of Italy, chiefly because there was always some\nconfusion in the mind of the designer between true cusps and the mere\nbending inwards of the arch of the fourth order. The two series, 4 _a_\nto 4 _e_, and 5 _a_ to 5 _e_, in Plate XIV. Vol. II., are arranged so as\nto show this connexion, as well as the varieties of curvature in the\ntrefoiled arches of the fourth and fifth orders, which, though\napparently slight on so small a scale, are of enormous importance in\ndistant effect; a house in which the joints of the cusps project as much\nas in 5 _c_, being quite piquant and grotesque when compared with one in\nwhich the cusps are subdued to the form 5 _b_. 4 _d_ and 4 _e_ are\nVeronese forms, wonderfully effective and spirited; the latter occurs at\nVerona only, but the former at Venice also. 5 _d_ occurs in Venice, but\nis very rare; and 5 _e_ I found only once, on the narrow canal close to\nthe entrance door of the Hotel Danieli. It was partly walled up, but I\nobtained leave to take down the brickwork and lay open one side of the\narch, which may still be seen.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe above particulars are enough to enable the reader to judge of the\ndistinctness of evidence which the details of Venetian architecture bear\nto its dates. Farther explanation of the plates would be vainly tedious:\nbut the architect who uses these volumes in Venice will find them of\nvalue, in enabling him instantly to class the mouldings which may\ninterest him; and for this reason I have given a larger number of\nexamples than would otherwise have been sufficient for my purpose.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [58] \"Olim _magistri_ prothi palatii nostri novi.\"--_Cadorin_, p. 127.\n\n  [59] A print, dated 1585, barbarously inaccurate, as all prints were\n    at that time, but still in some respects to be depended upon,\n    represents all the windows on the fa\u00e7ade full of traceries; and the\n    circles above, between them, occupied by quatrefoils.\n\n  [60] \"Lata tanto, quantum est ambulum existens super columnis versus\n    canale respicientibus.\"\n\n  [61] Bettio, p. 28.\n\n  [62] In the bombardment of Venice in 1848, hardly a single palace\n    escaped without three or four balls through its roof: three came\n    into the Scuola di San Rocco, tearing their way through the pictures\n    of Tintoret, of which the ragged fragments were still hanging from\n    the ceiling in 1851; and the shells had reached to within a hundred\n    yards of St. Mark's Church itself, at the time of the capitulation.\n\n  [63] A _Mohammedan_ youth is punished, I believe, for such\n    misdemeanors, by being _kept away_ from prayers.\n\n  [64] \"Those Venetians are fishermen.\"\n\n  [65] I am afraid that the kind friend, Lady Trevelyan, who helped me\n    to finish this plate, will not like to be thanked here; but I cannot\n    let her send into Devonshire for magnolias, and draw them for me,\n    _without_ thanking her.\n\n  [66] That is, the house in the parish of the Apostoli, on the Grand\n    Canal, noticed in Vol. II.; and see also the Venetian Index, under\n    head \"Apostoli.\"\n\n  [67] Close to the bridge over the main channel through Murano is a\n    massive foursquare Gothic palace, containing some curious traceries,\n    and many _unique_ transitional forms of window, among which these\n    windows of the fourth order occur, with a roll within their dentil\n    band.\n\n  [68] Thus, for the sake of convenience, we may generally call the\n    palace with the emblems of the Evangelists on its spandrils, Vol.\n    II.\n\n  [69] The house with chequers like a chess-board on its spandrils,\n    given in my folio work.\n\n  [70] The palace next the Casa Foscari, on the Grand Canal, sometimes\n    said to have belonged to the son of the Doge.\n\n\n\n\nINDICES.\n\n   I. PERSONAL INDEX.  |  III. TOPICAL INDEX.\n  II. LOCAL INDEX.     |   IV. VENETIAN INDEX.\n\nThe first of the following Indices contains the names of persons; the\nsecond those of places (not in Venice) alluded to in the body of the\nwork. The third Index consists of references to the subjects touched\nupon. In the fourth, called the Venetian Index, I have named every\nbuilding of importance in the city of Venice itself, or near it;\nsupplying, for the convenience of the traveller, short notices of those\nto which I had no occasion to allude in the text of the work; and making\nthe whole as complete a guide as I could, with such added directions as\nI should have given to any private friend visiting the city. As,\nhowever, in many cases, the opinions I have expressed differ widely from\nthose usually received; and, in other instances, subjects which may be\nof much interest to the traveller have not come within the scope of my\ninquiry; the reader had better take Lazari's small Guide in his hand\nalso, as he will find in it both the information I have been unable to\nfurnish, and the expression of most of the received opinions upon any\nsubject of art.\n\nVarious inconsistencies will be noticed in the manner of indicating the\nbuildings, some being named in Italian, some in English, and some half\nin one, and half in the other. But these inconsistencies are permitted\nin order to save trouble, and make the Index more practically useful.\nFor instance, I believe the traveller will generally look for \"Mark,\"\nrather than for \"Marco,\" when he wishes to find the reference to St.\nMark's Church; but I think he will look for Rocco, rather than for Roch,\nwhen he is seeking for the account of the Scuola di San Rocco. So also I\nhave altered the character in which the titles of the plates are\nprinted, from the black letter in the first volume, to the plain Roman\nin the second and third; finding experimentally that the former\ncharacter was not easily legible, and conceiving that the book would be\nnone the worse for this practical illustration of its own principles, in\na daring sacrifice of symmetry to convenience.\n\nThese alphabetical Indices will, however, be of little use, unless\nanother, and a very different kind of Index, be arranged in the mind of\nthe reader; an Index explanatory of the principal purposes and contents\nof the various parts of this essay. It is difficult to analyze the\nnature of the reluctance with which either a writer or painter takes it\nupon him to explain the meaning of his own work, even in cases where,\nwithout such explanation, it must in a measure remain always disputable:\nbut I am persuaded that this reluctance is, in most instances, carried\ntoo far; and that, wherever there really is a serious purpose in a book\nor a picture, the author does wrong who, either in modesty or vanity\n(both feelings have their share in producing the dislike of personal\ninterpretation), trusts entirely to the patience and intelligence of the\nreaders or spectators to penetrate into their significance. At all\nevents, I will, as far as possible, spare such trouble with respect to\nthese volumes, by stating here, finally and clearly, both what they\nintend and what they contain; and this the rather because I have lately\nnoticed, with some surprise, certain reviewers announcing as a\ndiscovery, what I thought had lain palpably on the surface of the book,\nnamely, that \"if Mr. Ruskin be right, all the architects, and all the\narchitectural teaching of the last three hundred years, must have been\nwrong.\" That is indeed precisely the fact; and the very thing I meant to\nsay, which indeed I thought I had said over and over again. I believe\nthe architects of the last three centuries to have been wrong; wrong\nwithout exception; wrong totally, and from the foundation. This is\nexactly the point I have been endeavoring to prove, from the beginning\nof this work to the end of it. But as it seems not yet to have been\nstated clearly enough, I will here try to put my entire theorem into an\nunmistakable form.\n\nThe various nations who attained eminence in the arts before the time of\nChrist, each of them, produced forms of architecture which in their\nvarious degrees of merit were almost exactly indicative of the degrees\nof intellectual and moral energy of the nations which originated them;\nand each reached its greatest perfection at the time when the true\nenergy and prosperity of the people who had invented it were at their\nculminating point. Many of these various styles of architecture were\ngood, considered in relation to the times and races which gave birth to\nthem; but none were absolutely good or perfect, or fitted for the\npractice of all future time.\n\nThe advent of Christianity for the first time rendered possible the full\ndevelopment of the soul of man, and therefore the full development of\nthe arts of man.\n\nChristianity gave birth to a new architecture, not only immeasurably\nsuperior to all that had preceded it, but demonstrably the best\narchitecture that _can_ exist; perfect in construction and decoration,\nand fit for the practice of all time.\n\nThis architecture, commonly called \"Gothic,\" though in conception\nperfect, like the theory of a Christian character, never reached an\nactual perfection, having been retarded and corrupted by various adverse\ninfluences; but it reached its highest perfection, hitherto manifested,\nabout the close of the thirteenth century, being then indicative of a\npeculiar energy in the Christian mind of Europe.\n\nIn the course of the fifteenth century, owing to various causes which I\nhave endeavored to trace in the preceding pages, the Christianity of\nEurope was undermined; and a Pagan architecture was introduced, in\nimitation of that of the Greeks and Romans.\n\nThe architecture of the Greeks and Romans themselves was not good, but\nit was natural; and, as I said before, good in some respects, and for a\nparticular time.\n\nBut the imitative architecture introduced first in the fifteenth\ncentury, and practised ever since, was neither good nor natural. It was\ngood in no respect, and for no time. All the architects who have built\nin that style have built what was worthless; and therefore the greater\npart of the architecture which has been built for the last three hundred\nyears, and which we are now building, is worthless. We must give up this\nstyle totally, despise it and forget it, and build henceforward only in\nthat perfect and Christian style hitherto called Gothic, which is\neverlastingly the best.\n\nThis is the theorem of these volumes.\n\nIn support of this theorem, the first volume contains, in its first\nchapter, a sketch of the actual history of Christian architecture, up to\nthe period of the Reformation; and, in the subsequent chapters, an\nanalysis of the entire system of the laws of architectural construction\nand decoration, deducing from those laws positive conclusions as to the\nbest forms and manners of building for all time.\n\nThe second volume contains, in its first five chapters, an account of\none of the most important and least known forms of Christian\narchitecture, as exhibited in Venice, together with an analysis of its\nnature in the fourth chapter; and, which is a peculiarly important part\nof this section, an account of the power of color over the human mind.\n\nThe sixth chapter of the second volume contains an analysis of the\nnature of Gothic architecture, properly so called, and shows that in its\nexternal form it complies precisely with the abstract laws of structure\nand beauty, investigated in the first volume. The seventh and eighth\nchapters of the second volume illustrate the nature of Gothic\narchitecture by various Venetian examples. The third volume\ninvestigates, in its first chapter, the causes and manner of the\ncorruption of Gothic architecture; in its second chapter, defines the\nnature of the Pagan architecture which superseded it; in the third\nchapter, shows the connexion of that Pagan architecture with the various\ncharacters of mind which brought about the destruction of the Venetian\nnation; and, in the fourth chapter, points out the dangerous tendencies\nin the modern mind which the practice of such an architecture indicates.\n\nSuch is the intention of the preceding pages, which I hope will no more\nbe doubted or mistaken. As far as regards the manner of its fulfilment,\nthough I hope, in the course of other inquiries, to add much to the\nelucidation of the points in dispute, I cannot feel it necessary to\napologize for the imperfect handling of a subject which the labor of a\nlong life, had I been able to bestow it, must still have left\nimperfectly treated.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nPERSONAL INDEX.\n\n\n    A\n\n  Alberti, Duccio degli, his tomb, iii. 74, 80.\n  Alexander III., his defence by Venetians, i. 7.\n  Ambrose, St., his verbal subtleties, ii. 320.\n  Angelico, Fr\u00e0, artistical power of, i. 400; his influence on\n    Protestants, ii. 105; his coloring, ii. 145.\n  Aristotle, his evil influence on the modern mind, ii. 319.\n  Averulinus, his book on architecture, iii. 63.\n\n\n    B\n\n  Barbaro, monuments of the family, iii. 125.\n  Barbarossa, Emperor, i. 7, 9.\n  Baseggio, Pietro, iii. 199.\n  Bellini, John, i. 11; his kindness to Albert Durer, i. 383; general\n    power of, see Venetian Index, under head \"Giovanni Grisostomo;\"\n    Gentile, his brother, iii. 21.\n  Berti, Bellincion, ii. 263.\n  Browning, Elizabeth B., her poetry, ii. 206.\n  Bunsen, Chevalier, his work on Romanesque Churches, ii. 381.\n  Bunyan, John, his portraiture of constancy, ii. 333; of patience, ii.\n    334; of vanity, ii. 346; of sin, iii. 147.\n\n\n    C\n\n  Calendario, Filippo, iii. 199.\n  Canaletto, i. 24; and see Venetian Index under head \"Carit\u00e0.\"\n  Canova, i. 217; and see Venetian Index under head \"Frari.\"\n  Cappello, Vincenzo, his tomb, iii. 122.\n  Caracci, school of the, i. 24.\n  Cary, his translation of Dante, ii. 264.\n  Cavalli, Jacopo, his tomb, iii. 82.\n  Cicero, influence of his philosophy, ii. 317, 318.\n  Claude Lorraine, i. 24.\n  Comnenus, Manuel, ii. 263.\n  Cornaro, Marco, his tomb, iii. 79.\n  Correggio, ii. 192.\n  Crabbe, naturalism in his poetry, ii. 195.\n\n\n    D\n\n  Dandolo, Andrea, tomb of, ii. 70; Francesco, tomb of, iii. 74;\n    character of, iii. 76; Simon, tomb of, iii. 79.\n  Dante, his central position, ii. 340, iii. 158; his system of virtue,\n    ii. 323; his portraiture of sin, iii. 147.\n  Daru, his character as a historian, iii. 213.\n  Dolci, Carlo, ii. 105.\n  Dolfino, Giovanni, tomb of, iii. 78.\n  Durer, Albert, his rank as a landscape painter, i. 383; his power in\n    grotesque, iii. 145.\n\n\n    E\n\n  Edwin, King, his conversion, iii. 62.\n\n\n    F\n\n  Faliero, Bertuccio, his tomb, iii. 94; Marino, his house, ii. 254;\n    Vitale, miracle in his time, ii. 61.\n  Fergusson, James, his system of beauty, i. 388.\n  Foscari, Francesco, his reign, i. 4, iii. 165; his tomb, iii. 84; his\n    countenance, iii. 86.\n\n\n    G\n\n  Garbett, answer to Mr., i. 403.\n  Ghiberti, his sculpture, i. 217.\n  Giotto, his system of the virtues, ii. 323, 329, 341; his rank as a\n    painter, ii. 188, iii. 172.\n  Giulio Romano, i. 23.\n  Giustiniani, Marco, his tomb, i. 315; Sebastian, ambassador to\n    England, iii. 224.\n  Godfrey of Bouillon, his piety, iii. 62.\n  Gozzoli, Benozzo, ii. 195.\n  Gradenigo, Pietro, ii. 290.\n  Grande, Can, della Scala, his tomb, i. 268 (the cornice _g_ in Plate\n    XVI. is taken from it), iii. 71.\n  Guariento, his Paradise, ii. 296.\n  Guercino, ii. 105.\n\n\n    H\n\n  Hamilton, Colonel, his paper on the Serapeum, ii. 220.\n  Hobbima, iii. 184.\n  Hunt, William, his painting of peasant boys, ii. 192; of still life,\n    ii. 394.\n  Hunt, William Holman, relation of his works to modern and ancient\n    art, iii. 185.\n\n\n    K\n\n  Knight, Gally, his work on Architecture, i. 378.\n\n\n    L\n\n  Leonardo da Vinci, ii. 171.\n  Louis XI., iii. 194.\n\n\n    M\n\n  Martin, John, ii. 104.\n  Mastino, Can, della Scala, his tomb, ii. 224, iii. 72.\n  Maynard, Miss, her poems, ii. 397.\n  Michael Angelo, ii. 134, 188, iii. 56, 90, 99, 158.\n  Millais, John E., relation of his works to older art, iii. 185;\n    aerial perspective in his \"Huguenot,\" iii. 47.\n  Milton, how inferior to Dante, iii. 147.\n  Mocenigo, Tomaso, his character, i. 4; his speech on rebuilding the\n    Ducal Palace, ii. 299; his tomb, i. 26, iii. 84.\n  Morosini, Carlo, Count, note on Daru's History by, iii. 213.\n  Morosini, Marino, his tomb, iii. 93.\n  Morosini, Michael, his character, iii. 213;\n     his tomb, iii. 80.\n  Murillo, his sensualism, ii. 192.\n\n\n    N\n\n  Napoleon, his genius in civil administration, i. 399.\n  Niccolo Pisano, i. 215.\n\n\n    O\n\n  Orcagna, his system of the virtues, ii. 329.\n  Orseolo, Pietro (Doge), iii. 120.\n  Otho the Great, his vow at Murano, ii. 32.\n\n\n    P\n\n  Palladio, i. 24, 146; and see Venetian Index, under head \"Giorgio\n    Maggiore.\"\n  Participazio, Angelo, founds the Ducal Palace, ii. 287.\n  Pesaro, Giovanni, tomb of, iii. 92; Jacopo, tomb of, iii. 91.\n  Philippe de Commynes, i. 12.\n  Plato, influence of his philosophy, ii. 317, 338; his playfulness,\n    iii. 127.\n  Poussin, Nicolo and Gaspar, i. 23.\n  Procaccini, Camillo, ii. 188.\n  Prout, Samuel, his style, i. 250, iii. 19, 134.\n  Pugin, Welby, his rank as an architect, i. 385.\n\n\n    Q\n\n  Querini, Marco, his palace, ii. 255.\n\n\n    R\n\n  Raffaelle, ii. 188, iii. 56, 108, 136.\n  Reynolds, Sir J., his painting at New College, ii. 323; his general\n    manner, iii. 184.\n  Rogers, Samuel, his works, ii. 195, iii. 113.\n  Rubens, intellectual rank of, i. 400;\n     coarseness of, ii. 145.\n\n\n    S\n\n  Salvator Rosa, i. 24, ii. 105, 145, 188.\n  Scaligeri, tombs of, at Verona; see \"Grande,\" \"Mastino,\" \"Signorio;\"\n    palace of, ii. 257.\n  Scott, Sir W., his feelings of romance, iii. 191.\n  Shakspeare, his \"Seven Ages,\" whence derived, ii. 361.\n  Sharpe, Edmund, his works, i. 342, 408.\n  Signorio, Can, della Scala, his tomb, character, i. 268, iii. 73.\n  Simplicius, St., ii. 356.\n  Spenser, value of his philosophy, ii. 327, 341; his personifications\n    of the months, ii. 272; his system of the virtues, ii. 326; scheme of\n    the first book of the Fa\u00ebrie Queen, iii. 205.\n  Steno, Michael, ii. 306; his tomb, ii. 296.\n  Stothard (the painter), his works, ii. 187, 195.\n  Symmachus, St., ii. 357.\n\n\n    T\n\n  Teniers, David, ii. 188.\n  Tiepolo, Jacopo and Lorenzo, their tombs, iii. 69; Bajamonte, ii.\n    255.\n  Tintoret, i. 12; his genius and function, ii. 149; his Paradise, ii.\n    304, 372; his rank among the men of Italy, iii. 158.\n  Titian, i. 12; his function and fall, ii. 149, 187.\n  Turner, his rank as a landscape painter, i. 382, ii. 187.\n\n\n    U\n\n  Uguccione, Benedetto, destroys Giotto's fa\u00e7ade at Florence, i. 197.\n\n\n    V\n\n  Vendramin, Andrea (Doge), his tomb, i. 27, iii. 88.\n  Verocchio, Andrea, iii. 11, 13.\n  Veronese, Paul, artistical rank of, i. 400; his designs of\n    balustrades, ii. 247; and see in Venetian Index, \"Ducal Palace,\"\n    \"Pisani,\" \"Sebastian,\" \"Redentore,\" \"Accademia.\"\n\n\n    W\n\n  West, Benjamin, ii. 104.\n  Wordsworth, his observation of nature, i. 247 (note).\n\n\n    Z\n\n  Zeno, Carlo, i. 4, iii. 80.\n  Ziani, Sebastian (Doge), builds Ducal Palace, ii. 289.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nLOCAL INDEX.\n\n\n    A\n\n  Abbeville, door of church at, ii. 225; parapet at, ii. 245.\n  Alexandria, Church at, i. 381.\n  Alhambra, ornamentation of, i. 429.\n  Alps, how formed for distant effect, i. 247; how seen from Venice,\n    ii. 2, 28.\n  Amiens, pillars of Cathedral at, i. 102.\n  Arqua, hills of, how seen from Venice, ii. 2.\n  Assisi, Giotto's paintings at, ii. 323.\n\n\n    B\n\n  Beauvais, piers of Cathedral at, i. 93; grandeur of its buttress\n    structure, i. 170.\n  Bergamo, Duomo at, i. 275.\n  Bologna, Palazzo Pepoli at, i. 275.\n  Bourges, Cathedral at, i. 43, 102, 228, 271, 299; ii. 92, 186; house\n    of Jacques Coeur at, i. 346.\n\n\n    C\n\n  Chamouni, glacier forms at, i. 222.\n  Como, Broletto of, i. 141, 339.\n\n\n    D\n\n  Dijon, pillars in Church of Notre Dame at, i. 102; tombs of Dukes of\n    Burgundy, iii. 68.\n\n\n    E\n\n  Edinburgh, college at, i. 207.\n\n\n    F\n\n  Falaise (St. Gervaise at), piers of, i. 103.\n  Florence, Cathedral of, i. 197, iii. 13.\n\n\n    G\n\n  Gloucester, Cathedral of, i. 192.\n\n\n    L\n\n  Lombardy, geology of, ii. 5.\n  London, Church in Margaret Street, Portland Place, iii. 196; Temple\n    Church, i. 412; capitals in Belgrave and Grosvenor Squares, i. 330;\n    Bank of England, base of, i. 283; wall of, typical of accounts, i.\n    295; statue in King William Street, i. 210; shops in Oxford Street,\n    i. 202; Arthur Club-house, i. 295; Athen\u00e6um Club-house, i. 157, 283;\n    Duke of York's Pillar, i. 283; Treasury, i. 205; Whitehall, i. 205;\n    Westminster, fall of houses at, ii. 268; Monument, i. 82, 283; Nelson\n    Pillar, i. 216; Wellington Statue, i. 257.\n  Lucca, Cathedral of, ii. 275; San Michele at, i. 375.\n  Lyons, porch of cathedral at, i. 379.\n\n\n    M\n\n  Matterhorn (Mont Cervin), structure of, i. 58; lines of, applied to\n    architecture, i. 308, 310, 332.\n  Mestre, scene in street of, i. 355.\n  Milan, St. Ambrogio, piers of, i. 102; capital of, i. 324; St.\n    Eustachio, tomb of St. Peter Martyr, i. 218.\n  Moulins, brickwork at, i. 296.\n  Murano, general aspect of, ii. 29; Duomo of, ii. 32; balustrades of,\n    ii. 247; inscriptions at, ii. 384.\n\n\n    N\n\n  Nineveh, style of its decorations, i. 234, 239; iii. 159.\n\n\n    O\n\n  Orange (South France), arch at, i. 250.\n  Orleans, Cathedral of, i. 95.\n\n\n    P\n\n  Padua, Arena chapel at, ii. 324; St. Antonio at, i. 135; St. Sofia\n    at, i. 327; Eremitani, Church of, at, i. 135.\n  Paris, Hotel des Invalides, i. 214; Arc de l'Etoile, i. 291; Colonne\n    Vendome, i. 212.\n  Pavia, St. Michele at, piers of, i. 102, 337; ornaments of, i. 376.\n  Pisa, Baptistery of, ii. 275.\n  Pistoja, San Pietro at, i. 295.\n\n\n    R\n\n  Ravenna, situation of, ii. 6.\n  Rouen, Cathedral, piers of, i. 103, 153; pinnacles of, ii. 213; St.\n    Maclou at, sculptures of, ii. 197.\n\n\n    S\n\n  Salisbury Cathedral, piers of, i. 102; windows at, ii. 224.\n  Sens, Cathedral of, i. 135.\n  Switzerland, cottage architecture of, i. 156, 203, iii. 133.\n\n\n    V\n\n  Verona, San Fermo at, i. 136, ii. 259; Sta. Anastasia at, i. 142;\n    Duomo of, i. 373; St. Zeno at, i. 373; balconies at, ii. 247;\n    archivolt at, i. 335; tombs at, see in Personal Index, \"Grande,\"\n    \"Mastino,\" \"Signorio.\"\n  Vevay, architecture of, i. 136.\n  Vienne (South France), Cathedral of, i. 274.\n\n\n    W\n\n  Warwick, Guy's tower at, i. 168.\n  Wenlock (Shropshire), Abbey of, i. 270.\n  Winchester, Cathedral of, i. 192.\n\n\n    Y\n\n  York, Minster of, i. 205, 313.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nTOPICAL INDEX.\n\n\n    A\n\n  Abacus, defined, i. 107; law of its proportion, i. 111-115; its\n    connection with cornices, i. 116; its various profiles, i. 319-323;\n    iii. 243-248.\n  Acanthus, leaf of, its use in architecture, i. 233; how treated at\n    Torcello, ii. 15.\n  Alabaster, use of, in incrustation, ii. 86.\n  Anachronism, necessity of, in the best art, ii. 198.\n  Anatomy, a disadvantageous study for artists, iii. 47.\n  Angels, use of their images in Venetian heraldry, ii. 278; statues\n    of, on the Ducal Palace, ii. 311.\n  Anger, how symbolically represented, ii. 344.\n  Angles, decoration of, i. 260; ii. 305; of Gothic Palaces, ii. 238;\n    of Ducal Palace, ii. 307.\n  Animal character in northern and southern climates, ii. 156; in\n    grotesque art, iii. 149.\n  Apertures, analysis of their structure, i. 50; general forms of, i.\n    174.\n  Apse, forms of, in southern and northern churches compared, i. 170.\n  Arabesques of Raffaelle, their baseness, iii. 136.\n  Arabian architecture, i. 18, 234, 235, 429; ii. 135.\n  Arches, general structure of, i. 122; moral characters of, i. 126;\n    lancet, round, and depressed, i. 129; four-centred, i. 130; ogee, i.\n    131; non-concentric, i. 133, 341; masonry of, i. 133, ii. 218; load\n    of, i. 144; are not derived from vegetation, ii. 201.\n  Architects, modern, their unfortunate position, i. 404, 407.\n  Architecture, general view of its divisions, i. 47-51; how to judge\n    of it, ii. 173; adaptation of, to requirements of human mind, iii.\n    192; richness of early domestic, ii. 100, iii. 2; manner of its\n    debasement in general, iii. 3.\n  Archivolts, decoration of, i. 334; general families of, i. 335; of\n    Murano, ii. 49; of St. Mark's, ii. 95; in London, ii. 97; Byzantine,\n    ii. 138; profiles of, iii. 244.\n  Arts, relative dignity of, i. 395; how represented in Venetian\n    sculpture, ii. 355; what relation exists between them and their\n    materials, ii. 394; art divided into the art of facts, of design, and\n    of both, ii. 183; into purist, naturalist, and sensualist, ii. 187;\n    art opposed to inspiration, iii. 151; defined, iii. 170;\n    distinguished from science, iii. 35; how to enjoy that of the\n    ancients, iii. 188.\n  Aspiration, not the primal motive of Gothic work, i. 151.\n  Astrology, judicial, representation of its doctrines in Venetian\n    sculpture, ii. 352.\n  Austrian government in Italy, iii. 209.\n  Avarice, how represented figuratively, ii. 344.\n\n\n    B\n\n  Backgrounds, diapered, iii. 20.\n  Balconies, of Venice, ii. 243; general treatment of, iii. 254; of\n    iron, ii. 247.\n  Ballflower, its use in ornamentation, i. 279.\n  Balustrades. See \"Balconies.\"\n  Bases, general account of, iii. 225; of walls, i. 55; of piers, i.\n    73; of shafts, i. 84; decoration of, i. 281; faults of Gothic\n    profiles of, i. 285; spurs of, i. 286; beauty of, in St. Mark's, i.\n    290; Lombardie, i. 292; ought not to be richly decorated, i. 292;\n    general effect of, ii. 387.\n  Battlements, i. 162; abuse of, in ornamentation, i. 219.\n  Beauty and ornament, relation of the terms, i. 404.\n  Bellstones of capitals defined, i. 108.\n  Birds, use of in ornamentation, i. 234, ii. 140.\n  Bishops, their ancient authority, ii. 25.\n  Body, its relation to the soul, i. 41, 395.\n  Brackets, division of, i. 161; ridiculous forms of, i. 161.\n  Breadth in Byzantine design, ii. 133.\n  Brickwork, ornamental, i. 296; in general, ii. 241, 260, 261.\n  Brides of Venice, legend of the, iii. 113, 116.\n  Buttresses, general structure of, i. 166; flying, i. 192; supposed\n    sanctity of, i. 173.\n  Bull, symbolical use of, in representing rivers, i. 418, 421, 424.\n  Byzantine style, analysis of, ii. 75; ecclesiastical fitness of, ii.\n    97; centralization in, ii. 236; palaces built in, ii. 118; sculptures\n    in, ii. 137, 140.\n\n\n    C\n\n  Candlemas, ancient symbols of, ii. 272.\n  Capitals, general structure of, i. 105; bells of, i. 107; just\n    proportions of, i. 114; various families of, i. 13, 65, 324, ii. 129,\n    iii. 231; are necessary to shafts in good architecture, i. 119;\n    Byzantine, ii. 131, iii. 231; Lily, of St. Mark's, ii. 137; of\n    Solomon's temple, ii. 137.\n  Care, how symbolized, ii. 348. See \"Sorrow.\"\n  Caryatides, i. 302.\n  Castles, English, entrances of, i. 177.\n  Cathedrals, English, effect of, ii. 63.\n  Ceilings, old Venetian, ii. 280.\n  Centralization in design, ii. 237.\n  Chalet of Switzerland, its character, i. 203.\n  Chamfer defined, i. 263; varieties of, i. 262, 429.\n  Changefulness, an element of Gothic, ii. 172.\n  Charity, how symbolized, ii. 327, 339.\n  Chartreuse, Grande, morbid life in, iii. 190.\n  Chastity, how symbolized, ii. 328.\n  Cheerfulness, how symbolized, ii. 326, 348; virtue of, ii. 326.\n  Cherries, cultivation of, at Venice, ii. 361.\n  Christianity, how mingled with worldliness, iii. 109; how imperfectly\n    understood, iii. 168; influence of, in liberating workmen, ii. 159,\n    i. 243; influence of, on forms, i. 99.\n  Churches, wooden, of the North, i. 381; considered as ships, ii. 25;\n    decoration of, how far allowable, ii. 102.\n  Civilization, progress of, iii. 168; twofold danger of, iii. 169.\n  Classical literature, its effect on the modern mind, iii. 12.\n  Climate, its influence on architecture, i. 151, ii. 155, 203.\n  Color, its importance in early work, ii. 38, 40, 78, 91; its\n    spirituality, ii. 145, 396; its relation to music, iii. 186;\n    quartering of, iii. 20; how excusing realization, iii. 186.\n  Commerce, how regarded by Venetians, i. 6.\n  Composition, definition of the term, ii. 182.\n  Constancy, how symbolized, ii. 333.\n  Construction, architectural, how admirable, i. 36.\n  Convenience, how consulted by Gothic architecture, ii. 179.\n  Cornices, general divisions of, i. 63, iii. 248; of walls, i. 60; of\n    roofs, i. 149; ornamentation of, i. 305; curvatures of, i. 310;\n    military, i. 160; Greek, i. 157.\n  Courses in walls, i. 60.\n  Crockets, their use in ornamentation, i. 346; their abuse at Venice,\n    iii. 109.\n  Crosses, Byzantine, ii. 139.\n  Crusaders, character of the, ii. 263.\n  Crystals, architectural appliance of, i. 225.\n  Cupid, representation of, in early and later art, ii. 342.\n  Curvature, on what its beauty depends, i. 222, iii. 5.\n  Cusps, definition of, i. 135; groups of, i. 138; relation of, to\n    vegetation, ii. 219; general treatment of, iii. 255; earliest\n    occurrence of, ii. 220.\n\n\n    D\n\n  Daguerreotype, probable results of, iii. 169.\n  Darkness, a character of early churches, ii. 18; not an abstract\n    evil, iii. 220.\n  Death, fear of, in Renaissance times, iii. 65, 90, 92; how anciently\n    regarded, iii. 139, 156.\n  Decoration, true nature of, i. 405; how to judge of, i. 44, 45. See\n    \"Ornament.\"\n  Demons, nature of, how illustrated by Milton and Dante, iii. 147.\n  Dentil, Venetian, defined, i. 273, 275.\n  Design, definition of the term, ii. 183; its relations to naturalism,\n    ii. 184.\n  Despair, how symbolized, ii. 334.\n  Diaper patterns in brick, i. 296; in color, iii. 21, 22.\n  Discord, how symbolized, ii. 333.\n  Discs, decoration by means of, i. 240, 416; ii. 147, 264.\n  Division of labor, evils of, ii. 165.\n  Doge of Venice, his power, i. 3, 360.\n  Dogtooth moulding defined, i. 269.\n  Dolphins, moral disposition of, i. 230; use of, in symbolic\n    representation of sea, i. 422, 423.\n  Domestic architecture, richness of, in middle ages, ii. 99.\n  Doors, general structure of, i. 174, 176; smallness of in English\n    cathedrals, i. 176; ancient Venetian, ii. 277, iii. 227.\n  Doric architecture, i. 157, 301, 307; Christian Doric, i. 308, 315.\n  Dragon, conquered by St. Donatus, ii. 33; use of, in ornamentation,\n    ii. 219.\n  Dreams, how resembled by the highest arts, iii. 153; prophetic, in\n    relation to the Grotesque, iii. 156.\n  Dress, its use in ornamentation, i. 212; early Venetian, ii. 383;\n    dignity of, iii. 191; changes in modern dress, iii. 192.\n  Duties of buildings, i. 47.\n\n\n    E\n\n  Earthquake of 1511, ii. 242.\n  Eastern races, their power over color, ii. 147.\n  Eaves, construction of, i. 156.\n  Ecclesiastical architecture in Venice, i. 20; no architecture\n    exclusively ecclesiastical, ii. 99.\n  Edge decoration, i. 268.\n  Education, University, i. 391; iii. 110; evils of, with respect to\n    architectural workmen, ii. 107; how to be successfully undertaken,\n    ii. 165, 214; modern education in general, how mistaken, iii. 110,\n    234; system of, in Plato, ii. 318; of Persian kings, ii. 318; not to\n    be mistaken for erudition, iii. 219; ought to be universal, iii. 220.\n  Egg and arrow mouldings, i. 314.\n  Egyptian architecture, i. 99, 239; ii. 203.\n  Elgin marbles, ii. 171.\n  Encrusted architecture, i. 271, 272; general analysis of, ii. 76.\n  Energy of Northern Gothic, i. 371; ii. 16, 204.\n  English (early) capitals, faults of, i. 100, 411; English mind, its\n    mistaken demands of perfection, ii. 160.\n  Envy, how set forth, ii. 346.\n  Evangelists, types of, how explicable, iii. 155.\n\n\n    F\n\n  Fa\u00ebrie Queen, Spenser's, value of, theologically, ii. 328.\n  Faith, influence of on art, ii. 104, 105; Titian's picture of, i. 11;\n    how symbolized, ii. 337.\n  Falsehood, how symbolized, ii. 349.\n  Fatalism, how expressed in Eastern architecture, ii. 205.\n  Fear, effect of, on human life, iii. 137; on Grotesque art, iii. 142.\n  Feudalism, healthy effects of, i. 184.\n  Fig-tree, sculpture of, on Ducal Palace, ii. 307.\n  Fillet, use of, in ornamentation, i. 267.\n  Finials, their use in ornamentation, i. 346; a sign of decline in\n    Venetian architecture, iii. 109.\n  Finish in workmanship, when to be required, ii. 165; dangers of, iii.\n    170, ii. 162.\n  Fir, spruce, influence of, on architecture, i. 152.\n  Fire, forms of, in ornamentation, i. 228.\n  Fish, use of, in ornamentation, i. 229.\n  Flamboyant Gothic, i. 278, ii. 225.\n  Flattery, common in Renaissance times, iii. 64.\n  Flowers, representation of, how desirable, i. 340; how represented in\n    mosaic, iii. 179.\n  Fluting of columns, a mistake, i. 301.\n  Foils, definition of, ii. 221.\n  Foliage, how carved in declining periods, iii. 8, 17. See \"Vegetation.\"\n  Foliation defined, ii. 219; essential to Gothic architecture, ii. 222.\n  Folly, how symbolized, ii. 325, 348.\n  Form of Gothic, defined, ii. 209.\n  Fortitude, how symbolized, ii. 337.\n  Fountains, symbolic representations of, i. 427.\n  French architecture, compared with Italian, ii. 226.\n  Frivolity, how exhibited in Grotesque art, iii. 143.\n  Fruit, its use in ornamentation, i. 232.\n\n\n    G\n\n  Gable, general structure of, i. 124; essential to Gothic, ii. 210, 217.\n  Gardens, Italian, iii. 136.\n  Generalization, abuses of, iii. 176.\n  Geology of Lombardy, ii. 5.\n  Glass, its capacities in architecture, i. 409; manufacture of, ii.\n    166; true principles of working in, ii. 168, 395.\n  Gluttony, how symbolized, ii. 343.\n  Goldsmiths' work, a high form of art, ii. 166.\n  Gondola, management of, ii. 375.\n  Gothic architecture, analysis of, ii. 151; not derived from vegetable\n    structure, i. 121; convenience of, ii. 178; divisions of, ii. 215;\n    surface and linear, ii. 226; Italian and French, ii. 226; flamboyant,\n    i. 278, ii. 225; perpendicular, i. 192, ii. 223, 227; early English,\n    i. 109; how to judge of it, ii. 228; how fitted for domestic\n    purposes, ii. 269, iii. 195; how first corrupted, iii. 3; how to be\n    at present built, iii. 196; early Venetian, ii. 248; ecclesiastical\n    Venetian, i. 21; central Venetian, ii. 231; how adorned by color in\n    Venice, iii. 23.\n  Government of Venice, i. 2, ii. 366.\n  Grammar, results of too great study of it, iii. 55, 106.\n  Greek architecture, general character of, i. 240, ii. 215, iii. 159.\n  Grief. See \"Sorrow.\"\n  Griffins, Lombardic, i. 292, 387.\n  Grotesque, analysis of, iii. 132; in changes of form, i. 317; in\n    Venetian painting, iii. 162; symbolical, iii. 155; its character in\n    Renaissance work, iii. 113, 121, 136, 143.\n  Gutters of roofs, i. 151.\n\n\n    H\n\n  Heathenism, typified in ornament, i. 317. See \"Paganism.\"\n  Heaven and Hell, proofs of their existence in natural phenomena, iii.\n    138.\n  History, how to be written and read, iii. 224.\n  Hobbima, iii. 184.\n  Honesty, how symbolized, ii. 349.\n  Hope, how symbolized, ii. 341.\n  Horseshoe arches, i. 129, ii. 249, 250.\n  Humanity, spiritual nature of, i. 41; divisions of, with respect to\n    art, i. 394.\n  Humility, how symbolized, ii. 339.\n\n\n    I\n\n  Idleness, how symbolized, ii. 345.\n  Idolatry, proper sense of the term, ii. 388; is no encourager of art,\n    ii. 110. See \"Popery.\"\n  Imagination, its relation to art, iii. 182.\n  Imitation of precious stones, &c., how reprehensible, iii. 26, 30.\n  Imposts, continuous, i. 120.\n  Infidelity, how symbolized, ii. 335; an element of the Renaissance\n    spirit, iii. 100.\n  Injustice, how symbolized, ii. 349.\n  Inlaid ornamentation, i. 369; perfection of, in early Renaissance,\n    iii. 26.\n  Inscriptions at Murano, ii. 47, 54; use of, in early times, ii. 111.\n  Insects, use of, in ornamentation, i. 230.\n  Inspiration, how opposed to art, iii. 151, 171.\n  Instinct, its dignity, iii. 171.\n  Intellect, how variable in dignity, iii. 173.\n  Involution, delightfulness of, in ornament, ii. 136.\n  Iron, its use in architecture, i. 184, 410.\n  Italians, modern character of, iii. 209.\n  Italy, how ravaged by recent war, iii. 209.\n\n\n    J\n\n  Jambs, Gothic, iii. 137.\n  Jesting, evils of, iii. 129.\n  Jesuits, their restricted power in Venice, i. 366.\n  Jewels, their cutting, a bad employment, ii. 166.\n  Judgments, instinctive, i. 399.\n  Job, book of, its purpose, iii. 53.\n\n\n    K\n\n  Keystones, how mismanaged in Renaissance work. See Venetian Index,\n    under head \"Libreria.\"\n  Knowledge, its evil consequences, iii. 40; how to be received, iii.\n    50, &c. See \"Education.\"\n\n\n    L\n\n  Labor, manual, ornamental value of, i. 407; evils of its division,\n    ii. 165; is not a degradation, ii. 168.\n  Labyrinth, in Venetian streets, its clue, ii. 254.\n  Lagoons, Venetian, nature of, ii. 7, 8.\n  Landscape, lower schools of, i. 24; Venetian, ii. 149; modern love\n    of, ii. 175, iii. 123.\n  Laws of right in architecture, i. 32; laws in general, how\n    permissibly violated, i. 255, ii. 210; their position with respect to\n    art, iii. 96; and to religion, iii. 205.\n  Leaves, use of, in ornamentation, i. 232 (see \"Vegetation\");\n    proportion of, ii. 128.\n  Liberality, how symbolized, ii. 333.\n  Life in Byzantine architecture, ii. 133.\n  Lilies, beautiful proportions of, ii. 128; used for parapet\n    ornaments, ii. 242; lily capitals, ii. 137.\n  Limitation of ornament, i. 254.\n  Lines, abstract use of, in ornament, i. 221.\n  Lintel, its structure, i. 124, 126.\n  Lion, on piazzetta shafts, iii. 238.\n  Load, of arches, i. 133.\n  Logic, a contemptible science, iii. 105.\n  Lombardic architecture, i. 17.\n  Lotus leaf, its use in architecture, i. 233.\n  Love, its power over human life, iii. 137.\n  Lusts, their power over human nature, how symbolized by Spenser, ii.\n    328.\n  Luxury, how symbolized, ii. 342; how traceable in ornament, iii. 4;\n    of Renaissance schools, iii. 61.\n\n\n    M\n\n  Madonna, Byzantine representations of, ii. 53.\n  Magnitude, vulgar admiration of, iii. 64.\n  Malmsey, use of, in Feast of the Maries, iii. 117.\n  Marble, its uses, iii. 27.\n  Maries, Feast of the, iii. 117.\n  Mariolatry, ancient and modern, ii. 55.\n  Marriages of Venetians, iii. 116.\n  Masonry, Mont-Cenisian, i. 132; of walls, i. 61; of arches, i. 133.\n  Materials, invention of new, how injurious to art, iii. 42.\n  Misery, how symbolized, ii. 347.\n  Modesty, how symbolized, ii. 335.\n  Monotony, its place in art, ii. 176.\n  Months, personifications of, in ancient art, ii. 272.\n  Moroseness, its guilt, iii. 130.\n  Mosaics at Torcello, ii. 18, 19; at St. Mark's, ii. 70, 112; early\n    character of, ii. 110, iii. 175, 178.\n  Music, its relation to color, iii. 186.\n  Mythology of Venetian painters, ii. 150; ancient, how injurious to\n    the Christian mind, iii. 107.\n\n\n    N\n\n  Natural history, how necessary a study, iii. 54.\n  Naturalism, general analysis of it with respect to art, ii. 181, 190;\n    its advance in Gothic art, iii. 6; not to be found in the encrusted\n    style, ii. 89; its presence in the noble Grotesque, iii. 144.\n  Nature (in the sense of material universe) not improvable by art, i.\n    350; its relation to architecture, i. 351.\n  Niches, use of, in Northern Gothic, i. 278; in Venetian, ii. 240; in\n    French and Veronese, ii. 227.\n  Norman hatchet-work, i. 297; zigzag, i. 339.\n  Novelty, its necessity to the human mind, ii. 176.\n\n\n    O\n\n  Oak-tree, how represented in symbolical art, iii. 185.\n  Obedience, how symbolized, ii. 334.\n  Oligarchical government, its effect on the Venetians, i. 5.\n  Olive-tree, neglect of, by artists, iii. 175; general expression of,\n    iii. 176, 177; representations of, in mosaic, iii. 178.\n  Order, uses and disadvantages of, ii. 172.\n  Orders, Doric and Corinthian, i. 13; ridiculous divisions of, i. 157,\n    370; ii. 173, 249; iii. 99.\n  Ornament, material of, i. 211; the best, expresses man's delight in\n    God's work, i. 220; not in his own, i. 211; general treatment of, i.\n    236; is necessarily imperfect, i. 237, 240; divided into servile,\n    subordinate, and insubordinate, i. 242, ii. 158; distant effect of,\n    i. 248; arborescent, i. 252; restrained within limits, i. 255; cannot\n    be overcharged if good, i. 406.\n  Oxford, system of education at, i. 391.\n\n\n    P\n\n  Paganism, revival of its power in modern times, iii. 105, 107, 122.\n  Painters, their power of perception, iii. 37; influence of society\n    on, iii. 41; what they should know, iii. 41; what is their business,\n    iii. 187.\n  Palace, the Crystal, merits of, i. 409.\n  Palaces, Byzantine, ii. 118, 391; Gothic, ii. 231.\n  Papacy. See \"Popery.\"\n  Parapets, i. 162, ii. 240.\n  Parthenon, curves of, ii. 127.\n  Patience, how symbolized, ii. 334.\n  Pavements, ii. 52.\n  Peacocks, sculpture of, i. 240.\n  Pedestals of shafts, i. 82; and see Venetian Index under head\n    \"Giorgio Maggiore.\"\n  Perception opposed to knowledge, iii. 37.\n  Perfection, inordinate desire of, destructive of art, i. 237; ii.\n    133, 158, 169.\n  Perpendicular style, i. 190, 253; ii. 223, 227.\n  Personification, evils of, ii. 322.\n  Perspective, aerial, ridiculous exaggerations of, iii. 45; ancient\n    pride in, iii. 57; absence of, in many great works, see in Venetian\n    Index the notice of Tintoret's picture of the Pool of Bethesda, under\n    head \"Rocco.\"\n  Phariseeism and Liberalism, how opposed, iii. 97.\n  Philology, a base science, iii. 54.\n  Piazzetta at Venice, plan of, ii. 283; shafts of, ii. 233.\n  Pictures, judgment of, how formed, ii. 371; neglect of, in Venice,\n    ii. 372; how far an aid to religion, ii. 104, 110.\n  Picturesque, definition of term, iii. 134.\n  Piers, general structure of, i. 71, 98, 118.\n  Pilgrim's Progress. See \"Bunyan.\"\n  Pine of Italy, its effect on architecture, i. 152; of Alps, effect in\n    distance, i. 245. See \"Fir.\"\n  Pinnacles are of little practical service, i. 170; their effect on\n    common roofs, i. 347.\n  Play, its relation to Grotesque art, iii. 126.\n  Pleasure, its kinds and true uses, iii. 189.\n  Popery, how degraded in contest with Protestantism, i. 34, iii. 103;\n    its influence on art, i. 23, 34, 35, 384, 432, ii. 51; typified in\n    ornament, i. 316; power of Pope in Venice, i. 362; arts used in\n    support of Popery, ii. 74.\n  Porches, i. 195.\n  Portraiture, power of, in Venice, iii. 164.\n  Posture-making in Renaissance art, iii. 90.\n  Prayers, ancient and modern, difference between, ii. 315, 390.\n  Pre-Raphaelitism, iii. 90; present position of, iii. 168, 174, 188.\n  Pride, how symbolized, ii. 343, iii. 207; of knowledge, iii. 35; of\n    state, iii. 59; of system, iii. 95.\n  Priests, restricted power of, in Venice, i. 366.\n  Proportions, subtlety of, in early work, ii. 38, 121, 127.\n  Protestantism, its influence on art, i. 23; typified in ornament, i.\n    316; influence of, on prosperity of nations, i. 368; expenditure in\n    favor of, i. 434; is incapable of judging of art, ii. 105; how\n    expressed in art, ii. 205; its errors in opposing Romanism, iii, 102,\n    103, 104; its shame of religious confession, ii. 278.\n  Prudence, how symbolized, ii. 340.\n  Pulpits, proper structure of, ii. 22, 380.\n  Purism in art, its nature and definition, ii. 189.\n  Purity, how symbolized, iii. 20.\n\n\n    Q\n\n  Quadrupeds, use of in ornamentation, i. 234.\n  Quantity of ornament, its regulation, i. 23.\n\n\n    R\n\n  Rationalism, its influence on art, i. 23.\n  Realization, how far allowable in noble art, iii. 182, 186.\n  Recesses, decoration of, i. 278.\n  Recumbent statues, iii. 72.\n  Redundance, an element of Gothic, ii. 206.\n  Religion, its influence on Venetian policy, i. 6; how far aided by\n    pictorial art, ii. 104, 109; contempt of, in Renaissance times, iii.\n    122.\n  Renaissance architecture, nature of, iii. 33; early, iii. 1;\n    Byzantine, iii. 15; Roman, iii. 32; Grotesque, iii. 112;\n    inconsistencies of, iii. 42, etc.\n  Reptiles, how used in ornamentation, i. 230.\n  Resistance, line of, in arches, i. 126.\n  Restraint, ornamental, value of, i. 255.\n  Reverence, how ennobling to humanity, ii. 163.\n  Rhetoric, a base study, iii. 106.\n  Rigidity, an element of Gothic, ii. 203.\n  Rivers, symbolical representation of, i. 419, 420.\n  Rocks, use of, in ornamentation, i. 224; organization of, i. 246;\n    curvatures of, i. 58, 224.\n  Roll-mouldings, decoration of, i. 276.\n  Romance, modern errors of, ii. 4; how connected with dress, iii. 192.\n  Romanesque style, i. 15, 19, 145; ii. 215. See \"Byzantine,\" and\n    \"Renaissance.\"\n  Romanism. See \"Popery.\"\n  Roofs, analysis of, i. 46, 148; ii. 212, 216; domed, i. 149; Swiss,\n    i. 149, 345; steepness of, conducive to Gothic character, i. 151, ii.\n    209; decoration of, i. 343.\n  Rustication, is ugly and foolish, i. 65; natural objects of which it\n    produces a resemblance, i. 296.\n\n\n    S\n\n  Salvia, its leaf applied to architecture, i. 287, 306.\n  Sarcophagi, Renaissance treatment of, iii. 90; ancient, iii. 69, 93.\n  Satellitic shafts, i. 95.\n  Satire in Grotesque art, iii. 126, 145.\n  Savageness, the first element of Gothic, ii. 155; in Grotesque art,\n    iii. 159.\n  Science opposed to art, iii. 36.\n  Sculpture, proper treatment of, i. 216, &c.\n  Sea, symbolical representations of, i. 352, 421; natural waves of, i.\n    351.\n  Sensualism in art, its nature and definition, ii. 189; how redeemed\n    by color, ii. 145.\n  Serapeum at Memphis, cusps of, ii. 220.\n  Sermons, proper manner of regarding them, ii. 22; mode of their\n    delivery in Scotch church, ii. 381.\n  Serrar del Consiglio, ii. 291.\n  Shafts, analysis of, i. 84; vaulting shafts, i. 145; ornamentation\n    of, i. 300; twisted, by what laws regulated, i. 303; strength of, i.\n    402; laws by which they are regulated in encrusted style, ii. 82.\n  Shields, use of, on tombs, ii. 224, iii. 87.\n  Shipping, use of, in ornamentation, i. 215.\n  Shops in Venice, ii. 65.\n  Sight, how opposed to thought, iii. 39.\n  Simplicity of life in thirteenth century, ii. 263.\n  Sin, how symbolized in Grotesque art, iii. 141.\n  Slavery of Greeks and Egyptians, ii. 158; of English workmen, ii.\n    162, 163.\n  Society, unhealthy state of, in modern times, ii. 163.\n  Sorrow, how sinful, ii. 325; how symbolized, ii. 347.\n  Soul, its development in art, iii. 173, 188; its connection with the\n    body, i. 41, 395.\n  Spandrils, structure of, i. 146; decoration of, i. 297.\n  Spirals, architectural value of, i. 222, ii. 16.\n  Spurs of bases, i. 79.\n  Staircases, i. 208; of Gothic palaces, ii. 280.\n  Stucco, when admissible, iii. 21.\n  Subordination of ornament, i. 240.\n  Superimposition of buildings, i. 200; ii. 386.\n  Surface-Gothic, explanation of term, ii. 225, 227.\n  Symbolism, i. 417; how opposed to personification, ii. 322.\n  System, pride of, how hurtful, iii. 95, 99.\n\n\n    T\n\n  Temperance, how symbolized, ii. 338; temperance in color and\n    curvature, iii. 420.\n  Theology, opposed to religion, iii. 216; of Spencer, iii. 205.\n  Thirteenth century, its high position with respect to art, ii. 263.\n  Thought, opposed to sight, iii. 39.\n  Tombs at Verona, i. 142, 412; at Venice, ii. 69; early Christian,\n    iii. 67; Gothic, iii. 71; Renaissance treatment of, iii. 84.\n  Towers, proper character of, i. 204; of St. Mark's, i 207.\n  Traceries, structure of, i. 184, 185; flamboyant, i. 189; stump, i.\n    189; English perpendicular, i 190, ii. 222; general character of, ii.\n    220; strength of, in Venetian Gothic, ii. 234, iii. 253; general\n    forms of tracery bars, iii. 250.\n  Treason, how detested by Dante, ii. 327.\n  Trees, use of, in ornamentation, i. 231.\n  Trefoil, use of, in ornamentation, ii. 42.\n  Triangles, used for ornaments at Murano, ii. 43.\n  Tribune at Torcello, ii. 24.\n  Triglyphs, ugliness of, i, 43.\n  Trunkmakers, their share in recovery of Brides of Venice, iii. 117, 118.\n  Truth, relation of, to religion, in Spenser's \"Fa\u00ebrie Queen,\" iii,\n    205; typified by stones, iii. 31.\n  Tympanum, decoration of, i. 299.\n\n\n    U\n\n  Unity of Venetian nobility, i. 10.\n\n\n    V\n\n  Vain glory, speedy punishment of, iii. 122.\n  Vanity, how symbolized, ii. 346.\n  Variety in ornamental design, importance of, ii. 43, 133, 142, 172.\n  Vegetation, use of, in ornamentation, i. 232; peculiar meaning of, in\n    Gothic, ii. 199; how connected with cusps, ii. 219.\n  Veil (wall veil), construction of, i. 58; decoration of, i. 294.\n  Vine, Lombardic sculpture of, i. 375; at Torcello, ii. 15; use of, in\n    ornamentation, ii. 141; in symbolism, ii. 143; sculpture of, on Ducal\n    Palace, ii. 308.\n  Virtues, how symbolized in sepulchral monuments, iii. 82, 86; systems\n    of, in Pagan and Christian philosophy, ii. 312; cardinal, ii. 317,\n    318, 320; of architecture, i. 36, 44.\n  Voussoirs defined, i. 125; contest between them and architraves, i.\n    336.\n\n\n    W\n\n  Walls, general analysis of their structure, i. 48; bases of, i. 52,\n    53; cornices of, i. 63; rustication of, i. 61, 338; decoration of, i.\n    294; courses in, i. 61, 295.\n  Water, its use in ornamentation, i. 226; ancient representations of,\n    i. 417.\n  Weaving, importance of associations connected with, ii. 136.\n  Wells, old Venetian, ii. 279.\n  Windows, general forms of, i. 179; Arabian, i. 180, ii. 135;\n    square-headed, ii. 211, 269; development of, in Venice, ii. 235;\n    orders of, in Venice, ii. 248; advisable form of, in modern\n    buildings, ii. 269.\n  Winds, how symbolized at Venice, ii. 367.\n  Wooden architecture, i. 381.\n  Womanhood, virtues of, as given by Spenser, ii. 326.\n\n\n    Z\n\n  Zigzag, Norman, i. 339.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nVENETIAN INDEX.\n\n\nI have endeavored to make the following index as useful as possible to\nthe traveller, by indicating only the objects which are really worth his\nstudy. A traveller's interest, stimulated as it is into strange vigor by\nthe freshness of every impression, and deepened by the sacredness of the\ncharm of association which long familiarity with any scene too fatally\nwears away,[71] is too precious a thing to be heedlessly wasted; and as\nit is physically impossible to see and to understand more than a certain\nquantity of art in a given time, the attention bestowed on second-rate\nworks, in such a city as Venice, is not merely lost, but actually\nharmful,--deadening the interest and confusing the memory with respect\nto those which it is a duty to enjoy, and a disgrace to forget. The\nreader need not fear being misled by any omissions; for I have\nconscientiously pointed out every characteristic example, even of the\nstyles which I dislike, and have referred to Lazari in all instances in\nwhich my own information failed: but if he is in any wise willing to\ntrust me, I should recommend him to devote his principal attention, if\nhe is fond of paintings, to the works of Tintoret, Paul Veronese, and\nJohn Bellini; not of course neglecting Titian, yet remembering that\nTitian can be well and thoroughly studied in almost any great European\ngallery, while Tintoret and Bellini can be judged of _only_ in Venice,\nand Paul Veronese, though gloriously represented by the two great\npictures in the Louvre, and many others throughout Europe, is yet not to\nbe fully estimated until he is seen at play among the fantastic chequers\nof the Venetian ceilings.\n\nI have supplied somewhat copious notices of the pictures of Tintoret,\nbecause they are much injured, difficult to read, and entirely neglected\nby other writers on art. I cannot express the astonishment and\nindignation I felt on finding, in Kugler's handbook, a paltry cenacolo,\npainted probably in a couple of hours for a couple of zecchins, for the\nmonks of St. Trovaso, quoted as characteristic of this master; just as\nfoolish readers quote separate stanzas of Peter Bell or the Idiot Boy,\nas characteristic of Wordsworth. Finally, the reader is requested to\nobserve, that the dates assigned to the various buildings named in the\nfollowing index, are almost without exception conjectural; that is to\nsay, founded exclusively on the internal evidence of which a portion has\nbeen given in the Final Appendix. It is likely, therefore, that here and\nthere, in particular instances, further inquiry may prove me to have\nbeen deceived; but such occasional errors are not of the smallest\nimportance with respect to the general conclusions of the preceding\npages, which will be found to rest on too broad a basis to be disturbed.\n\n\n    A\n\n ACCADEMIA DELLE BELLE ARTI. Notice above the door the two bas-reliefs\n   of St. Leonard and St. Christopher, chiefly remarkable for their rude\n   cutting at so late a date as 1377; but the niches under which they\n   stand are unusual in their bent gables, and in little crosses within\n   circles which fill their cusps. The traveller is generally too much\n   struck by Titian's great picture of the \"Assumption,\" to be able to\n   pay proper attention to the other works in this gallery. Let him,\n   however, ask himself candidly, how much of his admiration is\n   dependent merely upon the picture being larger than any other in the\n   room, and having bright masses of red and blue in it: let him be\n   assured that the picture is in reality not one whit the better for\n   being either large, or gaudy in color; and he will then be better\n   disposed to give the pains necessary to discover the merit of the more\n   profound and solemn works of Bellini and Tintoret. One of the most\n   wonderful works in the whole gallery is Tintoret's \"Death of Abel,\" on\n   the left of the \"Assumption;\" the \"Adam and Eve,\" on the right of it,\n   is hardly inferior; and both are more characteristic examples of the\n   master, and in many respects better pictures, than the much vaunted\n   \"Miracle of St. Mark.\" All the works of Bellini in this room are of\n   great beauty and interest. In the great room, that which contains\n   Titian's \"Presentation of the Virgin,\" the traveller should examine\n   carefully all the pictures by Vittor Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini,\n   which represent scenes in ancient Venice; they are full of interesting\n   architecture and costume. Marco Basaiti's \"Agony in the Garden\" is a\n   lovely example of the religious school. The Tintorets in this room are\n   all second rate, but most of the Veronese are good, and the large ones\n   are magnificent.\n\n ALIGA. See GIORGIO.\n\n ALVISE, CHURCH OF ST. I have never been in this church, but Lazari\n   dates its interior, with decision, as of the year 1388, and it may be\n   worth a glance, if the traveller has time.\n\n ANDREA, CHURCH OF ST. Well worth visiting for the sake of the\n   peculiarly sweet and melancholy effect of its little grass-grown\n   campo, opening to the lagoon and the Alps. The sculpture over the\n   door, \"St. Peter walking on the Water,\" is a quaint piece of\n   Renaissance work. Note the distant rocky landscape, and the oar of the\n   existing gondola floating by St. Andrew's boat. The church is of the\n   later Gothic period, much defaced, but still picturesque. The lateral\n   windows are bluntly trefoiled, and good of their time.\n\n ANGELI, CHURCH DELGLI, at Murano. The sculpture of the \"Annunciation\"\n   over the entrance-gate is graceful. In exploring Murano, it is worth\n   while to row up the great canal thus far for the sake of the opening\n   to the lagoon.\n\n ANTONINO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n APOLLINARE, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n APOSTOLI, CHURCH OF THE. The exterior is nothing. There is said to be\n   a picture by Veronese in the interior, \"The Fall of the Manna.\" I have\n   not seen it; but, if it be of importance, the traveller should compare\n   it carefully with Tintoret's, in the Scuola di San Rocco, and San\n   Giorgio Maggiore.\n\n APOSTOLI, PALACE AT, II. 253, on the Grand Canal, near the Rialto,\n   opposite the fruit-market. A most important transitional palace. Its\n   sculpture in the first story is peculiarly rich and curious; I think\n   Venetian, in imitation of Byzantine. The sea story and first floor are\n   of the first half of the thirteenth century, the rest modern. Observe\n   that only one wing of the sea story is left, the other half having\n   been modernized. The traveller should land to look at the capital\n   drawn in Plate II. of Vol. III. fig. 7.\n\n ARSENAL. Its gateway is a curiously picturesque example of Renaissance\n   workmanship, admirably sharp and expressive in its ornamental\n   sculpture; it is in many parts like some of the best Byzantine work.\n   The Greek lions in front of it appear to me to deserve more praise\n   than they have received; though they are awkwardly balanced between\n   conventional and imitative representation, having neither the severity\n   proper to the one, nor the veracity necessary for the other.\n\n\n    B\n\n BADOER, PALAZZO, in the Campo San Giovanni in Bragola. A magnificent\n   example of the fourteenth century Gothic, circa 1310-1320, anterior to\n   the Ducal Palace, and showing beautiful ranges of the fifth order\n   window, with fragments of the original balconies, and the usual\n   lateral window larger than any of the rest. In the centre of its\n   arcade on the first floor is the inlaid ornament drawn in Plate VIII.\n   Vol. I. The fresco painting on the walls is of later date; and I\n   believe the heads which form the finials have been inserted afterwards\n   also, the original windows having been pure fifth order.\n\n   The building is now a ruin, inhabited by the lowest orders; the first\n   floor, when I was last in Venice, by a laundress.\n\n BAFFO, PALAZZO, in the Campo St. Maurizio. The commonest late\n   Renaissance. A few olive leaves and vestiges of two figures still\n   remain upon it, of the frescoes by Paul Veronese, with which it was\n   once adorned.\n\n BALBI, PALAZZO, in Volta di Canal. Of no importance.\n\n BARBARIGO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, next the Casa Pisani. Late\n   Renaissance; noticeable only as a house in which some of the best\n   pictures of Titian were allowed to be ruined by damp, and out of which\n   they were then sold to the Emperor of Russia.\n\n BARBARO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, next the Palazzo Cavalli. These\n   two buildings form the principal objects in the foreground of the view\n   which almost every artist seizes on his first traverse of the Grand\n   Canal, the Church of the Salute forming a most graceful distance.\n   Neither is, however, of much value, except in general effect; but the\n   Barbaro is the best, and the pointed arcade in its side wall, seen\n   from the narrow canal between it and the Cavalli, is good Gothic, of\n   the earliest fourteenth century type.\n\n BARNABA, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n BARTOLOMEO, CHURCH OF ST. I did not go to look at the works of\n   Sebastian del Piombo which it contains, fully crediting M. Lazari's\n   statement, that they have been \"Barbaramente sfigurati da mani\n   imperite, che pretendevano ristaurarli.\" Otherwise the church is of no\n   importance.\n\n BASSO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n BATTAGIA, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.\n\n BECCHERIE. See QUERINI.\n\n BEMBO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, next the Casa Manin. A noble\n   Gothic pile, circa 1350-1380, which, before it was painted by the\n   modern Venetians with the two most valuable colors of Tintoret, Bianco\n   e Nero, by being whitewashed above, and turned into a coal warehouse\n   below, must have been among the most noble in effect on the whole\n   Grand Canal. It still forms a beautiful group with the Rialto, some\n   large shipping being generally anchored at its quay. Its sea story and\n   entresol are of earlier date, I believe, than the rest; the doors of\n   the former are Byzantine (see above, Final Appendix, under head\n   \"Jambs\"); and above the entresol is a beautiful Byzantine cornice,\n   built into the wall, and harmonizing well with the Gothic work.\n\n BEMBO, PALAZZO, in the Calle Magno, at the Campo de' due Pozzi, close\n   to the Arsenal. Noticed by Lazari and Selvatico as having a very\n   interesting staircase. It is early Gothic, circa 1330, but not a whit\n   more interesting than many others of similar date and design. See\n   \"Contarini Porta de Ferro,\" \"Morosini,\" \"Sanudo,\" and \"Minelli.\"\n\n BENEDETTO, CAMPO OF ST. Do not fail to see the superb, though\n   partially ruinous, Gothic palace fronting this little square. It is\n   very late Gothic, just passing into Renaissance; unique in Venice, in\n   masculine character, united with the delicacy of the incipient style.\n   Observe especially the brackets of the balconies, the flower-work on\n   the cornices, and the arabesques on the angles of the balconies\n   themselves.\n\n BENEDETTO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n BERNARDO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. A very noble pile of early\n   fifteenth century Gothic, founded on the Ducal Palace. The traceries\n   in its lateral windows are both rich and unusual.\n\n BERNARDO, PALAZZO, at St. Polo. A glorious palace, on a narrow canal,\n   in a part of Venice now inhabited by the lower orders only. It is\n   rather late Central Gothic, circa 1380-1400, but of the finest kind,\n   and superb in its effect of color when seen from the side. A capital\n   in the interior court is much praised by Selvatico and Lazari, because\n   its \"foglie d'acanto\" (anything by the by, _but_ acanthus), \"quasi\n   agitate de vento si attorcigliano d'intorno alla campana, _concetto\n   non indegno della bell'epoca greca_!\" Does this mean \"epoca\n   Bisantina?\" The capital is simply a translation into Gothic sculpture\n   of the Byzantine ones of St. Mark's and the Fondaco de' Turchi (see\n   Plate VIII. Vol. I. fig. 14), and is far inferior to either. But,\n   taken as a whole, I think that, after the Ducal Palace, this is the\n   noblest in effect of all in Venice.\n\n BRENTA, Banks of the, I. 354. Villas on the, I. 354.\n\n BUSINELLO, CASA, II. 391.\n\n BYZANTINE PALACES generally, II. 118.\n\n\n    C\n\n CAMERLENGHI, PALACE OF THE, beside the Rialto. A graceful work of the\n   early Renaissance (1525) passing into Roman Renaissance. Its details\n   are inferior to most of the work of the school. The \"Camerlenghi,\"\n   properly \"Camerlenghi di Comune,\" were the three officers or ministers\n   who had care of the administration of public expenses.\n\n CANCELLARIA, II. 293.\n\n CANCIANO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n CAPPELLO, PALAZZO, at St. Aponal. Of no interest. Some say that Bianca\n   Cappello fled from it; but the tradition seems to fluctuate between\n   the various houses belonging to her family.\n\n CARIT\u00c0, CHURCH OF THE. Once an interesting Gothic church of the\n   fourteenth century, lately defaced, and applied to some of the usual\n   important purposes of the modern Italians. The effect of its ancient\n   fa\u00e7ade may partly be guessed at from the pictures of Canaletto, but\n   only guessed at; Canaletto being less to be trusted for renderings of\n   details, than the rudest and most ignorant painter of the thirteenth\n   century.\n\n CARMINI, CHURCH OF THE. A most interesting church of late thirteenth\n   century work, but much altered and defaced. Its nave, in which the\n   early shafts and capitals of the pure truncate form are unaltered, is\n   very fine in effect; its lateral porch is quaint and beautiful,\n   decorated with Byzantine circular sculptures (of which the central one\n   is given in Vol. II. Plate XI. fig. 5), and supported on two shafts\n   whose capitals are the most archaic examples of the pure Rose form\n   that I know in Venice.\n\n   There is a glorious Tintoret over the first altar on the right in\n   entering; the \"Circumcision of Christ.\" I do not know an aged head\n   either more beautiful or more picturesque than that of the high\n   priest. The cloister is full of notable tombs, nearly all dated; one,\n   of the fifteenth century, to the left on entering, is interesting from\n   the color still left on the leaves and flowers of its sculptured\n   roses.\n\n CASSANO, CHURCH OF ST. This church must on no account be missed, as it\n   contains three Tintorets, of which one, the \"Crucifixion,\" is among\n   the finest in Europe. There is nothing worth notice in the building\n   itself, except the jamb of an ancient door (left in the Renaissance\n   buildings, facing the canal), which has been given among the examples\n   of Byzantine jambs; and the traveller may, therefore, devote his\n   entire attention to the three pictures in the chancel.\n\n   1. _The Crucifixion._ (On the left of the high altar.) It is\n   refreshing to find a picture taken care of, and in a bright though not\n   a good light, so that such parts of it as are seen at all are seen\n   well. It is also in a better state than most pictures in galleries,\n   and most remarkable for its new and strange treatment of the subject.\n   It seems to have been painted more for the artist's own delight, than\n   with any labored attempt at composition; the horizon is so low that\n   the spectator must fancy himself lying at full length on the grass, or\n   rather among the brambles and luxuriant weeds, of which the foreground\n   is entirely composed. Among these, the seamless robe of Christ has\n   fallen at the foot of the cross; the rambling briars and wild grasses\n   thrown here and there over its folds of rich, but pale, crimson.\n   Behind them, and seen through them, the heads of a troop of Roman\n   soldiers are raised against the sky; and, above them, their spears and\n   halberds form a thin forest against the horizontal clouds. The three\n   crosses are put on the extreme right of the picture, and its centre is\n   occupied by the executioners, one of whom, standing on a ladder,\n   receives from the other at once the sponge and the tablet with the\n   letters INRI. The Madonna and St. John are on the extreme left,\n   superbly painted, like all the rest, but quite subordinate. In fact,\n   the whole mind of the painter seems to have been set upon making the\n   principals accessary, and the accessaries principal. We look first at\n   the grass, and then at the scarlet robe; and then at the clump of\n   distant spears, and then at the sky, and last of all at the cross. As\n   a piece of color, the picture is notable for its extreme modesty.\n   There is not a single very full or bright tint in any part, and yet\n   the color is delighted in throughout; not the slightest touch of it\n   but is delicious. It is worth notice also, and especially, because\n   this picture being in a fresh state we are sure of one fact, that,\n   like nearly all other great colorists, Tintoret was afraid of light\n   greens in his vegetation. He often uses dark blue greens in his\n   shadowed trees, but here where the grass is in full light, it is all\n   painted with various hues of sober brown, more especially where it\n   crosses the crimson robe. The handling of the whole is in his noblest\n   manner; and I consider the picture generally quite beyond all price.\n   It was cleaned, I believe, some years ago, but not injured, or at\n   least as little injured as it is possible for a picture to be which\n   has undergone any cleaning process whatsoever.\n\n   2. _The Resurrection._ (Over the high altar.) The lower part of this\n   picture is entirely concealed by a miniature temple, about five feet\n   high, on the top of the altar; certainly an insult little expected by\n   Tintoret, as, by getting on steps, and looking over the said temple,\n   one may see that the lower figures of the picture are the most\n   labored. It is strange that the painter never seemed able to conceive\n   this subject with any power, and in the present work he is\n   marvellously hampered by various types and conventionalities. It is\n   not a painting of the Resurrection, but of Roman Catholic saints,\n   _thinking_ about the Resurrection. On one side of the tomb is a bishop\n   in full robes, on the other a female saint, I know not who; beneath\n   it, an angel playing on an organ, and a cherub blowing it; and other\n   cherubs flying about the sky, with flowers; the whole conception being\n   a mass of Renaissance absurdities. It is, moreover, heavily painted,\n   over-done, and over-finished; and the forms of the cherubs utterly\n   heavy and vulgar. I cannot help fancying the picture has been restored\n   in some way or another, but there is still great power in parts of it.\n   If it be a really untouched Tintoret, it is a highly curious example\n   of failure from over-labor on a subject into which his mind was not\n   thrown: the color is hot and harsh, and felt to be so more painfully,\n   from its opposition to the grand coolness and chastity of the\n   \"Crucifixion.\" The face of the angel playing the organ is highly\n   elaborated; so, also, the flying cherubs.\n\n   3. _The Descent into Hades._ (On the right-hand side of the high\n   altar.) Much injured and little to be regretted. I never was more\n   puzzled by any picture, the painting being throughout careless, and in\n   some places utterly bad, and yet not like modern work; the principal\n   figure, however, of Eve, has either been redone, or is scholar's work\n   altogether, as, I suspect, most of the rest of the picture. It looks\n   as if Tintoret had sketched it when he was ill, left it to a bad\n   scholar to work on with, and then finished it in a hurry; but he has\n   assuredly had something to do with it; it is not likely that anybody\n   else would have refused all aid from the usual spectral company with\n   which common painters fill the scene. Bronzino, for instance, covers\n   his canvas with every form of monster that his sluggish imagination\n   could coin. Tintoret admits only a somewhat haggard Adam, a graceful\n   Eve, two or three Venetians in court dress, seen amongst the smoke,\n   and a Satan represented as a handsome youth, recognizable only by the\n   claws on his feet. The picture is dark and spoiled, but I am pretty\n   sure there are no demons or spectres in it. This is quite in\n   accordance with the master's caprice, but it considerably diminishes\n   the interest of a work in other ways unsatisfactory. There may once\n   have been something impressive in the shooting in of the rays at the\n   top of the cavern, as well as in the strange grass that grows in the\n   bottom, whose infernal character is indicated by its all being knotted\n   together; but so little of these parts can be seen, that it is not\n   worth spending time on a work certainly unworthy of the master, and in\n   great part probably never seen by him.\n\n CATTARINA, CHURCH OF ST., said to contain a _chef-d'oeuvre_ of Paul\n   Veronese, the \"Marriage of St. Catherine.\" I have not seen it.\n\n CAVALLI, PALAZZO, opposite the Academy of Arts. An imposing pile, on\n   the Grand Canal, of Renaissance Gothic, but of little merit in the\n   details; and the effect of its traceries has been of late destroyed by\n   the fittings of modern external blinds. Its balconies are good, of the\n   later Gothic type. See \"BARBARO.\"\n\n CAVALLI, PALAZZO, next the Casa Grimani (or Post-Office), but on the\n   other side of the narrow canal. Good Gothic, founded on the Ducal\n   Palace, circa 1380. The capitals of the first story are remarkably\n   rich in the deep fillets at the necks. The crests, heads of\n   sea-horses, inserted between the windows, appear to be later, but are\n   very fine of their kind.\n\n CICOGNA, PALAZZO, at San Sebastiano, II. 265.\n\n CLEMENTE, CHURCH OF ST. On an island to the south of Venice, from\n   which the view of the city is peculiarly beautiful. See \"SCALZI.\"\n\n CONTARINI PORTA DI FERRO, PALAZZO, near the Church of St. John and\n   Paul, so called from the beautiful ironwork on a door, which was some\n   time ago taken down by the proprietor and sold. Mr. Rawdon Brown\n   rescued some of the ornaments from the hands of the blacksmith, who\n   had bought them for old iron. The head of the door is a very\n   interesting stone arch of the early thirteenth century, already drawn\n   in my folio work. In the interior court is a beautiful remnant of\n   staircase, with a piece of balcony at the top, circa 1350, and one of\n   the most richly and carefully wrought in Venice. The palace, judging\n   by these remnants (all that are now left of it, except a single\n   traceried window of the same date at the turn of the stair), must once\n   have been among the most magnificent in Venice.\n\n CONTARINI (DELLE FIGURE), PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, III. 17.\n\n CONTARINI DAI SCRIGNI, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. A Gothic building,\n   founded on the Ducal Palace. Two Renaissance statues in niches at the\n   sides give it its name.\n\n CONTARINI FASAN, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, II. 244. The richest\n   work of the fifteenth century domestic Gothic in Venice, but notable\n   more for richness than excellence of design. In one respect, however,\n   it deserves to be regarded with attention, as showing how much beauty\n   and dignity may be bestowed on a very small and unimportant\n   dwelling-house by Gothic sculpture. Foolish criticisms upon it have\n   appeared in English accounts of foreign buildings, objecting to it on\n   the ground of its being \"ill-proportioned;\" the simple fact being,\n   that there was no room in this part of the canal for a wider house,\n   and that its builder made its rooms as comfortable as he could, and\n   its windows and balconies of a convenient size for those who were to\n   see through them, and stand on them, and left the \"proportions\"\n   outside to take care of themselves; which, indeed, they have very\n   sufficiently done; for though the house thus honestly confesses its\n   diminutiveness, it is nevertheless one of the principal ornaments of\n   the very noblest reach of the Grand Canal, and would be nearly as\n   great a loss, if it were destroyed, as the Church of La Salute itself.\n\n CONTARINI, PALAZZO, at St. Luca. Of no importance.\n\n CORNER DELLA CA' GRANDE, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. One of the worst\n   and coldest buildings of the central Renaissance, It is on a grand\n   scale, and is a conspicuous object, rising over the roofs of the\n   neighboring houses in the various aspects of the entrance of the Grand\n   Canal, and in the general view of Venice from San Clemente.\n\n CORNER DELLA REGINA, PALAZZO. A late Renaissance building of no merit\n   or interest.\n\n CORNER MOCENIGO, PALAZZO, at St. Polo. Of no interest.\n\n CORNER SPINELLI, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. A graceful and\n   interesting example of the early Renaissance, remarkable for its\n   pretty circular balconies.\n\n CORNER, RACCOLTA. I must refer the reader to M. Lazari's Guide for an\n   account of this collection, which, however, ought only to be visited\n   if the traveller is not pressed for time.\n\n\n    D\n\n DANDOLO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. Between the Casa Loredan and\n   Casa Bembo is a range of modern buildings, some of which occupy, I\n   believe, the site of the palace once inhabited by the Doge Henry\n   Dandolo. Fragments of early architecture of the Byzantine school may\n   still be traced in many places among their foundations, and two doors\n   in the foundation of the Casa Bembo itself belong to the same group.\n   There is only one existing palace, however, of any value, on this\n   spot, a very small but rich Gothic one of about 1300, with two groups\n   of fourth order windows in its second and third stories, and some\n   Byzantine circular mouldings built into it above. This is still\n   reported to have belonged to the family of Dandolo, and ought to be\n   carefully preserved, as it is one of the most interesting and ancient\n   Gothic palaces which yet remain.\n\n DANIELI, ALBERGO. See Nani.\n\n DA PONTE, PALAZZO. Of no interest.\n\n DARIO, PALAZZO, I. 370; III. 211.\n\n DOGANA DI MARE, at the separation of the Grand Canal from the Giudecca.\n   A barbarous building of the time of the Grotesque Renaissance (1676),\n   rendered interesting only by its position. The statue of Fortune,\n   forming the weathercock, standing on the world, is alike\n   characteristic of the conceits of the time, and of the hopes and\n   principles of the last days of Venice.\n\n DONATO, CHURCH OF ST., at Murano, II. 31.\n\n DONA', PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. I believe the palace described under\n   this name as of the twelfth century, by M. Lazari, is that which I\n   have called the Braided House, II. 132, 392.\n\n D'ORO CASA. A noble pile of very quaint Gothic, once superb in general\n   effect, but now destroyed by restorations. I saw the beautiful slabs\n   of red marble, which formed the bases of its balconies, and were\n   carved into noble spiral mouldings of strange sections, half a foot\n   deep, dashed to pieces when I was last in Venice; its glorious\n   interior staircase, by far the most interesting Gothic monument of the\n   kind in Venice, had been carried away, piece by piece, and sold for\n   waste marble, two years before. Of what remains, the most beautiful\n   portions are, or were, when I last saw them, the capitals of the\n   windows in the upper story, most glorious sculpture of the fourteenth\n   century. The fantastic window traceries are, I think, later; but the\n   rest of the architecture of this palace is anomalous, and I cannot\n   venture to give any decided opinion respecting it. Parts of its\n   mouldings are quite Byzantine in character, but look somewhat like\n   imitations.\n\n DUCAL PALACE, I. 29; history of, II. 282, etc.; III. 199; plan and\n   section of, II. 282, 283; description of, II. 304, etc.; series of its\n   capitals, II. 332, etc.; spandrils of, I. 299, 415; shafts of, I. 413;\n   traceries of, derived from those of the Frari, II. 234; angles of, II.\n   239; main balcony of, II. 245; base of, III. 212; Rio Fa\u00e7ade of, III.\n   25; paintings in, II. 372. The multitude of works by various masters,\n   which cover the walls of this palace is so great, that the traveller\n   is in general merely wearied and confused by them. He had better\n   refuse all attention except to the following works:\n\n   1. _Paradise_, by Tintoret; at the extremity of the Great Council\n   chamber. I found it impossible to count the number of figures in this\n   picture, of which the grouping is so intricate, that at the upper part\n   it is not easy to distinguish one figure from another; but I counted\n   150 important figures in one half of it alone; so that, as there are\n   nearly as many in subordinate position, the total number cannot be\n   under 500. I believe this is, on the whole, Tintoret's\n   _chef-d'oeuvre_; though it is so vast that no one takes the trouble\n   to read it, and therefore less wonderful pictures are preferred to it.\n   I have not myself been able to study except a few fragments of it, all\n   executed in his finest manner; but it may assist a hurried observer to\n   point out to him that the whole composition is divided into concentric\n   zones, represented one above another like the stories of a cupola,\n   round the figures of Christ and the Madonna, at the central and\n   highest point: both these figures are exceedingly dignified and\n   beautiful. Between each zone or belt of the nearer figures, the white\n   distances of heaven are seen filled with floating spirits. The picture\n   is, on the whole, wonderfully preserved, and the most precious thing\n   that Venice possesses. She will not possess it long; for the Venetian\n   academicians, finding it exceedingly unlike their own works, declare\n   it to want harmony, and are going to retouch it to their own ideas of\n   perfection.\n\n   2. _Siege of Zara_; the first picture on the right on entering the\n   Sala del Scrutinio. It is a mere battle piece, in which the figures,\n   like the arrows, are put in by the score. There are high merits in the\n   thing, and so much invention that it is possible Tintoret may have\n   made the sketch for it; but, if executed by him at all, he has done it\n   merely in the temper in which a sign-painter meets the wishes of an\n   ambitious landlord. He seems to have been ordered to represent all the\n   events of the battle at once; and to have felt that, provided he gave\n   men, arrows, and ships enough, his employers would be perfectly\n   satisfied. The picture is a vast one, some thirty feet by fifteen.\n\n   Various other pictures will be pointed out by the custode, in these\n   two rooms, as worthy of attention, but they are only historically, not\n   artistically, interesting. The works of Paul Veronese on the ceiling\n   have been repainted; and the rest of the pictures on the walls are by\n   second-rate men. The traveller must, once for all, be warned against\n   mistaking the works of Domenico Robusti (Domenico Tintoretto), a very\n   miserable painter, for those of his illustrious father, Jacopo.\n\n   3. _The Doge Grimani kneeling before Faith_, by Titian; in the Sala\n   delle quattro Porte. To be observed with care, as one of the most\n   striking examples of Titian's want of feeling and coarseness of\n   conception. (See above, Vol. I. p. 12.) As a work of mere art, it is,\n   however, of great value. The traveller who has been accustomed to\n   deride Turner's indistinctness of touch, ought to examine carefully\n   the mode of painting the Venice in the distance at the bottom of this\n   picture.\n\n   4. _Frescoes on the Roof of the Sala delle quattro Porte_, by\n   Tintoret. Once magnificent beyond description, now mere wrecks (the\n   plaster crumbling away in large flakes), but yet deserving of the most\n   earnest study.\n\n   5. _Christ taken down from the Cross_, by Tintoret; at the upper end\n   of the Sala dei Pregadi. One of the most interesting mythic pictures\n   of Venice, two doges being represented beside the body of Christ, and\n   a most noble painting; executed, however, for distant effect, and seen\n   best from the end of the room.\n\n   6. _Venice, Queen of the Sea_, by Tintoret. Central compartment of the\n   ceiling, in the Sala dei Pregadi. Notable for the sweep of its vast\n   green surges, and for the daring character of its entire conception,\n   though it is wild and careless, and in many respects unworthy of the\n   master. Note the way in which he has used the fantastic forms of the\n   sea weeds, with respect to what was above stated (III. 158), as to his\n   love of the grotesque.\n\n   7. _The Doge Loredano in Prayer to the Virgin_, by Tintoret; in the\n   same room. Sickly and pale in color, yet a grand work; to be studied,\n   however, more for the sake of seeing what a great man does \"to order,\"\n   when he is wearied of what is required from him, than for its own\n   merit.\n\n   8. _St. George and the Princess._ There are, besides the \"Paradise,\"\n   only six pictures in the Ducal Palace, as far as I know, which\n   Tintoret painted carefully, and those are all exceedingly fine: the\n   most finished of these are in the Anti-Collegio; but those that are\n   most majestic and characteristic of the master are two oblong ones,\n   made to fill the panels of the walls in the Anti-Chiesetta; these two,\n   each, I suppose, about eight feet by six, are in his most quiet and\n   noble manner. There is excessively little color in them, their\n   prevalent tone being a greyish brown opposed with grey, black, and a\n   very warm russet. They are thinly painted, perfect in tone, and quite\n   untouched. The first of them is \"St. George and the Dragon,\" the\n   subject being treated in a new and curious way. The principal figure\n   is the princess, who sits astride on the dragon's neck, holding him by\n   a bridle of silken riband; St. George stands above and behind her,\n   holding his hands over her head as if to bless her, or to keep the\n   dragon quiet by heavenly power; and a monk stands by on the right,\n   looking gravely on. There is no expression or life in the dragon,\n   though the white flashes in its eye are very ghastly: but the whole\n   thing is entirely typical; and the princess is not so much represented\n   riding on the dragon, as supposed to be placed by St. George in an\n   attitude of perfect victory over her chief enemy. She has a full rich\n   dress of dull red, but her figure is somewhat ungraceful. St. George\n   is in grey armor and grey drapery, and has a beautiful face; his\n   figure entirely dark against the distant sky. There is a study for\n   this picture in the Manfrini Palace.\n\n   9. _St. Andrew and St. Jerome._ This, the companion picture, has even\n   less color than its opposite. It is nearly all brown and grey; the\n   fig-leaves and olive-leaves brown, the faces brown, the dresses brown,\n   and St. Andrew holding a great brown cross. There is nothing that can\n   be called color, except the grey of the sky, which approaches in some\n   places a little to blue, and a single piece of dirty brick-red in St.\n   Jerome's dress; and yet Tintoret's greatness hardly ever shows more\n   than in the management of such sober tints. I would rather have these\n   two small brown pictures, and two others in the Academy perfectly\n   brown also in their general tone--the \"Cain and Abel\" and the \"Adam\n   and Eve,\"--than all the other small pictures in Venice put together,\n   which he painted in bright colors, for altar pieces; but I never saw\n   two pictures which so nearly approached grisailles as these, and yet\n   were delicious pieces of color. I do not know if I am right in calling\n   one of the saints St. Andrew. He stands holding a great upright wooden\n   cross against the sky. St. Jerome reclines at his feet, against a\n   rock, over which some glorious fig leaves and olive branches are\n   shooting; every line of them studied with the most exquisite care, and\n   yet cast with perfect freedom.\n\n   10. _Bacchus and Ariadne._ The most beautiful of the four careful\n   pictures by Tintoret, which occupy the angles of the Anti-Collegio.\n   Once one of the noblest pictures in the world, but now miserably\n   faded, the sun being allowed to fall on it all day long. The design of\n   the forms of the leafage round the head of the Bacchus, and the\n   floating grace of the female figure above, will, however, always give\n   interest to this picture, unless it be repainted.\n\n   The other three Tintorets in this room are careful and fine, but far\n   inferior to the \"Bacchus;\" and the \"Vulcan and the Cyclops\" is a\n   singularly meagre and vulgar study of common models.\n\n   11. _Europa_, by Paul Veronese: in the same room. One of the very few\n   pictures which both possess and deserve a high reputation.\n\n   12. _Venice enthroned_, by Paul Veronese; on the roof of the same\n   room. One of the grandest pieces of frank color in the Ducal Palace.\n\n   13. _Venice, and the Doge Sebastian Venier_; at the upper end of the\n   Sala del Collegio. An unrivalled Paul Veronese, far finer even than\n   the \"Europa.\"\n\n   14. _Marriage of St. Catherine_, by Tintoret; in the same room. An\n   inferior picture, but the figure of St. Catherine is quite exquisite.\n   Note how her veil falls over her form, showing the sky through it, as\n   an alpine cascade falls over a marble rock.\n\n   There are three other Tintorets on the walls of this room, but all\n   inferior, though full of power. Note especially the painting of the\n   lion's wings, and of the colored carpet, in the one nearest the\n   throne, the Doge Alvise Mocenigo adoring the Redeemer.\n\n   The roof is entirely by Paul Veronese, and the traveller who really\n   loves painting, ought to get leave to come to this room whenever he\n   chooses; and should pass the sunny summer mornings there again and\n   again, wandering now and then into the Anti-Collegio and Sala dei\n   Pregadi, and coming back to rest under the wings of the couched lion\n   at the feet of the \"Mocenigo.\" He will no otherwise enter so deeply\n   into the heart of Venice.\n\n\n    E\n\n EMO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. Of no interest.\n\n ERIZZO, PALAZZO, near the Arsenal, II. 262.\n\n ERIZZO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, nearly opposite the Fondaco\n   de'Turchi. A Gothic palace, with a single range of windows founded on\n   the Ducal traceries, and bold capitals. It has been above referred to\n   in the notice of tracery bars.\n\n EUFEMIA, CHURCH OF ST. A small and defaced, but very curious, early\n   Gothic church on the Giudecca. Not worth visiting, unless the\n   traveller is seriously interested in architecture.\n\n EUROPA, ALBERGO, ALL'. Once a Giustiniani Palace. Good Gothic, circa\n   1400, but much altered.\n\n EVANGELISTI, CASA DEGLI, II. 265.\n\n [Illustration: Plate XII.\n                CAPITALS OF FONDACO DE' TURCHI.]\n\n\n    F\n\n FACANON, PALAZZO (ALLA FAVA). A fair example of the fifteenth century\n   Gothic, founded on Ducal Palace.\n\n FALIER, PALAZZO, at the Apostoli. Above, II. 253.\n\n FANTINO, CHURCH OF ST. Said to contain a John Bellini, otherwise of no\n   importance.\n\n FARSETTI, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, II. 124, 393.\n\n FAVA, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n FELICE, CHURCH OF ST. Said to contain a Tintoret, which, if untouched,\n   I should conjecture, from Lazari's statement of its subject, St.\n   Demetrius armed, with one of the Ghisi family in prayer, must be very\n   fine. Otherwise the church is of no importance.\n\n FERRO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. Fifteenth century Gothic, very\n   hard and bad.\n\n FLANGINI, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.\n\n FONDACO DE' TURCHI, I. 328; II. 120, 121, 236. The opposite plate,\n   representing three of its capitals, has been several times referred\n   to.\n\n FONDACO DE' TEDESCHI. A huge and ugly building near the Rialto,\n   rendered, however, peculiarly interesting by remnants of the frescoes\n   by Giorgione with which it was once covered. See Vol. II. 80, and III.\n   23.\n\n FORMOSA, CHURCH OF SANTA MARIA, III. 113, 122,\n\n FOSCA, CHURCH OF ST. Notable for its exceedingly picturesque\n   campanile, of late Gothic, but uninjured by restorations, and\n   peculiarly Venetian in being crowned by the cupola instead of the\n   pyramid, which would have been employed at the same period in any\n   other Italian city.\n\n FOSCARI, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. The noblest example in Venice of\n   the fifteenth century Gothic, founded on the Ducal Palace, but lately\n   restored and spoiled, all but the stone-work of the main windows. The\n   restoration was necessary, however: for, when I was in Venice in 1845,\n   this palace was a foul ruin; its great hall a mass of mud, used as a\n   back receptacle of a stone-mason's yard; and its rooms whitewashed,\n   and scribbled over with indecent caricatures. It has since been\n   partially strengthened and put in order; but as the Venetian\n   municipality have now given it to the Austrians to be used as\n   barracks, it will probably soon be reduced to its former condition.\n   The lower palaces at the side of this building are said by some to\n   have belonged to the younger Foscari. See \"GIUSTINIANI.\"\n\n FRANCESCO DELLA VIGNA, CHURCH OF ST. Base Renaissance, but must be\n   visited in order to see the John Bellini in the Cappella Santa. The\n   late sculpture, in the Cappella Giustiniani, appears from Lazari's\n   statement to be deserving of careful study. This church is said also\n   to contain two pictures by Paul Veronese.\n\n FRARI, CHURCH OF THE. Founded in 1250, and continued at various\n   subsequent periods. The apse and adjoining chapels are the earliest\n   portions, and their traceries have been above noticed (II. 234) as the\n   origin of those of the Ducal Palace. The best view of the apse, which\n   is a very noble example of Italian Gothic, is from the door of the\n   Scuola di San Rocco. The doors of the church are all later than any\n   other portion of it, very elaborate Renaissance Gothic. The interior\n   is good Gothic, but not interesting, except in its monuments. Of\n   these, the following are noticed in the text of this volume:\n\n   That of Duccio degli Alberti, at pages 74, 80; of the unknown Knight,\n   opposite that of Duccio, III. 74; of Francesco Foscari, III. 84; of\n   Giovanni Pesaro, 91; of Jacopo Pesaro, 92.\n\n   Besides these tombs, the traveller ought to notice carefully that of\n   Pietro Bernardo, a first-rate example of Renaissance work; nothing can\n   be more detestable or mindless in general design, or more beautiful in\n   execution. Examine especially the griffins, fixed in admiration of\n   bouquets, at the bottom. The fruit and flowers which arrest the\n   attention of the griffins may well arrest the traveller's also;\n   nothing can be finer of their kind. The tomb of Canova, _by_ Canova,\n   cannot be missed; consummate in science, intolerable in affectation,\n   ridiculous in conception, null and void to the uttermost in invention\n   and feeling. The equestrian statue of Paolo Savelli is spirited; the\n   monument of the Beato Pacifico, a curious example of Renaissance\n   Gothic with wild crockets (all in terra cotta). There are several good\n   Vivarini's in the church, but its chief pictorial treasure is the John\n   Bellini in the sacristy, the most finished and delicate example of the\n   master in Venice.\n\n\n    G\n\n GEREMIA, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n GESUATI, CHURCH OF THE. Of no importance.\n\n GIACOMO DE LORIO, CHURCH OF ST., a most interesting church, of the early\n   thirteenth century, but grievously restored. Its capitals have been\n   already noticed as characteristic of the earliest Gothic; and it is\n   said to contain four works of Paul Veronese, but I have not examined\n   them. The pulpit is admired by the Italians, but is utterly worthless.\n   The verdantique pillar, in the south transept, is a very noble example\n   of the \"Jewel Shaft.\" See the note at p. 83, Vol. II.\n\n GIACOMO DI RIALTO, CHURCH OF ST. A picturesque little church, on the\n   Piazza di Rialto. It has been grievously restored, but the pillars and\n   capitals of its nave are certainly of the eleventh century; those of\n   its portico are of good central Gothic; and it will surely not be left\n   unvisited, on this ground, if on no other, that it stands on the site,\n   and still retains the name, of the first church ever built on that\n   Rialto which formed the nucleus of future Venice, and became\n   afterwards the mart of her merchants.\n\n GIOBBE, CHURCH OF ST., near the Cana Reggio. Its principal entrance is\n   a very fine example of early Renaissance sculpture. Note in it,\n   especially, its beautiful use of the flower of the convolvulus. There\n   are said to be still more beautiful examples of the same period, in\n   the interior. The cloister, though much defaced, is of the Gothic\n   period, and worth a glance.\n\n GIORGIO DE' GRECI, CHURCH OF ST. The Greek Church. It contains no\n   valuable objects of art, but its service is worth attending by those\n   who have never seen the Greek ritual.\n\n GIORGIO DE' SCHIAVONI, CHURCH OF ST. Said to contain a very precious\n   series of paintings by Victor Carpaccio. Otherwise of no interest.\n\n GIORGIO IN ALIGA (St. George in the seaweed), Church of St. Unimportant\n   in itself, but the most beautiful view of Venice at sunset is from a\n   point at about two thirds of the distance from the city to the island.\n\n GIORGIO MAGGIORE, CHURCH OF ST. A building which owes its interesting\n   effect chiefly to its isolated position, being seen over a great space\n   of lagoon. The traveller should especially notice in its fa\u00e7ade the\n   manner in which the central Renaissance architects (of whose style\n   this church is a renowned example) endeavored to fit the laws they had\n   established to the requirements of their age. Churches were required\n   with aisles and clerestories, that is to say, with a high central nave\n   and lower wings; and the question was, how to face this form with\n   pillars of one proportion. The noble Romanesque architects built story\n   above story, as at Pisa and Lucca; but the base Palladian architects\n   dared not do this. They must needs retain some image of the Greek\n   temple; but the Greek temple was all of one height, a low gable roof\n   being borne on ranges of equal pillars. So the Palladian builders\n   raised first a Greek temple with pilasters for shafts; and, _through\n   the middle of its roof, or horizontal beam_, that is to say, of the\n   cornice which externally represented this beam, they lifted another\n   temple on pedestals, adding these barbarous appendages to the shafts,\n   which otherwise would not have been high enough; fragments of the\n   divided cornice or tie-beam being left between the shafts, and the\n   great door of the church thrust in between the pedestals. It is\n   impossible to conceive a design more gross, more barbarous, more\n   childish in conception, more servile in plagiarism, more insipid in\n   result, more contemptible under every point of rational regard.\n\n   Observe, also, that when Palladio had got his pediment at the top of\n   the church, he did not know what to do with it; he had no idea of\n   decorating it except by a round hole in the middle. (The traveller\n   should compare, both in construction and decoration, the Church of the\n   Redentore with this of San Giorgio.) Now, a dark penetration is often\n   a most precious assistance to a building dependent upon color for its\n   effect; for a cavity is the only means in the architect's power of\n   obtaining certain and vigorous shadow; and for this purpose, a\n   circular penetration, surrounded by a deep russet marble moulding, is\n   beautifully used in the centre of the white field on the side of the\n   portico of St. Mark's. But Palladio had given up color, and pierced\n   his pediment with a circular cavity, merely because he had not wit\n   enough to fill it with sculpture. The interior of the church is like a\n   large assembly room, and would have been undeserving of a moment's\n   attention, but that it contains some most precious pictures, namely:\n\n   1. _Gathering the Manna._ (On the left hand of the high altar.) One of\n   Tintoret's most remarkable landscapes. A brook flowing through a\n   mountainous country, studded with thickets and palm trees; the\n   congregation have been long in the Wilderness, and are employed in\n   various manufactures much more than in gathering the manna. One group\n   is forging, another grinding manna in a mill, another making shoes,\n   one woman making a piece of dress, some washing; the main purpose of\n   Tintoret being evidently to indicate the _continuity_ of the supply of\n   heavenly food. Another painter would have made the congregation\n   hurrying to gather it, and wondering at it; Tintoret at once makes us\n   remember that they have been fed with it \"by the space of forty\n   years.\" It is a large picture, full of interest and power, but\n   scattered in effect, and not striking except from its elaborate\n   landscape.\n\n   2. _The Last Supper._ (Opposite the former.) These two pictures have\n   been painted for their places, the subjects being illustrative of the\n   sacrifice of the mass. This latter is remarkable for its entire\n   homeliness in the general treatment of the subject; the entertainment\n   being represented like any large supper in a second-rate Italian inn,\n   the figures being all comparatively uninteresting; but we are reminded\n   that the subject is a sacred one, not only by the strong light shining\n   from the head of Christ, but because the smoke of the lamp which hangs\n   over the table turns, as it rises, into a multitude of angels, all\n   painted in grey, the color of the smoke; and so writhed and twisted\n   together that the eye hardly at first distinguishes them from the\n   vapor out of which they are formed, ghosts of countenances and filmy\n   wings filling up the intervals between the completed heads. The idea\n   is highly characteristic of the master. The picture has been\n   grievously injured, but still shows miracles of skill in the\n   expression of candle-light mixed with twilight; variously reflected\n   rays, and half tones of the dimly lighted chamber, mingled with the\n   beams of the lantern and those from the head of Christ, flashing along\n   the metal and glass upon the table, and under it along the floor, and\n   dying away into the recesses of the room.\n\n   3. _Martyrdom of various Saints._ (Altar piece of the third altar in\n   the South aisle.) A moderately sized picture, and now a very\n   disagreeable one, owing to the violent red into which the color that\n   formed the glory of the angel at the top is changed. It has been\n   hastily painted, and only shows the artist's power in the energy of\n   the figure of an executioner drawing a bow, and in the magnificent\n   ease with which the other figures are thrown together in all manner of\n   wild groups and defiances of probability. Stones and arrows are flying\n   about in the air at random.\n\n   4. _Coronation of the Virgin._ (Fourth altar in the same aisle.)\n   Painted more for the sake of the portraits at the bottom, than of the\n   Virgin at the top. A good picture, but somewhat tame for Tintoret, and\n   much injured. The principal figure, in black, is still, however, very\n   fine.\n\n   5. _Resurrection of Christ._ (At the end of the north aisle, in the\n   chapel beside the choir.) Another picture painted chiefly for the sake\n   of the included portraits, and remarkably cold in general conception;\n   its color has, however, been gay and delicate, lilac, yellow, and blue\n   being largely used in it. The flag which our Saviour bears in his\n   hand, has been once as bright as the sail of a Venetian fishing-boat,\n   but the colors are now all chilled, and the picture is rather crude\n   than brilliant; a mere wreck of what it was, and all covered with\n   droppings of wax at the bottom.\n\n   6. _Martyrdom of St. Stephen._ (Altar piece in the north transept.)\n   The Saint is in a rich prelate's dress, looking as if he had just been\n   saying mass, kneeling in the foreground, and perfectly serene. The\n   stones are flying about him like hail, and the ground is covered with\n   them as thickly as if it were a river bed. But in the midst of them,\n   at the saint's right hand, there is a book lying, crushed but open,\n   two or three stones which have torn one of its leaves lying upon it.\n   The freedom and ease with which the leaf is crumpled is just as\n   characteristic of the master as any of the grander features; no one\n   but Tintoret could have so crushed a leaf; but the idea is still more\n   characteristic of him, for the book is evidently meant for the Mosaic\n   History which Stephen had just been expounding, and its being crushed\n   by the stones shows how the blind rage of the Jews was violating their\n   own law in the murder of Stephen. In the upper part of the picture are\n   three figures,--Christ, the Father, and St. Michael. Christ of course\n   at the right hand of the Father, as Stephen saw him standing; but\n   there is little dignity in this part of the conception. In the middle\n   of the picture, which is also the middle distance, are three or four\n   men throwing stones, with Tintoret's usual vigor of gesture, and\n   behind them an immense and confused crowd; so that, at first, we\n   wonder where St. Paul is; but presently we observe that, in the front\n   of this crowd, and _almost exactly in the centre of the picture_,\n   there is a figure seated on the ground, very noble and quiet, and with\n   some loose garments thrown across its knees. It is dressed in vigorous\n   black and red. The figure of the Father in the sky above is dressed in\n   black and red also, and these two figures are the centres of color to\n   the whole design. It is almost impossible to praise too highly the\n   refinement of conception which withdrew the unconverted St. Paul into\n   the distance, so as entirely to separate him from the immediate\n   interest of the scene, and yet marked the dignity to which he was\n   afterward to be raised, by investing him with the colors which\n   occurred nowhere else in the picture except in the dress which veils\n   the form of the Godhead. It is also to be noted as an interesting\n   example of the value which the painter put upon color only; another\n   composer would have thought it necessary to exalt the future apostle\n   by some peculiar dignity of action or expression. The posture of the\n   figure is indeed grand, but inconspicuous; Tintoret does not depend\n   upon it, and thinks that the figure is quite ennobled enough by being\n   made a key-note of color.\n\n   It is also worth observing how boldly imaginative is the treatment\n   which covers the ground with piles of stones, and yet leaves the\n   martyr apparently unwounded. Another painter would have covered him\n   with blood, and elaborated the expression of pain upon his\n   countenance. Tintoret leaves us under no doubt as to what manner of\n   death he is dying; he makes the air hurtle with the stones, but he\n   does not choose to make his picture disgusting, or even painful. The\n   face of the martyr is serene, and exulting; and we leave the picture,\n   remembering only how \"he fell asleep.\"\n\n GIOVANELLI, PALAZZO, at the Ponte di Noale. A fine example of\n   fifteenth century Gothic, founded on the Ducal Palace.\n\n GIOVANNI E PAOLO, CHURCH OF ST.[72] Foundation of, III. 69. An\n   impressive church, though none of its Gothic is comparable with that\n   of the North, or with that of Verona. The Western door is interesting\n   as one of the last conditions of Gothic design passing into\n   Renaissance, very rich and beautiful of its kind, especially the\n   wreath of fruit and flowers which forms its principal molding. The\n   statue of Bartolomeo Colleone, in the little square beside the church,\n   is certainly one of the noblest works in Italy. I have never seen\n   anything approaching it in animation, in vigor of portraiture, or\n   nobleness of line. The reader will need Lazari's Guide in making the\n   circuit of the church, which is full of interesting monuments: but I\n   wish especially to direct his attention to two pictures, besides the\n   celebrated Peter Martyr: namely,\n\n   1. _The Crucifixion_, by Tintoret; on the wall of the left-hand aisle,\n   just before turning into the transept. A picture fifteen feet long by\n   eleven or twelve high. I do not believe that either the \"Miracle of\n   St. Mark,\" or the great \"Crucifixion\" in the Scuola di San Rocco, cost\n   Tintoret more pains than this comparatively small work, which is now\n   utterly neglected, covered with filth and cobwebs, and fearfully\n   injured. As a piece of color, and light and shade, it is altogether\n   marvellous. Of all the fifty figures which the picture contains, there\n   is not one which in any way injures or contends with another; nay,\n   there is not a single fold of garment or touch of the pencil which\n   could be spared; every virtue of Tintoret, as a painter, is there in\n   its highest degree,--color at once the most intense and the most\n   delicate, the utmost decision in the arrangement of masses of light,\n   and yet half tones and modulations of endless variety; and all\n   executed with a magnificence of handling which no words are energetic\n   enough to describe. I have hardly ever seen a picture in which there\n   was so much decision, and so little impetuosity, and in which so\n   little was conceded to haste, to accident, or to weakness. It is too\n   infinite a work to be describable; but among its minor passages of\n   extreme beauty, should especially be noticed the manner in which the\n   accumulated forms of the human body, which fill the picture from end\n   to end, are prevented from being felt heavy, by the grace and\n   elasticity of two or three sprays of leafage which spring from a\n   broken root in the foreground, and rise conspicuous in shadow against\n   an interstice filled by the pale blue, grey, and golden light in which\n   the distant crowd is invested, the office of this foliage being, in an\n   artistical point of view, correspondent to that of the trees set by\n   the sculptors of the Ducal Palace on its angles. But they have a far\n   more important meaning in the picture than any artistical one. If the\n   spectator will look carefully at the root which I have called broken,\n   he will find that in reality, it is not broken, but cut; the other\n   branches of the young tree having _lately been cut away_. When we\n   remember that one of the principal incidents in great San Rocco\n   Crucifixion is the ass feeding on withered palm leaves, we shall be at\n   no loss to understand the great painter's purpose in lifting the\n   branch of this mutilated olive against the dim light of the distant\n   sky; while, close beside it, St. Joseph of Arimathea drags along the\n   dust a white garment--observe, the principal light of the\n   picture,--stained with the blood of that King before whom, five days\n   before, his crucifiers had strewn their own garments in the way.\n\n   2. _Our Lady with the Camerlenghi._ (In the centre chapel of the three\n   on the right of the choir.) A remarkable instance of the theoretical\n   manner of representing Scriptural facts, which, at this time, as noted\n   in the second chapter of this volume, was undermining the belief of\n   the facts themselves. Three Venetian chamberlains desired to have\n   their portraits painted, and at the same time to express their\n   devotion to the Madonna; to that end they are painted kneeling before\n   her, and in order to account for their all three being together, and\n   to give a thread or clue to the story of the picture, they are\n   represented as the Three Magi; but lest the spectator should think it\n   strange that the Magi should be in the dress of Venetian chamberlains,\n   the scene is marked as a mere ideality, by surrounding the person of\n   the Virgin with saints who lived five hundred years after her. She has\n   for attendants St. Theodore, St. Sebastian, and St. Carlo (query St.\n   Joseph). One hardly knows whether most to regret the spirit which was\n   losing sight of the verities of religious history in imaginative\n   abstractions, or to praise the modesty and piety which desired rather\n   to be represented as kneeling before the Virgin than in the discharge\n   or among the insignia of important offices of state.\n\n   As an \"Adoration of the Magi,\" the picture is, of course, sufficiently\n   absurd: the St. Sebastian leans back in the corner to be out of the\n   way; the three Magi kneel, without the slightest appearance of\n   emotion, to a Madonna seated in a Venetian loggia of the fifteenth\n   century, and three Venetian servants behind bear their offerings in a\n   very homely sack, tied up at the mouth. As a piece of portraiture and\n   artistical composition, the work is altogether perfect, perhaps the\n   best piece of Tintoret's portrait-painting in existence. It is very\n   carefully and steadily wrought, and arranged with consummate skill on\n   a difficult plan. The canvas is a long oblong, I think about eighteen\n   or twenty feet long, by about seven high; one might almost fancy the\n   painter had been puzzled to bring the piece into use, the figures\n   being all thrown into positions which a little diminish their height.\n   The nearest chamberlain is kneeling, the two behind him bowing\n   themselves slightly, the attendants behind bowing lower, the Madonna\n   sitting, the St. Theodore sitting still lower on the steps at her\n   feet, and the St. Sebastian leaning back, so that all the lines of the\n   picture incline more or less from right to left as they ascend. This\n   slope, which gives unity to the detached groups, is carefully\n   exhibited by what a mathematician would call coordinates,--the upright\n   pillars of the loggia and the horizontal clouds of the beautiful sky.\n   The color is very quiet, but rich and deep, the local tones being\n   brought out with intense force, and the cast shadows subdued, the\n   manner being much more that of Titian than of Tintoret. The sky\n   appears full of light, though it is as dark as the flesh of the faces;\n   and the forms of its floating clouds, as well as of the hills over\n   which they rise, are drawn with a deep remembrance of reality. There\n   are hundreds of pictures of Tintoret's more amazing than this, but I\n   hardly know one that I more love.\n\n   The reader ought especially to study the sculpture round the altar of\n   the Capella del Rosario, as an example of the abuse of the sculptor's\n   art; every accessory being labored out with as much ingenuity and\n   intense effort to turn sculpture into painting, the grass, trees, and\n   landscape being as far realized as possible, and in alto-relievo.\n   These bas-reliefs are by various artists, and therefore exhibit the\n   folly of the age, not the error of an individual.\n\n   The following alphabetical list of the tombs in this church which are\n   alluded to as described in the text, with references to the pages\n   where they are mentioned, will save some trouble:\n\n     Cavalli, Jacopo, III. 82.    |  Mocenigo, Pietro, III. 89.\n     Cornaro, Marco, III. 11.     |  Mocenigo, Tomaso, I. 8, 26, III. 84.\n     Dolfin, Giovanni, III. 78.   |  Morosini, Michele, III. 80.\n     Giustiniani, Marco, I. 315.  |  Steno, Michele, III. 83.\n     Mocenigo, Giovanni, III. 89. |  Vendramin, Andrea, I. 27, III. 88.\n\n GIOVANNI GRISOSTOMO, CHURCH OF ST. One of the most important in\n   Venice. It is early Renaissance, containing some good sculpture, but\n   chiefly notable as containing a noble Sebastian del Piombo, and a John\n   Bellini, which a few years hence, unless it be \"restored,\" will be\n   esteemed one of the most precious pictures in Italy, and among the\n   most perfect in the world. John Bellini is the only artist who appears\n   to me to have united, in equal and magnificent measures, justness of\n   drawing, nobleness of coloring, and perfect manliness of treatment,\n   with the purest religious feeling. He did, as far as it is possible to\n   do it, instinctively and unaffectedly, what the Caracci only pretended\n   to do. Titian colors better, but has not his piety. Leonardo draws\n   better, but has not his color. Angelico is more heavenly, but has not\n   his manliness, far less his powers of art.\n\n GIOVANNI ELEMOSINARIO, CHURCH OF ST. Said to contain a Titian and a\n   Bonifazio. Of no other interest.\n\n GIOVANNI IN BRAGOLA, CHURCH OF ST. A Gothic church of the fourteenth\n   century, small, but interesting, and said to contain some precious\n   works by Cima da Conegliano, and one by John Bellini.\n\n GIOVANNI NOVO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n GIOVANNI, S., SCUOLA DI. A fine example of the Byzantine Renaissance,\n   mixed with remnants of good late Gothic. The little exterior cortile\n   is sweet in feeling, and Lazari praises highly the work of the\n   interior staircase.\n\n GIUDECCA. The crescent-shaped island (or series of islands), which\n   forms the most northern extremity of the city of Venice, though\n   separated by a broad channel from the main city. Commonly said to\n   derive its name from the number of Jews who lived upon it; but Lazari\n   derives it from the word \"Judicato,\" in Venetian dialect \"Zudeg\u00e0,\" it\n   having been in old time \"adjudged\" as a kind of prison territory to\n   the more dangerous and turbulent citizens. It is now inhabited only by\n   the poor, and covered by desolate groups of miserable dwellings,\n   divided by stagnant canals.\n\n   Its two principal churches, the Redentore and St. Eufemia, are named\n   in their alphabetical order.\n\n GIULIANO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n GIUSEPPE DI CASTELLO, CHURCH OF ST. Said to contain a Paul Veronese:\n   otherwise of no importance.\n\n GIUSTINA, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n GIUSTINIANI PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, now Albergo all' Europa. Good\n   late fourteenth century Gothic, but much altered.\n\n GIUSTINIANI, PALAZZO, next the Casa Foscari, on the Grand Canal.\n   Lazari, I know not on what authority, says that this palace was built\n   by the Giustiniani family before 1428. It is one of those founded\n   directly on the Ducal Palace, together with the Casa Foscari at its\n   side: and there could have been no doubt of their date on this ground;\n   but it would be interesting, after what we have seen of the progress\n   of the Ducal Palace, to ascertain the exact year of the erection of\n   any of these imitations.\n\n   This palace contains some unusually rich detached windows, full of\n   tracery, of which the profiles are given in the Appendix, under the\n   title of the Palace of the Younger Foscari, it being popularly\n   reported to have belonged to the son of the Doge.\n\n GIUSTINIAN LOLIN, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.\n\n GRASSI PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, now Albergo all' Imperator d'\n   Austria. Of no importance.\n\n GREGORIO, CHURCH OF ST., on the Grand Canal. An important church of\n   the fourteenth century, now desecrated, but still interesting. Its\n   apse is on the little canal crossing from the Grand Canal to the\n   Giudecca, beside the Church of the Salute, and is very characteristic\n   of the rude ecclesiastical Gothic contemporary with the Ducal Palace.\n   The entrance to its cloisters, from the Grand Canal, is somewhat\n   later; a noble square door, with two windows on each side of it, the\n   grandest examples in Venice of the late window of the fourth order.\n\n   The cloister, to which this door gives entrance, is exactly\n   contemporary with the finest work of the Ducal Palace, circa 1350. It\n   is the loveliest cortile I know in Venice; its capitals consummate in\n   design and execution; and the low wall on which they stand showing\n   remnants of sculpture unique, as far as I know, in such application.\n\n GRIMANI, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, III. 32.\n\n   There are several other palaces in Venice belonging to this family,\n   but none of any architectural interest.\n\n\n    J\n\n JESUITI, CHURCH OF THE. The basest Renaissance; but worth a visit in\n   order to examine the imitations of curtains in white marble inlaid\n   with green.\n\n   It contains a Tintoret, \"The Assumption,\" which I have not examined;\n   and a Titian, \"The Martyrdom of St. Lawrence,\" originally, it seems to\n   me, of little value, and now, having been restored, of none.\n\n\n    L\n\n LABIA PALAZZO, on the Canna Reggio. Of no importance.\n\n LAZZARO DE' MENDICANTI, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n LIBRERIA VECCHIA. A graceful building of the central Renaissance,\n   designed by Sansovino, 1536, and much admired by all architects of the\n   school. It was continued by Scamozzi, down the whole side of St.\n   Mark's Place, adding another story above it, which modern critics\n   blame as destroying the \"eurithmia;\" never considering that had the\n   two low stories of the Library been continued along the entire length\n   of the Piazza, they would have looked so low that the entire dignity\n   of the square would have been lost. As it is, the Library is left in\n   its originally good proportions, and the larger mass of the Procuratie\n   Nuove forms a more majestic, though less graceful, side for the great\n   square.\n\n   But the real faults of the building are not in its number of stories,\n   but in the design of the parts. It is one of the grossest examples of\n   the base Renaissance habit of turning _keystones_ into _brackets_,\n   throwing them out in bold projection (not less than a foot and a half)\n   beyond the mouldings of the arch; a practice utterly barbarous,\n   inasmuch as it evidently tends to dislocate the entire arch, if any\n   real weight were laid on the extremity of the keystone; and it is also\n   a very characteristic example of the vulgar and painful mode of\n   filling spandrils by naked figures in alto-relievo, leaning against\n   the arch on each side, and appearing as if they were continually in\n   danger of slipping off. Many of these figures have, however, some\n   merit in themselves; and the whole building is graceful and effective\n   of its kind. The continuation of the Procuratie Nuove, at the western\n   extremity of St. Mark's Place (together with various apartments in the\n   great line of the Procuratie Nuove) forms the \"Royal Palace,\" the\n   residence of the Emperor when at Venice. This building is entirely\n   modern, built in 1810, in imitation of the Procuratie Nuove, and on\n   the site of Sansovino's Church of San Geminiano.\n\n   In this range of buildings, including the Royal Palace, the Procuratie\n   Nuove, the old Library, and the \"Zecca\" which is connected with them\n   (the latter being an ugly building of very modern date, not worth\n   notice architecturally), there are many most valuable pictures, among\n   which I would especially direct attention, first to those in the\n   Zecca, namely, a beautiful and strange Madonna, by Benedetto Diana;\n   two noble Bonifazios; and two groups, by Tintoret, of the Provveditori\n   della Zecca, by no means to be missed, whatever may be sacrificed to\n   see them, on account of the quietness and veracity of their unaffected\n   portraiture, and the absolute freedom from all vanity either in the\n   painter or in his subjects.\n\n   Next, in the \"Antisala\" of the old Library, observe the \"Sapienza\" of\n   Titian, in the centre of the ceiling; a most interesting work in the\n   light brilliancy of its color, and the resemblance to Paul Veronese.\n   Then, in the great hall of the old Library, examine the two large\n   Tintorets, \"St. Mark saving a Saracen from Drowning,\" and the\n   \"Stealing of his Body from Constantinople,\" both rude, but great (note\n   in the latter the dashing of the rain on the pavement, and running of\n   the water about the feet of the figures): then in the narrow spaces\n   between the windows, there are some magnificent single figures by\n   Tintoret, among the finest things of the kind in Italy, or in Europe.\n   Finally, in the gallery of pictures in the Palazzo Reale, among other\n   good works of various kinds, are two of the most interesting\n   Bonifazios in Venice, the \"Children of Israel in their journeyings,\"\n   in one of which, if I recollect right, the quails are coming in flight\n   across a sunset sky, forming one of the earliest instances I know of a\n   thoroughly natural and Turneresque effect being felt and rendered by\n   the old masters. The picture struck me chiefly from this circumstance;\n   but, the note-book in which I had described it and its companion\n   having been lost on my way home, I cannot now give a more special\n   account of them, except that they are long, full of crowded figures,\n   and peculiarly light in color and handling as compared with\n   Bonifazio's work in general.\n\n LIO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance, but said to contain a spoiled\n   Titian.\n\n LIO, SALIZZADA DI ST., windows in, II. 252, 257.\n\n LOREDAN, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, near the Rialto, II. 123, 393.\n   Another palace of this name, on the Campo St. Stefano, is of no\n   importance.\n\n LORENZO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n LUCA, CHURCH OF ST. Its campanile is of very interesting and quaint\n   early Gothic, and it is said to contain a Paul Veronese, \"St Luke and\n   the Virgin.\" In the little Campiello St. Luca, close by, is a very\n   precious Gothic door, rich in brickwork, of the thirteenth century;\n   and in the foundations of the houses on the same side of the square,\n   but at the other end of it, are traceable some shafts and arches\n   closely resembling the work of the Cathedral of Murano, and evidently\n   having once belonged to some most interesting building.\n\n LUCIA, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n\n    M\n\n MADDALENA, CHURCH OF STA. MARIA. Of no importance.\n\n MALIPIERO, PALAZZO, on the Campo St. M. Formosa, facing the canal at its\n   extremity. A very beautiful example of the Byzantine Renaissance. Note\n   the management of color in its inlaid balconies.\n\n MANFRINI, PALAZZO. The architecture is of no interest; and as it is in\n   contemplation to allow the collection of pictures to be sold, I shall\n   take no note of them. But even if they should remain, there are few of\n   the churches in Venice where the traveller had not better spend his\n   time than in this gallery; as, with the exception of Titian's\n   \"Entombment,\" one or two Giorgiones, and the little John Bellini (St.\n   Jerome), the pictures are all of a kind which may be seen elsewhere.\n\n MANGILI VALMARANA, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.\n\n MANIN, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.\n\n MANZONI, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, near the Church of the Carit\u00e0. A\n   perfect and very rich example of Byzantine Renaissance: its warm\n   yellow marbles are magnificent.\n\n MARCILIAN, CHURCH OF ST. Said to contain a Titian, \"Tobit and the\n   Angel:\" otherwise of no importance.\n\n MARIA, CHURCHES OF STA. See FORMOSA, MATER DOMINI, MIRACOLI, ORTO,\n   SALUTE, and ZOBENIGO.\n\n MARCO, SCUOLA DI SAN, III. 16.\n\n MARK, CHURCH OF ST., history of, II. 57; approach to, II. 71; general\n   teaching of, II. 112, 116; measures of fa\u00e7ade of, II. 126; balustrades\n   of, II. 244, 247; cornices of, I. 311; horseshoe arches of, II. 249;\n   entrances of, II. 271, III. 245; shafts of, II. 384; base in\n   baptistery of, I. 290; mosaics in atrium of, II. 112; mosaics in\n   cupola of, II. 114, III. 192; lily capitals of, II. 137; Plates\n   illustrative of (Vol. II.), VI. VII. figs. 9, 10, 11, VIII. figs. 8,\n   9, 12, 13, 15, IX. XI. fig. 1, and Plate III. Vol. III.\n\n MARK, SQUARE OF ST. (Piazza di San Marco), anciently a garden, II. 58;\n   general effect of, II. 66, 116; plan of, II. 282.\n\n MARTINO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n MATER DOMINI, CHURCH OF ST. MARIA. It contains two important pictures:\n   one over the second altar on the right, \"St. Christina,\" by Vincenzo\n   Catena, a very lovely example of the Venetian religious school; and,\n   over the north transept door, the \"Finding of the Cross,\" by Tintoret,\n   a carefully painted and attractive picture, but by no means a good\n   specimen of the master, as far as regards power of conception. He does\n   not seem to have entered into his subject. There is no wonder, no\n   rapture, no entire devotion in any of the figures. They are only\n   interested and pleased in a mild way; and the kneeling woman who hands\n   the nails to a man stooping forward to receive them on the right hand,\n   does so with the air of a person saying, \"You had better take care of\n   them; they may be wanted another time.\" This general coldness in\n   expression is much increased by the presence of several figures on the\n   right and left, introduced for the sake of portraiture merely; and\n   the reality, as well as the feeling, of the scene is destroyed by our\n   seeing one of the youngest and weakest of the women with a huge cross\n   lying across her knees, the whole weight of it resting upon her. As\n   might have been expected, where the conception is so languid, the\n   execution is little delighted in; it is throughout steady and\n   powerful, but in no place affectionate, and in no place impetuous. If\n   Tintoret had always painted in this way, he would have sunk into a\n   mere mechanist. It is, however, a genuine and tolerably well preserved\n   specimen, and its female figures are exceedingly graceful; that of St.\n   Helena very queenly, though by no means agreeable in feature. Among\n   the male portraits on the left there is one different from the usual\n   types which occur either in Venetian paintings or Venetian populace;\n   it is carefully painted, and more like a Scotch Presbyterian minister,\n   than a Greek. The background is chiefly composed of architecture,\n   white, remarkably uninteresting in color, and still more so in form.\n   This is to be noticed as one of the unfortunate results of the\n   Renaissance teaching at this period. Had Tintoret backed his Empress\n   Helena with Byzantine architecture, the picture might have been one of\n   the most gorgeous he ever painted.\n\n MATER DOMINI, CAMPO DI STA. MARIA, II. 261. A most interesting little\n   piazza, surrounded by early Gothic houses, once of singular beauty;\n   the arcade at its extremity, of fourth order windows, drawn in my\n   folio work, is one of the earliest and loveliest of its kind in\n   Venice; and in the houses at the side is a group of second order\n   windows with their intermediate crosses, all complete, and well worth\n   careful examination.\n\n MICHELE IN ISOLA, CHURCH OF ST. On the island between Venice and\n   Murano. The little Cappella Emiliana at the side of it has been much\n   admired, but it would be difficult to find a building more feelingless\n   or ridiculous. It is more like a German summer-house, or angle turret,\n   than a chapel, and may be briefly described as a bee-hive set on a low\n   hexagonal tower, with dashes of stone-work about its windows like the\n   flourishes of an idle penman.\n\n   The cloister of this church is pretty; and the attached cemetery is\n   worth entering, for the sake of feeling the strangeness of the quiet\n   sleeping ground in the midst of the sea.\n\n MICHIEL DALLE COLONNE, PALAZZO. Of no importance.\n\n MINELLI, PALAZZO. In the Corte del Maltese, at St. Paternian. It has a\n   spiral external staircase, very picturesque, but of the fifteenth\n   century and without merit.\n\n MIRACOLI, CHURCH OF STA. MARIA DEI. The most interesting and finished\n   example in Venice of the Byzantine Renaissance, and one of the most\n   important in Italy of the cinque-cento style. All its sculptures\n   should be examined with great care, as the best possible examples of a\n   bad style. Observe, for instance, that in spite of the beautiful work\n   on the square pillars which support the gallery at the west end, they\n   have no more architectural effect than two wooden posts. The same kind\n   of failure in boldness of purpose exists throughout; and the building\n   is, in fact, rather a small museum of unmeaning, though refined\n   sculpture, than a piece of architecture.\n\n   Its grotesques are admirable examples of the base Raphaelesque design\n   examined above, III. 136. Note especially the children's heads tied up\n   by the hair, in the lateral sculptures at the top of the altar steps.\n   A rude workman, who could hardly have carved the head at all, might\n   have allowed this or any other mode of expressing discontent with his\n   own doings; but the man who could carve a child's head so perfectly\n   must have been wanting in all human feeling, to cut it off, and tie it\n   by the hair to a vine leaf. Observe, in the Ducal Palace, though far\n   ruder in skill, the heads always _emerge_ from the leaves, they are\n   never _tied_ to them.\n\n MISERICORDIA, CHURCH OF. The church itself is nothing, and contains\n   nothing worth the traveller's time; but the Albergo de' Confratelli\n   della Misericordia at its side is a very interesting and beautiful\n   relic of the Gothic Renaissance. Lazari says, \"del secolo xiv.;\" but I\n   believe it to be later. Its traceries are very curious and rich, and\n   the sculpture of its capitals very fine for the late time. Close to\n   it, on the right-hand side of the canal which is crossed by the wooden\n   bridge, is one of the richest Gothic doors in Venice, remarkable for\n   the appearance of antiquity in the general design and stiffness of its\n   figures, though it bears its date 1505. Its extravagant crockets are\n   almost the only features which, but for this written date, would at\n   first have confessed its lateness; but, on examination, the figures\n   will be found as bad and spiritless as they are apparently archaic,\n   and completely exhibiting the Renaissance palsy of imagination.\n\n   The general effect is, however, excellent, the whole arrangement\n   having been borrowed from earlier work.\n\n   The action of the statue of the Madonna, who extends her robe to\n   shelter a group of diminutive figures, representative of the Society\n   for whose house the sculpture was executed, may be also seen in most\n   of the later Venetian figures of the Virgin which occupy similar\n   situations. The image of Christ is placed in a medallion on her\n   breast, thus fully, though conventionally, expressing the idea of\n   self-support which is so often partially indicated by the great\n   religious painters in their representations of the infant Jesus.\n\n MOIS\u00c8, CHURCH OF ST., III. 124. Notable as one of the basest examples\n   of the basest school of the Renaissance. It contains one important\n   picture, namely \"Christ washing the Disciples' Feet,\" by Tintoret; on\n   the left side of the chapel, north of the choir. This picture has been\n   originally dark, is now much faded--in parts, I believe, altogether\n   destroyed--and is hung in the worst light of a chapel, where, on a\n   sunny day at noon, one could not easily read without a candle. I\n   cannot, therefore, give much information respecting it; but it is\n   certainly one of the least successful of the painter's works, and both\n   careless and unsatisfactory in its composition as well as its color.\n   One circumstance is noticeable, as in a considerable degree detracting\n   from the interest of most of Tintoret's representations of our Saviour\n   with his disciples. He never loses sight of the fact that all were\n   poor, and the latter ignorant; and while he never paints a senator, or\n   a saint once thoroughly canonized, except as a gentleman, he is very\n   careful to paint the Apostles, in their living intercourse with the\n   Saviour, in such a manner that the spectator may see in an instant, as\n   the Pharisee did of old, that they were unlearned and ignorant men;\n   and, whenever we find them in a room, it is always such a one as would\n   be inhabited by the lower classes. There seems some violation of this\n   practice in the dais, or flight of steps, at the top of which the\n   Saviour is placed in the present picture; but we are quickly reminded\n   that the guests' chamber or upper room ready prepared was not likely\n   to have been in a palace, by the humble furniture upon the floor,\n   consisting of a tub with a copper saucepan in it, a coffee-pot, and a\n   pair of bellows, curiously associated with a symbolic cup with a\n   wafer, which, however, is in an injured part of the canvas, and may\n   have been added by the priests. I am totally unable to state what the\n   background of the picture is or has been; and the only point farther\n   to be noted about it is the solemnity, which, in spite of the familiar\n   and homely circumstances above noticed, the painter has given to the\n   scene, by placing the Saviour, in the act of washing the feet of\n   Peter, at the top of a circle of steps, on which the other Apostles\n   kneel in adoration and astonishment.\n\n MORO, PALAZZO. See OTHELLO.\n\n MOROSINI, PALAZZO, near the Ponte dell' Ospedaletto, at San Giovannie\n   Paolo. Outside it is not interesting, though the gateway shows remains\n   of brickwork of the thirteenth century. Its interior court is\n   singularly beautiful; the staircase of early fourteenth century Gothic\n   has originally been superb, and the window in the angle above is the\n   most perfect that I know in Venice of the kind; the lightly sculptured\n   coronet is exquisitely introduced at the top of its spiral shaft.\n\n   This palace still belongs to the Morosini family, to whose present\n   representative, the Count Carlo Morosini, the reader is indebted for\n   the note on the character of his ancestors, above, III. 213.\n\n MOROSINI, PALAZZO, at St. Stefano. Of no importance.\n\n\n    N\n\n NANI-MOCENIGO, PALAZZO. (Now Hotel Danieli.) A glorious example of the\n   central Gothic, nearly contemporary with the finest part of the Ducal\n   Palace. Though less impressive in effect than the Casa Foscari or Casa\n   Bernardo, it is of purer architecture than either: and quite unique in\n   the delicacy of the form of the cusps in the central group of windows,\n   which are shaped like broad scimitars, the upper foil of the windows\n   being very small. If the traveller will compare these windows with\n   the neighboring traceries of the Ducal Palace, he will easily perceive\n   the peculiarity.\n\n NICOLO DEL LIDO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n NOME DI GESU, CHURCH OF THE. Of no importance.\n\n\n    O\n\n ORFANI, CHURCH OF THE. Of no importance.\n\n ORTO, CHURCH OF STA. MARIA, DELL'. An interesting example of Renaissance\n   Gothic, the traceries of the windows being very rich and quaint.\n\n   It contains four most important Tintorets: \"The Last Judgment,\" \"The\n   Worship of the Golden Calf,\" \"The Presentation of the Virgin,\" and\n   \"Martyrdom of St. Agnes.\" The first two are among his largest and\n   mightiest works, but grievously injured by damp and neglect; and\n   unless the traveller is accustomed to decipher the thoughts in a\n   picture patiently, he need not hope to derive any pleasure from them.\n   But no pictures will better reward a resolute study. The following\n   account of the \"Last Judgment,\" given in the second volume of \"Modern\n   Painters,\" will be useful in enabling the traveller to enter into the\n   meaning of the picture, but its real power is only to be felt by\n   patient examination of it.\n\n   \"By Tintoret only has this unimaginable event (the Last Judgment) been\n   grappled with in its Verity; not typically nor symbolically, but as\n   they may see it who shall not sleep, but be changed. Only one\n   traditional circumstance he has received, with Dante and Michael\n   Angelo, the Boat of the Condemned; but the impetuosity of his mind\n   bursts out even in the adoption of this image; he has not stopped at\n   the scowling ferryman of the one, nor at the sweeping blow and demon\n   dragging of the other, but, seized Hylas like by the limbs, and\n   tearing up the earth in his agony, the victim is dashed into his\n   destruction; nor is it the sluggish Lethe, nor the fiery lake, that\n   bears the cursed vessel, but the oceans of the earth and the waters of\n   the firmament gathered into one white, ghastly cataract; the river of\n   the wrath of God, roaring down into the gulf where the world has\n   melted with its fervent heat, choked with the ruins of nations, and\n   the limbs of its corpses tossed out of its whirling, like\n   water-wheels. Bat-like, out of the holes and caverns and shadows of\n   the earth, the bones gather, and the clay heaps heave, rattling and\n   adhering into half-kneaded anatomies, that crawl, and startle, and\n   struggle up among the putrid weeds, with the clay clinging to their\n   clotted hair, and their heavy eyes sealed by the earth darkness yet,\n   like his of old who went his way unseeing to the Siloam Pool; shaking\n   off one by one the dreams of the prison-house, hardly hearing the\n   clangor of the trumpets of the armies of God, blinded yet more, as\n   they awake, by the white light of the new Heaven, until the great\n   vortex of the four winds bears up their bodies to the judgment seat;\n   the Firmament is all full of them, a very dust of human souls, that\n   drifts, and floats, and falls into the interminable, inevitable light;\n   the bright clouds are darkened with them as with thick snow, currents\n   of atom life in the arteries of heaven, now soaring up slowly, and\n   higher and higher still, till the eye and the thought can follow no\n   farther, borne up, wingless, by their inward faith and by the angel\n   powers invisible, now hurled in countless drifts of horror before the\n   breath of their condemnation.\"\n\n   Note in the opposite picture the way the clouds are wrapped about in\n   the distant Sinai.\n\n   The figure of the little Madonna in the \"Presentation\" should be\n   compared with Titian's in his picture of the same subject in the\n   Academy. I prefer Tintoret's infinitely: and note how much finer is\n   the feeling with which Tintoret has relieved the glory round her head\n   against the pure sky, than that which influenced Titian in encumbering\n   his distance with architecture.\n\n   The \"Martyrdom of St. Agnes\" _was_ a lovely picture. It has been\n   \"restored\" since I saw it.\n\n OSPEDALETTO, CHURCH OF THE. The most monstrous example of the\n   Grotesque Renaissance which there is in Venice; the sculptures on its\n   fa\u00e7ade representing masses of diseased figures and swollen fruit.\n\n   It is almost worth devoting an hour to the successive examination of\n   five buildings, as illustrative of the last degradation of the\n   Renaissance. San Mois\u00e8 is the most clumsy, Santa Maria Zobenigo the\n   most impious, St. Eustachio the most ridiculous, the Ospedaletto the\n   most monstrous, and the head at Santa Maria Formosa the most foul.\n\n OTHELLO, HOUSE OF, at the Carmini. The researches of Mr. Brown into\n   the origin of the play of \"Othello\" have, I think, determined that\n   Shakspeare wrote on definite historical grounds; and that Othello may\n   be in many points identified with Christopher Moro, the lieutenant of\n   the republic at Cyprus, in 1508. See \"Ragguagli su Maria Sanuto,\" i.\n   252.\n\n   His palace was standing till very lately, a Gothic building of the\n   fourteenth century, of which Mr. Brown possesses a drawing. It is now\n   destroyed, and a modern square-windowed house built on its site. A\n   statue, said to be a portrait of Moro, but a most paltry work, is set\n   in a niche in the modern wall.\n\n\n    P\n\n PANTALEONE, CHURCH OF ST. Said to contain a Paul Veronese; otherwise of\n   no importance.\n\n PATERNIAN, CHURCH OF ST. Its little leaning tower forms an interesting\n   object as the traveller sees it from the narrow canal which passes\n   beneath the Porte San Paternian. The two arched lights of the belfry\n   appear of very early workmanship, probably of the beginning of the\n   thirteenth century.\n\n PESARO PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. The most powerful and impressive\n   in effect of all the palaces of the Grotesque Renaissance. The heads\n   upon its foundation are very characteristic of the period, but there\n   is more genius in them than usual. Some of the mingled expressions of\n   faces and grinning casques are very clever.\n\n PIAZZETTA, pillars of, see Final Appendix under head \"Capital.\" The\n   two magnificent blocks of marble brought from St. Jean d'Acre, which\n   form one of the principal ornaments of the Piazzetta, are Greek\n   sculpture of the sixth century, and will be described in my folio\n   work.\n\n PIETA, CHURCH OF THE. Of no importance.\n\n PIETRO, CHURCH OF ST., at Murano. Its pictures, once valuable, are now\n   hardly worth examination, having been spoiled by neglect.\n\n PIETRO, DI CASTELLO, CHURCH OF ST., I. 7, 361. It is said to contain\n   a Paul Veronese, and I suppose the so-called \"Chair of St. Peter\" must\n   be worth examining.\n\n PISANI, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. The latest Venetian Gothic, just\n   passing into Renaissance. The capitals of the first floor windows are,\n   however, singularly spirited and graceful, very daringly under-cut,\n   and worth careful examination. The Paul Veronese, once the glory of\n   this palace, is, I believe, not likely to remain in Venice. The other\n   picture in the same room, the \"Death of Darius,\" is of no value.\n\n PISANI, PALAZZO, at St. Stefano. Late Renaissance, and of no merit,\n   but grand in its colossal proportions, especially when seen from the\n   narrow canal at its side, which terminated by the apse of the Church\n   of San Stefano, is one of the most picturesque and impressive little\n   pieces of water scenery in Venice.\n\n POLO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance, except as an example of the\n   advantages accruing from restoration. M. Lazari says of it, \"Before\n   this church was modernized, its principal chapel was adorned with\n   Mosaics, and possessed a pala of silver gilt, of Byzantine\n   workmanship, which is now lost.\"\n\n POLO, SQUARE OF ST. (Campo San Polo.) A large and important square,\n   rendered interesting chiefly by three palaces on the side of it\n   opposite the church, of central Gothic (1360), and fine of their time,\n   though small. One of their capitals has been given in Plate II. of\n   this volume, fig. 12. They are remarkable as being decorated with\n   sculptures of the Gothic time, in imitation of Byzantine ones; the\n   period being marked by the dog-tooth and cable being used instead of\n   the dentil round the circles.\n\n POLO, PALAZZO, at San G. Grisostomo (the house of Marco Polo), II. 139.\n   Its interior court is full of interest, showing fragments of the old\n   building in every direction, cornices, windows, and doors, of almost\n   every period, mingled among modern rebuilding and restoration of all\n   degrees of dignity.\n\n PORTA DELLA CARTA, II. 302.\n\n PRIULI, PALAZZO. A most important and beautiful early Gothic Palace,\n   at San Severo; the main entrance is from the Fundamento San Severo,\n   but the principal fa\u00e7ade is on the other side, towards the canal. The\n   entrance has been grievously defaced, having had winged lions filling\n   the spandrils of its pointed arch, of which only feeble traces are now\n   left, the fa\u00e7ade has very early fourth order windows in the lower\n   story, and above, the beautiful range of fifth order windows drawn at\n   the bottom of Plate XVIII. Vol. II., where the heads of the fourth\n   order range are also seen (note their inequality, the larger one at\n   the flank). This Palace has two most interesting traceried angle\n   windows also, which, however, I believe are later than those on the\n   fa\u00e7ade; and finally, a rich and bold interior staircase.\n\n   PROCURATIE NUOVE, see \"LIBRERIA\" VECCHIA: A graceful series buildings,\n   of late fifteenth century design, forming the northern side of St.\n   Mark's Place, but of no particular interest.\n\n\n    Q\n\n QUERINI, PALAZZO, now the Beccherie, II. 255, III. 234.\n\n\n    R\n\n RAFFAELLE, CHIESA DELL'ANGELO. Said to contain a Bonifazio, otherwise of\n   no importance.\n\n REDENTORE, CHURCH OF THE, II. 378. It contains three interesting John\n   Bellinis, and also, in the sacristy, a most beautiful Paul Veronese.\n\n REMER, CORTE DEL, house in. II. 251.\n\n REZZONICO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. Of the Grotesque Renaissance\n   time, but less extravagant than usual.\n\n RIALTO, BRIDGE OF THE. The best building raised in the time of the\n   Grotesque Renaissance; very noble in its simplicity, in its\n   proportions, and in its masonry. Note especially the grand way in\n   which the oblique archstones rest on the butments of the bridge, safe,\n   palpably both to the sense and eye: note also the sculpture of the\n   Annunciation on the southern side of it; how beautifully arranged, so\n   as to give more lightness and a grace to the arch--_the dove, flying\n   towards the Madonna, forming the keystone_,--and thus the whole action\n   of the figures being parallel to the curve of the arch, while all the\n   masonry is at right angles to it. Note, finally, one circumstance\n   which gives peculiar firmness to the figure of the angel, and\n   associates itself with the general expression of strength in the\n   whole building; namely that the sole of the advanced foot is set\n   perfectly level, as if placed on the ground, instead of being thrown\n   back behind like a heron's, as in most modern figures of this kind.\n\n   The sculptures themselves are not good; but these pieces of feeling in\n   them are very admirable. The two figures on the other side, St. Mark\n   and St. Theodore, are inferior, though all by the same sculptor,\n   Girolamo Campagna.\n\n   The bridge was built by Antonio da Ponte, in 1588. It was anciently of\n   wood, with a drawbridge in the centre, a representation of which may\n   be seen in one of Carpaccio's pictures at the Accademia delle Belle\n   Arti: and the traveller should observe that the interesting effect,\n   both of this and the Bridge of Sighs, depends in great part on their\n   both being _more_ than bridges; the one a covered passage, the other a\n   row of shops, sustained on an arch. No such effect can be produced\n   merely by the masonry of the roadway itself.\n\n RIO DEL PALAZZO, II. 282.\n\n ROCCO, CAMPIELLO DI SAN, windows in, II. 258.\n\n ROCCO, CHURCH OF ST. Notable only for the most interesting pictures by\n   Tintoret which it contains, namely:\n\n   1. _San Rocco before the Pope._ (On the left of the door as we enter.)\n   A delightful picture in his best manner, but not much labored; and,\n   like several other pictures in this church, it seems to me to have\n   been executed at some period of the painter's life when he was either\n   in ill health, or else had got into a mechanical way of painting, from\n   having made too little reference to nature for a long time. There is\n   something stiff and forced in the white draperies on both sides, and a\n   general character about the whole which I can feel better than I can\n   describe; but which, if I had been the painter's physician, would have\n   immediately caused me to order him to shut up his painting-room, and\n   take a voyage to the Levant, and back again. The figure of the Pope\n   is, however, extremely beautiful, and is not unworthy, in its jewelled\n   magnificence, here dark against the sky, of comparison with the figure\n   of the high priest in the \"Presentation,\" in the Scuola di San Rocco.\n\n   2. _Annunciation._ (On the other side of the door, on entering.) A\n   most disagreeable and dead picture, having all the faults of the age,\n   and none of the merits of the painter. It must be a matter of future\n   investigation to me, what could cause the fall of his mind from a\n   conception so great and so fiery as that of the \"Annunciation\" in the\n   Scuola di San Rocco, to this miserable reprint of an idea worn out\n   centuries before. One of the most inconceivable things in it,\n   considered as the work of Tintoret, is that where the angel's robe\n   drifts away behind his limb, one cannot tell by the character of the\n   outline, or by the tones of the color, whether the cloud comes in\n   before the robe, or whether the robe cuts upon the cloud. The Virgin\n   is uglier than that of the Scuola, and not half so real; and the\n   draperies are crumpled in the most commonplace and ignoble folds. It\n   is a picture well worth study, as an example of the extent to which\n   the greatest mind may be betrayed by the abuse of its powers, and the\n   neglect of its proper food in the study of nature.\n\n   3. _Pool of Bethesda._ (On the right side of the church, in its\n   centre, the lowest of the two pictures which occupy the wall.) A noble\n   work, but eminently disagreeable, as must be all pictures of this\n   subject; and with the same character in it of undefinable want, which\n   I have noticed in the two preceding works. The main figure in it is\n   the cripple, who has taken up his bed; but the whole effect of this\n   action is lost by his not turning to Christ, but flinging it on his\n   shoulder like a triumphant porter with a huge load; and the corrupt\n   Renaissance architecture, among which the figures are crowded, is both\n   ugly in itself, and much too small for them. It is worth noticing, for\n   the benefit of persons who find fault with the perspective of the\n   Pre-Raphaelites, that the perspective of the brackets beneath these\n   pillars is utterly absurd; and that, in fine, the presence or absence\n   of perspective has nothing to do with the merits of a great picture:\n   not that the perspective of the Pre-Raphaelites _is_ false in any case\n   that I have examined, the objection being just as untenable as it is\n   ridiculous.\n\n   4. _San Rocco in the Desert._ (Above the last-named picture.) A single\n   recumbent figure in a not very interesting landscape, deserving less\n   attention than a picture of St. Martin just opposite to it,--a noble\n   and knightly figure on horseback by Pordenone, to which I cannot pay a\n   greater compliment than by saying that I was a considerable time in\n   doubt whether or not it was another Tintoret.\n\n   5. _San Rocco in the Hospital._ (On the right-hand side of the altar.)\n   There are four vast pictures by Tintoret in the dark choir of this\n   church, not only important by their size (each being some twenty-five\n   feet long by ten feet high), but also elaborate compositions; and\n   remarkable, one for its extraordinary landscape, and the other as the\n   most studied picture in which the painter has introduced horses in\n   violent action. In order to show what waste of human mind there is in\n   these dark churches of Venice, it is worth recording that, as I was\n   examining these pictures, there came in a party of eighteen German\n   tourists, not hurried, nor jesting among themselves as large parties\n   often do, but patiently submitting to their cicerone, and evidently\n   desirous of doing their duty as intelligent travellers. They sat down\n   for a long time on the benches of the nave, looked a little at the\n   \"Pool of Bethesda,\" walked up into the choir and there heard a lecture\n   of considerable length from their _valet-de-place_ upon some subject\n   connected with the altar itself, which, being in German, I did not\n   understand; they then turned and went slowly out of the church, not\n   one of the whole eighteen ever giving a single glance to any of the\n   four Tintorets, and only one of them, as far as I saw, even raising\n   his eyes to the walls on which they hung, and immediately withdrawing\n   them, with a jaded and _nonchalant_ expression easily interpretable\n   into \"Nothing but old black pictures.\" The two Tintorets above\n   noticed, at the end of the church, were passed also without a glance;\n   and this neglect is not because the pictures have nothing in them\n   capable of arresting the popular mind, but simply because they are\n   totally in the dark, or confused among easier and more prominent\n   objects of attention. This picture, which I have called \"St. Rocco in\n   the Hospital,\" shows him, I suppose, in his general ministrations at\n   such places, and is one of the usual representations of a disgusting\n   subject from which neither Orcagna nor Tintoret seems ever to have\n   shrunk. It is a very noble picture, carefully composed and highly\n   wrought; but to me gives no pleasure, first, on account of its\n   subject, secondly, on account of its dull brown tone all over,--it\n   being impossible, or nearly so, in such a scene, and at all events\n   inconsistent with its feeling, to introduce vivid color of any kind.\n   So it is a brown study of diseased limbs in a close room.\n\n   6. _Cattle Piece._ (Above the picture last described.) I can give no\n   other name to this picture, whose subject I can neither guess nor\n   discover, the picture being in the dark, and the guide-books leaving\n   me in the same position. All I can make out of it is, that there is a\n   noble landscape with cattle and figures. It seems to me the best\n   landscape of Tintoret's in Venice, except the \"Flight into Egypt;\" and\n   is even still more interesting from its savage character, the\n   principal trees being pines, something like Titian's in his \"St.\n   Francis receiving the Stigmata,\" and chestnuts on the slopes and in\n   the hollows of the hills; the animals also seem first-rate. But it is\n   too high, too much faded, and too much in the dark to be made out. It\n   seems never to have been rich in color, rather cool and grey, and very\n   full of light.\n\n   7. _Finding of Body of San Rocco._ (On the left-hand side of the\n   altar.) An elaborate, but somewhat confused picture, with a flying\n   angel in a blue drapery; but it seemed to me altogether uninteresting,\n   or perhaps requiring more study than I was able to give it.\n\n   8. _San Rocco in Campo d' Armata._ So this picture is called by the\n   sacristan. I could see no San Rocco in it; nothing but a wild group of\n   horses and warriors in the most magnificent confusion of fall and\n   flight ever painted by man. They seem all dashed different ways as if\n   by a whirlwind; and a whirlwind there must be, or a thunderbolt,\n   behind them, for a huge tree is torn up and hurled into the air beyond\n   the central figure, as if it were a shivered lance. Two of the horses\n   meet in the midst, as if in a tournament; but in madness of fear, not\n   in hostility; on the horse to the right is a standard-bearer, who\n   stoops as from some foe behind him, with the lance laid across his\n   saddle-bow, level, and the flag stretched out behind him as he flies,\n   like the sail of a ship drifting from its mast; the central horseman,\n   who meets the shock, of storm, or enemy, whatever it be, is hurled\n   backwards from his seat, like a stone from a sling; and this figure\n   with the shattered tree trunk behind it, is the most noble part of the\n   picture. There is another grand horse on the right, however, also in\n   full action. Two gigantic figures on foot, on the left, meant to be\n   nearer than the others, would, it seems to me, have injured the\n   picture, had they been clearly visible; but time has reduced them to\n   perfect subordination.\n\n\n ROCCO, SCUOLA DI SAN, bases of, I. 291, 431; soffit ornaments of, I.\n   337. An interesting building of the early Renaissance (1517), passing\n   into Roman Renaissance. The wreaths of leafage about its shafts are\n   wonderfully delicate and fine, though misplaced.\n\n   As regards the pictures which it contains, it is one of the three most\n   precious buildings in Italy; buildings, I mean, consistently decorated\n   with a series of paintings at the time of their erection, and still\n   exhibiting that series in its original order. I suppose there can be\n   little question, but that the three most important edifices of this\n   kind in Italy are the Sistine Chapel, the Campo Santo of Pisa, and the\n   Scuola di San Rocco at Venice: the first is painted by Michael Angelo;\n   the second by Orcagna, Benozzo Gozzoli, Pietro Laurati, and several\n   other men whose works are as rare as they are precious; and the third\n   by Tintoret.\n\n   Whatever the traveller may miss in Venice, he should therefore give\n   unembarrassed attention and unbroken time to the Scuola di San Rocco;\n   and I shall, accordingly, number the pictures, and note in them, one\n   by one, what seemed to me most worthy of observation.\n\n   There are sixty-two in all, but eight of these are merely of children\n   or children's heads, and two of unimportant figures. The number of\n   valuable pictures is fifty-two; arranged on the walls and ceilings of\n   three rooms, so badly lighted, in consequence of the admirable\n   arrangements of the Renaissance architect, that it is only in the\n   early morning that some of the pictures can be seen at all, nor can\n   they ever be seen but imperfectly. They were all painted, however, for\n   their places in the dark, and, as compared with Tintoret's other\n   works, are therefore, for the most part, nothing more than vast\n   sketches, made to produce, under a certain degree of shadow, the\n   effect of finished pictures. Their treatment is thus to be considered\n   as a kind of scene-painting; differing from ordinary scene-painting\n   only in this, that the effect aimed at is not _that of a natural\n   scene_ but _a perfect picture_. They differ in this respect from all\n   other existing works; for there is not, as far as I know, any other\n   instance in which a great master has consented to work for a room\n   plunged into almost total obscurity. It is probable that none but\n   Tintoret would have undertaken the task, and most fortunate that he\n   was forced to it. For in this magnificent scene-painting we have, of\n   course, more wonderful examples, both of his handling, and knowledge\n   of effect, than could ever have been exhibited in finished pictures;\n   while the necessity of doing much with few strokes keeps his mind so\n   completely on the stretch throughout the work (while yet the velocity\n   of production prevented his being wearied), that no other series of\n   his works exhibits powers so exalted. On the other hand, owing to the\n   velocity and coarseness of the painting, it is more liable to injury\n   through drought or damp; and, as the walls have been for years\n   continually running down with rain, and what little sun gets into the\n   place contrives to fall all day right on one or other of the pictures,\n   they are nothing but wrecks of what they were; and the ruins of\n   paintings originally coarse are not likely ever to be attractive to\n   the public mind. Twenty or thirty years ago they were taken down to be\n   retouched; but the man to whom the task was committed providentially\n   died, and only one of them was spoiled. I have found traces of his\n   work upon another, but not to an extent very seriously destructive.\n   The rest of the sixty-two, or, at any rate, all that are in the upper\n   room, appear entirely intact.\n\n   Although, as compared with his other works, they are all very scenic\n   in execution, there are great differences in their degrees of finish;\n   and, curiously enough, some on the ceilings and others in the darkest\n   places in the lower room are very nearly finished pictures, while the\n   \"Agony in the Garden,\" which is in one of the best lights in the upper\n   room, appears to have been painted in a couple of hours with a broom\n   for a brush.\n\n   For the traveller's greater convenience, I shall give a rude plan of\n   the arrangement, and list of the subjects, of each group of pictures\n   before examining them in detail.\n\n   First Group. On the walls of the room on the ground floor.\n\n   [Illustration:\n\n      1. Annunciation.                5. The Magdalen.\n      2. Adoration of Magi.           6. St. Mary of Egypt.\n      3. Flight into Egypt.           7. Circumcision.\n      4. Massacre of Innocents.       8. Assumption of Virgin.\n\n      At the turn of the stairs leading to the upper room:\n      9. Visitation.]\n\n   1. _The Annunciation._ This, which first strikes the eye, is a very\n   just representative of the whole group, the execution being carried to\n   the utmost limits of boldness consistent with completion. It is a\n   well-known picture, and need not therefore be specially described, but\n   one or two points in it require notice. The face of the Virgin is very\n   disagreeable to the spectator from below, giving the idea of a woman\n   about thirty, who had never been handsome. If the face is untouched,\n   it is the only instance I have ever seen of Tintoret's failing in an\n   intended effect, for, when seen near, the face is comely and youthful,\n   and expresses only surprise, instead of the pain and fear of which it\n   bears the aspect in the distance. I could not get near enough to see\n   whether it had been retouched. It looks like Tintoret's work, though\n   rather hard; but, as there are unquestionable marks in the retouching\n   of this picture, it is possible that some slight restoration of lines\n   supposed to be faded, entirely alter the distant expression of the\n   face. One of the evident pieces of repainting is the scarlet of the\n   Madonna's lap, which is heavy and lifeless. A far more injurious one\n   is the strip of sky seen through the doorway by which the angel\n   enters, which has originally been of the deep golden color of the\n   distance on the left, and which the blundering restorer has daubed\n   over with whitish blue, so that it looks like a bit of the wall;\n   luckily he has not touched the outlines of the angel's black wings, on\n   which the whole expression of the picture depends. This angel and the\n   group of small cherubs above form a great swinging chain, of which the\n   dove representing the Holy Spirit forms the bend. The angels in their\n   flight seem to be attached to this as the train of fire is to a\n   rocket; all of them appearing to have swooped down with the swiftness\n   of a falling star.\n\n   2. _Adoration of the Magi._ The most finished picture in the Scuola,\n   except the \"Crucifixion,\" and perhaps the most delightful of the\n   whole. It unites every source of pleasure that a picture can possess:\n   the highest elevation of principal subject, mixed with the lowest\n   detail of picturesque incident; the dignity of the highest ranks of\n   men, opposed to the simplicity of the lowest; the quietness and\n   serenity of an incident in cottage life, contrasted with the\n   turbulence of troops of horsemen and the spiritual power of angels.\n   The placing of the two doves as principal points of light in the front\n   of the picture, in order to remind the spectator of the poverty of the\n   mother whose child is receiving the offerings and adoration of three\n   monarchs, is one of Tintoret's master touches; the whole scene,\n   indeed, is conceived in his happiest manner. Nothing can be at once\n   more humble or more dignified than the bearing of the kings; and there\n   is a sweet reality given to the whole incident by the Madonna's\n   stooping forward and lifting her hand in admiration of the vase of\n   gold which has been set before the Christ, though she does so with\n   such gentleness and quietness that her dignity is not in the least\n   injured by the simplicity of the action. As if to illustrate the means\n   by which the Wise men were brought from the East, the whole picture is\n   nothing but a large star, of which Christ is the centre; all the\n   figures, even the timbers of the roof, radiate from the small bright\n   figure on which the countenances of the flying angels are bent, the\n   star itself, gleaming through the timbers above, being quite\n   subordinate. The composition would almost be too artificial were it\n   not broken by the luminous distance where the troop of horsemen are\n   waiting for the kings. These, with a dog running at full speed, at\n   once interrupt the symmetry of the lines, and form a point of relief\n   from the over concentration of all the rest of the action.\n\n   3. _Flight into Egypt._ One of the principal figures here is the\n   donkey. I have never seen any of the nobler animals--lion, or leopard,\n   or horse, or dragon--made so sublime as this quiet head of the\n   domestic ass, chiefly owing to the grand motion in the nostril and\n   writhing in the ears. The space of the picture is chiefly occupied by\n   lovely landscape, and the Madonna and St. Joseph are pacing their way\n   along a shady path upon the banks of a river at the side of the\n   picture. I had not any conception, until I got near, how much pains\n   had been taken with the Virgin's head; its expression is as sweet and\n   as intense as that of any of Raffaelle's, its reality far greater. The\n   painter seems to have intended that everything should be subordinate\n   to the beauty of this single head; and the work is a wonderful proof\n   of the way in which a vast field of canvas may be made conducive to\n   the interest of a single figure. This is partly accomplished by\n   slightness of painting, so that on close examination, while there is\n   everything to astonish in the masterly handling and purpose, there is\n   not much perfect or very delightful painting; in fact, the two figures\n   are treated like the living figures in a scene at the theatre, and\n   finished to perfection, while the landscape is painted as hastily as\n   the scenes, and with the same kind of opaque size color. It has,\n   however, suffered as much as any of the series, and it is hardly fair\n   to judge of its tones and colors in its present state.\n\n   4. _Massacre of the Innocents._ The following account of this picture,\n   given in \"Modern Painters,\" may be useful to the traveller, and is\n   therefore here repeated. \"I have before alluded to the painfulness of\n   Raffaelle's treatment of the Massacre of the Innocents. Fuseli affirms\n   of it, that, 'in dramatic gradation he disclosed all the mother\n   through every image of pity and terror.' If this be so, I think the\n   philosophical spirit has prevailed over the imaginative. The\n   imagination never errs; it sees all that is, and all the relations\n   and bearings of it; but it would not have confused the mortal frenzy\n   of maternal terror, with various development of maternal character.\n   Fear, rage, and agony, at their utmost pitch, sweep away all\n   character: humanity itself would be lost in maternity, the woman would\n   become the mere personification of animal fury or fear. For this\n   reason all the ordinary representations of this subject are, I think,\n   false and cold: the artist has not heard the shrieks, nor mingled with\n   the fugitives; he has sat down in his study to convulse features\n   methodically, and philosophize over insanity. Not so Tintoret.\n   Knowing, or feeling, that the expression of the human face was, in\n   such circumstances, not to be rendered, and that the effort could only\n   end in an ugly falsehood, he denies himself all aid from the features,\n   he feels that if he is to place himself or us in the midst of that\n   maddened multitude, there can be no time allowed for watching\n   expression. Still less does he depend on details of murder or\n   ghastliness of death; there is no blood, no stabbing or cutting, but\n   there is an awful substitute for these in the chiaroscuro. The scene\n   is the outer vestibule of a palace, the slippery marble floor is\n   fearfully barred across by sanguine shadows, so that our eyes seem to\n   become bloodshot and strained with strange horror and deadly vision; a\n   lake of life before them, like the burning seen of the doomed Moabite\n   on the water that came by the way of Edom: a huge flight of stairs,\n   without parapet, descends on the left; down this rush a crowd of women\n   mixed with the murderers; the child in the arms of one has been seized\n   by the limbs, _she hurls herself over the edge, and falls head\n   downmost, dragging the child out of the grasp by her weight_;--she\n   will be dashed dead in a second:--close to us is the great struggle; a\n   heap of the mothers, entangled in one mortal writhe with each other\n   and the swords; one of the murderers dashed down and crushed beneath\n   them, the sword of another caught by the blade and dragged at by a\n   woman's naked hand; the youngest and fairest of the women, her child\n   just torn away from a death grasp, and clasped to her breast with the\n   grip of a steel vice, falls backwards, helpless over the heap, right\n   on the sword points; all knit together and hurled down in one\n   hopeless, frenzied, furious abandonment of body and soul in the\n   effort to save. Far back, at the bottom of the stairs, there is\n   something in the shadow like a heap of clothes. It is a woman, sitting\n   quiet,--quite quiet,--still as any stone; she looks down steadfastly\n   on her dead child, laid along on the floor before her, and her hand is\n   pressed softly upon her brow.\"\n\n   I have nothing to add to the above description of this picture, except\n   that I believe there may have been some change in the color of the\n   shadow that crosses the pavement. The chequers of the pavements are,\n   in the light, golden white and pale grey; in the shadow, red and dark\n   grey, the white in the sunshine becoming red in the shadow. I formerly\n   supposed that this was meant to give greater horror to the scene, and\n   it is very like Tintoret if it be so; but there is a strangeness and\n   discordance in it which makes me suspect the colors may have changed.\n\n   5. _The Magdalen._ This and the picture opposite to it, \"St. Mary of\n   Egypt,\" have been painted to fill up narrow spaces between the windows\n   which were not large enough to receive compositions, and yet in which\n   single figures would have looked awkwardly thrust into the corner.\n   Tintoret has made these spaces as large as possible by filling them\n   with landscapes, which are rendered interesting by the introduction of\n   single figures of very small size. He has not, however, considered his\n   task, of making a small piece of wainscot look like a large one, worth\n   the stretch of his powers, and has painted these two landscapes just\n   as carelessly and as fast as an upholsterer's journeyman finishing a\n   room at a railroad hotel. The color is for the most part opaque, and\n   dashed or scrawled on in the manner of a scene-painter; and as during\n   the whole morning the sun shines upon the one picture, and during the\n   afternoon upon the other, hues, which were originally thin and\n   imperfect, are now dried in many places into mere dirt upon the\n   canvas. With all these drawbacks the pictures are of very high\n   interest, for although, as I said, hastily and carelessly, they are\n   not languidly painted; on the contrary, he has been in his hottest and\n   grandest temper; and in this first one (\"Magdalen\") the laurel tree,\n   with its leaves driven hither and thither among flakes of fiery cloud,\n   has been probably one of the greatest achievements that his hand\n   performed in landscape: its roots are entangled in underwood; of which\n   every leaf seems to be articulated, yet all is as wild as if it had\n   grown there instead of having been painted; there has been a mountain\n   distance, too, and a sky of stormy light, of which I infinitely regret\n   the loss, for though its masses of light are still discernible, its\n   variety of hue is all sunk into a withered brown. There is a curious\n   piece of execution in the striking of the light upon a brook which\n   runs under the roots of the laurel in the foreground: these roots are\n   traced in shadow against the bright surface of the water; another\n   painter would have drawn the light first, and drawn the dark roots\n   over it. Tintoret has laid in a brown ground which he has left for the\n   roots, and painted the water through their interstices with a few\n   mighty rolls of his brush laden with white.\n\n   6. _St. Mary of Egypt._ This picture differs but little in the plan,\n   from the one opposite, except that St. Mary has her back towards us,\n   and the Magdalen her face, and that the tree on the other side of the\n   brook is a palm instead of a laurel. The brook (Jordan?) is, however,\n   here much more important; and the water painting is exceedingly fine.\n   Of all painters that I know, in old times, Tintoret is the fondest of\n   running water; there was a sort of sympathy between it and his own\n   impetuous spirit. The rest of the landscape is not of much interest,\n   except so far as it is pleasant to see trunks of trees drawn by single\n   strokes of the brush.\n\n   7. _The Circumcision of Christ._ The custode has some story about this\n   picture having been painted in imitation of Paul Veronese. I much\n   doubt if Tintoret ever imitated any body; but this picture is the\n   expression of his perception of what Veronese delighted in, the\n   nobility that there may be in mere golden tissue and colored drapery.\n   It is, in fact, a picture of the moral power of gold and color; and\n   the chief use of the attendant priest is to support upon his shoulders\n   the crimson robe, with its square tablets of black and gold; and yet\n   nothing is withdrawn from the interest or dignity of the scene.\n   Tintoret has taken immense pains with the head of the high-priest. I\n   know not any existing old man's head so exquisitely tender, or so\n   noble in its lines. He receives the Infant Christ in his arms\n   kneeling, and looking down upon the Child with infinite veneration and\n   love; and the flashing of golden rays from its head is made the centre\n   of light, and all interest. The whole picture is like a golden charger\n   to receive the Child; the priest's dress is held up behind him, that\n   it may occupy larger space; the tables and floor are covered with\n   chequer-work; the shadows of the temple are filled with brazen lamps;\n   and above all are hung masses of curtains, whose crimson folds are\n   strewn over with golden flakes. Next to the \"Adoration of the Magi\"\n   this picture is the most laboriously finished of the Scuola di San\n   Rocco, and it is unquestionably the highest existing type of the\n   sublimity which may be thrown into the treatment of accessaries of\n   dress and decoration.\n\n   8. _Assumption of the Virgin._ On the tablet or panel of stone which\n   forms the side of the tomb out of which the Madonna rises, is this\n   inscription, in large letters, REST. ANTONIUS FLORIAN, 1834. Exactly\n   in proportion to a man's idiocy, is always the size of the letters in\n   which he writes his name on the picture that he spoils. The old\n   mosaicists in St. Mark's have not, in a single instance, as far as I\n   know, signed their names; but the spectator who wishes to know who\n   destroyed the effect of the nave, may see his name inscribed, twice\n   over, in letters half a foot high, BARTOLOMEO BOZZA. I have never seen\n   Tintoret's name signed, except in the great \"Crucifixion;\" but this\n   Antony Florian, I have no doubt, repainted the whole side of the tomb\n   that he might put his name on it. The picture is, of course, ruined\n   wherever he touched it; that is to say, half over; the circle of\n   cherubs in the sky is still pure; and the design of the great painter\n   is palpable enough yet in the grand flight of the horizontal angel, on\n   whom the Madonna half leans as she ascends. It has been a noble\n   picture, and is a grievous loss; but, happily, there are so many pure\n   ones, that we need not spend time in gleaning treasures out of the\n   ruins of this.\n\n   9. _Visitation._ A small picture, painted in his very best manner;\n   exquisite in its simplicity, unrivalled in vigor, well preserved, and,\n   as a piece of painting, certainly one of the most precious in Venice.\n   Of course it does not show any of his high inventive powers; nor can a\n   picture of four middle-sized figures be made a proper subject of\n   comparison with large canvases containing forty or fifty; but it is,\n   for this very reason, painted with such perfect ease, and yet with no\n   slackness either of affection or power, that there is no picture that\n   I covet so much. It is, besides, altogether free from the Renaissance\n   taint of dramatic effect. The gestures are as simple and natural as\n   Giotto's, only expressed by grander lines, such as none but Tintoret\n   ever reached. The draperies are dark, relieved against a light sky,\n   the horizon being excessively low, and the outlines of the drapery so\n   severe, that the intervals between the figures look like ravines\n   between great rocks, and have all the sublimity of an Alpine valley at\n   twilight. This precious picture is hung about thirty feet above the\n   eye, but by looking at it in a strong light, it is discoverable that\n   the Saint Elizabeth is dressed in green and crimson, the Virgin in the\n   peculiar red which all great colorists delight in--a sort of glowing\n   brick-color or brownish scarlet, opposed to rich golden brownish\n   black; and both have white kerchiefs, or drapery, thrown over their\n   shoulders. Zacharias leans on his staff behind them in a black dress\n   with white sleeves. The stroke of brilliant white light, which\n   outlines the knee of Saint Elizabeth, is a curious instance of the\n   habit of the painter to relieve his dark forms by a sort of halo of\n   more vivid light, which, until lately, one would have been apt to\n   suppose a somewhat artificial and unjustifiable means of effect. The\n   daguerreotype has shown, what the naked eye never could, that the\n   instinct of the great painter was true, and that there is actually\n   such a sudden and sharp line of light round the edges of dark objects\n   relieved by luminous space.\n\n   Opposite this picture is a most precious Titian, the \"Annunciation,\"\n   full of grace and beauty. I think the Madonna one of the sweetest\n   figures he ever painted. But if the traveller has entered at all into\n   the spirit of Tintoret, he will immediately feel the comparative\n   feebleness and conventionality of the Titian. Note especially the mean\n   and petty folds of the angel's drapery, and compare them with the\n   draperies of the opposite picture. The larger pictures at the sides of\n   the stairs by Zanchi and Negri, are utterly worthless.\n\n   [Illustration: Second Group. On the walls of the upper room.\n\n      10. Adoration of Shepherds.     17. Resurrection of Lazarus.\n      11. Baptism.                    18. Ascension.\n      12. Resurrection.               19. Pool of Bethesda.\n      13. Agony in Garden.            20. Temptation.\n      14. Last Supper.                21. St. Rocco.\n      15. Altar Piece: St. Rocco.     22. St. Sebastian.\n      16. Miracle of Loaves.]\n\n   10. _The Adoration of the Shepherds._ This picture commences the\n   series of the upper room, which, as already noticed, is painted with\n   far less care than that of the lower. It is one of the painter's\n   inconceivable caprices that the only canvases that are in good light\n   should be covered in this hasty manner, while those in the dungeon\n   below, and on the ceiling above, are all highly labored. It is,\n   however, just possible that the covering of these walls may have been\n   an after-thought, when he had got tired of his work. They are also,\n   for the most part, illustrative of a principle of which I am more and\n   more convinced every day, that historical and figure pieces ought not\n   to be made vehicles for effects of light. The light which is fit for a\n   historical picture is that tempered semi-sunshine of which, in\n   general, the works of Titian are the best examples, and of which the\n   picture we have just passed, \"The Visitation,\" is a perfect example\n   from the hand of one greater than Titian; so also the three\n   \"Crucifixions\" of San Rocco, San Cassano, and St. John and Paul; the\n   \"Adoration of the Magi\" here; and, in general, the finest works of\n   the master; but Tintoret was not a man to work in any formal or\n   systematic manner; and, exactly like Turner, we find him recording\n   every effect which Nature herself displays. Still he seems to regard\n   the pictures which deviate from the great general principle of\n   colorists rather as \"tours de force\" than as sources of pleasure; and\n   I do not think there is any instance of his having worked out one of\n   these tricky pictures with thorough affection, except only in the case\n   of the \"Marriage of Cana.\" By tricky pictures, I mean those which\n   display light entering in different directions, and attract the eye to\n   the effects rather than to the figure which displays them. Of this\n   treatment, we have already had a marvellous instance in the\n   candle-light picture of the \"Last Supper\" in San Giorgio Maggiore.\n   This \"Adoration of the Shepherds\" has probably been nearly as\n   wonderful when first painted: the Madonna is seated on a kind of\n   hammock floor made of rope netting, covered with straw; it divides the\n   picture into two stories, of which the uppermost contains the Virgin,\n   with two women who are adoring Christ, and shows light entering from\n   above through the loose timbers of the roof of the stable, as well as\n   through the bars of a square window; the lower division shows this\n   light falling behind the netting upon the stable floor, occupied by a\n   cock and a cow, and against this light are relieved the figures of the\n   shepherds, for the most part in demi-tint, but with flakes of more\n   vigorous sunshine falling here and there upon them from above. The\n   optical illusion has originally been as perfect as one of Hunt's best\n   interiors; but it is most curious that no part of the work seems to\n   have been taken any pleasure in by the painter; it is all by his hand,\n   but it looks as if he had been bent only on getting over the ground.\n   It is literally a piece of scene-painting, and is exactly what we\n   might fancy Tintoret to have done, had he been forced to paint scenes\n   at a small theatre at a shilling a day. I cannot think that the whole\n   canvas, though fourteen feet high and ten wide, or thereabouts, could\n   have taken him more than a couple of days to finish: and it is very\n   noticeable that exactly in proportion to the brilliant effects of\n   light is the coarseness of the execution, for the figures of the\n   Madonna and of the women above, which are not in any strong effect,\n   are painted with some care, while the shepherds and the cow are alike\n   slovenly; and the latter, which is in full sunshine, is recognizable\n   for a cow more by its size and that of its horns, than by any care\n   given to its form. It is interesting to contrast this slovenly and\n   mean sketch with the ass's head in the \"Flight into Egypt,\" on which\n   the painter exerted his full power; as an effect of light, however,\n   the work is, of course, most interesting. One point in the treatment\n   is especially noticeable: there is a peacock in the rack beyond the\n   cow; and under other circumstances, one cannot doubt that Tintoret\n   would have liked a peacock in full color, and would have painted it\n   green and blue with great satisfaction. It is sacrificed to the light,\n   however, and is painted in warm grey, with a dim eye or two in the\n   tail: this process is exactly analogous to Turner's taking the colors\n   out of the flags of his ships in the \"Gosport.\" Another striking point\n   is the litter with which the whole picture is filled in order more to\n   confuse the eye: there is straw sticking from the roof, straw all over\n   the hammock floor, and straw struggling hither and thither all over\n   the floor itself; and, to add to the confusion, the glory around the\n   head of the infant, instead of being united and serene, is broken into\n   little bits, and is like a glory of chopped straw. But the most\n   curious thing, after all, is the want of delight in any of the\n   principal figures, and the comparative meanness and commonplaceness of\n   even the folds of the drapery. It seems as if Tintoret had determined\n   to make the shepherds as uninteresting as possible; but one does not\n   see why their very clothes should be ill painted, and their\n   disposition unpicturesque. I believe, however, though it never struck\n   me until I had examined this picture, that this is one of the\n   painter's fixed principles: he does not, with German sentimentality,\n   make shepherds and peasants graceful or sublime, but he purposely\n   vulgarizes them, not by making their actions or their faces boorish or\n   disagreeable, but rather by painting them ill, and composing their\n   draperies tamely. As far as I recollect at present, the principle is\n   universal with him; exactly in proportion to the dignity of character\n   is the beauty of the painting. He will not put out his strength upon\n   any man belonging to the lower classes; and, in order to know what the\n   painter is, one must see him at work on a king, a senator, or a\n   saint. The curious connexion of this with the aristocratic tendencies\n   of the Venetian nation, when we remember that Tintoret was the\n   greatest man whom that nation produced, may become very interesting,\n   if followed out. I forgot to note that, though the peacock is painted\n   with great regardlessness of color, there is a feature in it which no\n   common painter would have observed,--the peculiar flatness of the\n   back, and undulation of the shoulders: the bird's body is all there,\n   though its feathers are a good deal neglected; and the same thing is\n   noticeable in a cock who is pecking among the straw near the\n   spectator, though in other respects a shabby cock enough. The fact is,\n   I believe, he had made his shepherds so commonplace that he dare not\n   paint his animals well, otherwise one would have looked at nothing in\n   the picture but the peacock, cock, and cow. I cannot tell what the\n   shepherds are offering; they look like milk bowls, but they are\n   awkwardly held up, with such twistings of body as would have certainly\n   spilt the milk. A woman in front has a basket of eggs; but this I\n   imagine to be merely to keep up the rustic character of the scene, and\n   not part of the shepherd's offerings.\n\n   11. _Baptism._ There is more of the true picture quality in this work\n   than in the former one, but still very little appearance of enjoyment\n   or care. The color is for the most part grey and uninteresting, and\n   the figures are thin and meagre in form, and slightly painted; so much\n   so, that of the nineteen figures in the distance, about a dozen are\n   hardly worth calling figures, and the rest are so sketched and\n   flourished in that one can hardly tell which is which. There is one\n   point about it very interesting to a landscape painter: the river is\n   seen far into the distance, with a piece of copse bordering it; the\n   sky beyond is dark, but the water nevertheless receives a brilliant\n   reflection from some unseen rent in the clouds, so brilliant, that\n   when I was first at Venice, not being accustomed to Tintoret's slight\n   execution, or to see pictures so much injured, I took this piece of\n   water for a piece of sky. The effect as Tintoret has arranged it, is\n   indeed somewhat unnatural, but it is valuable as showing his\n   recognition of a principle unknown to half the historical painters of\n   the present day,--that the reflection seen in the water is totally\n   different from the object seen above it, and that it is very possible\n   to have a bright light in reflection where there appears nothing but\n   darkness to be reflected. The clouds in the sky itself are round,\n   heavy, and lightless, and in a great degree spoil what would otherwise\n   be a fine landscape distance. Behind the rocks on the right, a single\n   head is seen, with a collar on the shoulders: it seems to be intended\n   for a portrait of some person connected with the picture.\n\n   12. _Resurrection._ Another of the \"effect of light\" pictures, and not\n   a very striking one, the best part of it being the two distant figures\n   of the Maries seen in the dawn of the morning. The conception of the\n   Resurrection itself is characteristic of the worst points of Tintoret.\n   His impetuosity is here in the wrong place; Christ bursts out of the\n   rock like a thunderbolt, and the angels themselves seem likely to be\n   crushed under the rent stones of the tomb. Had the figure of Christ\n   been sublime, this conception might have been accepted; but, on the\n   contrary, it is weak, mean, and painful; and the whole picture is\n   languidly or roughly painted, except only the fig-tree at the top of\n   the rock, which, by a curious caprice, is not only drawn in the\n   painter's best manner, but has golden ribs to all its leaves, making\n   it look like one of the beautiful crossed or chequered patterns, of\n   which he is so fond in his dresses; the leaves themselves being a dark\n   olive brown.\n\n   13. _The Agony in the Garden._ I cannot at present understand the\n   order of these subjects; but they may have been misplaced. This, of\n   all the San Rocco pictures, is the most hastily painted, but it is\n   not, like those we have been passing, _clodly_ painted; it seems to\n   have been executed altogether with a hearth-broom, and in a few hours.\n   It is another of the \"effects,\" and a very curious one; the Angel who\n   bears the cup to Christ is surrounded by a red halo; yet the light\n   which falls upon the shoulders of the sleeping disciples, and upon the\n   leaves of the olive-trees, is cool and silvery, while the troop coming\n   up to seize Christ are seen by torch-light. Judas, who is the second\n   figure, points to Christ, but turns his head away as he does so, as\n   unable to look at him. This is a noble touch; the foliage is also\n   exceedingly fine, though what kind of olive-tree bears such leaves I\n   know not, each of them being about the size of a man's hand. If there\n   be any which bear such foliage, their olives must be the size of\n   cocoa-nuts. This, however, is true only of the underwood, which is,\n   perhaps, not meant for olive. There are some taller trees at the top\n   of the picture, whose leaves are of a more natural size. On closely\n   examining the figures of the troops on the left, I find that the\n   distant ones are concealed, all but the limbs, by a sort of arch of\n   dark color, which is now so injured, that I cannot tell whether it was\n   foliage or ground: I suppose it to have been a mass of close foliage,\n   through which the troop is breaking its way; Judas rather showing them\n   the path, than actually pointing to Christ, as it is written, \"Judas,\n   who betrayed him, knew the place.\" St. Peter, as the most zealous of\n   the three disciples, the only one who was to endeavor to defend his\n   Master, is represented as awakening and turning his head toward the\n   troop, while James and John are buried in profound slumber, laid in\n   magnificent languor among the leaves. The picture is singularly\n   impressive, when seen far enough off, as an image of thick forest\n   gloom amidst the rich and tender foliage of the South; the leaves,\n   however, tossing as in disturbed night air, and the flickering of the\n   torches, and of the branches, contrasted with the steady flame which\n   from the Angel's presence is spread over the robes of the disciples.\n   The strangest feature in the whole is that the Christ also is\n   represented as sleeping. The angel seems to appear to him in a dream.\n\n   14. _The Last Supper._ A most unsatisfactory picture; I think about\n   the worst I know of Tintoret's, where there is no appearance of\n   retouching. He always makes the disciples in this scene too vulgar;\n   they are here not only vulgar, but diminutive, and Christ is at the\n   end of the table, the smallest figure of them all. The principal\n   figures are two mendicants sitting on steps in front; a kind of\n   supporters, but I suppose intended to be waiting for the fragments; a\n   dog, in still more earnest expectation, is watching the movements of\n   the disciples, who are talking together, Judas having just gone out.\n   Christ is represented as giving what one at first supposes is the sop\n   to Judas, but as the disciple who received it has a glory, and there\n   are only eleven at table, it is evidently the Sacramental bread. The\n   room in which they are assembled is a sort of large kitchen, and the\n   host is seen employed at a dresser in the background. This picture has\n   not only been originally poor, but is one of those exposed all day to\n   the sun, and is dried into mere dusty canvas: where there was once\n   blue, there is now nothing.\n\n   15. _Saint Rocco in Glory._ One of the worst order of Tintorets, with\n   apparent smoothness and finish, yet languidly painted, as if in\n   illness or fatigue; very dark and heavy in tone also; its figures, for\n   the most part, of an awkward middle size, about five feet high, and\n   very uninteresting. St. Rocco ascends to heaven, looking down upon a\n   crowd of poor and sick persons who are blessing and adoring him. One\n   of these, kneeling at the bottom, is very nearly a repetition, though\n   a careless and indolent one, of that of St. Stephen, in St. Giorgio\n   Maggiore, and of the central figure in the \"Paradise\" of the Ducal\n   Palace. It is a kind of lay figure, of which he seems to have been\n   fond; its clasped hands are here shockingly painted--I should think\n   unfinished. It forms the only important light at the bottom, relieved\n   on a dark ground; at the top of the picture, the figure of St. Rocco\n   is seen in shadow against the light of the sky, and all the rest is in\n   confused shadow. The commonplaceness of this composition is curiously\n   connected with the languor of thought and touch throughout the work.\n\n   16. _Miracle of the Loaves._ Hardly anything but a fine piece of\n   landscape is here left; it is more exposed to the sun than any other\n   picture in the room, and its draperies having been, in great part,\n   painted in blue, are now mere patches of the color of starch; the\n   scene is also very imperfectly conceived. The twenty-one figures,\n   including Christ and his Disciples, very ill represent a crowd of\n   seven thousand; still less is the marvel of the miracle expressed by\n   perfect ease and rest of the reclining figures in the foreground, who\n   do not so much as look surprised; considered merely as reclining\n   figures, and as pieces of effect in half light, they have once been\n   fine. The landscape, which represents the slope of a woody hill, has a\n   very grand and far-away look. Behind it is a great space of streaky\n   sky, almost prismatic in color, rosy and golden clouds covering up its\n   blue, and some fine vigorous trees thrown against it; painted in about\n   ten minutes each, however, by curly touches of the brush, and looking\n   rather more like seaweed than foliage.\n\n   17. _Resurrection of Lazarus._ Very strangely, and not impressively\n   conceived. Christ is half reclining, half sitting, at the bottom of\n   the picture, while Lazarus is disencumbered of his grave-clothes at\n   the top of it; the scene being the side of a rocky hill, and the mouth\n   of the tomb probably once visible in the shadow on the left; but all\n   that is now discernible is a man having his limbs unbound, as if\n   Christ were merely ordering a prisoner to be loosed. There appears\n   neither awe nor agitation, nor even much astonishment, in any of the\n   figures of the group; but the picture is more vigorous than any of the\n   three last mentioned, and the upper part of it is quite worthy of the\n   master, especially its noble fig-tree and laurel, which he has\n   painted, in one of his usual fits of caprice, as carefully as that in\n   the \"Resurrection of Christ,\" opposite. Perhaps he has some meaning in\n   this; he may have been thinking of the verse, \"Behold the fig-tree,\n   and all the trees; when they now shoot forth,\" &c. In the present\n   instance, the leaves are dark only, and have no golden veins. The\n   uppermost figures also come dark against the sky, and would form a\n   precipitous mass, like a piece of the rock itself, but that they are\n   broken in upon by one of the limbs of Lazarus, bandaged and in full\n   light, which, to my feeling, sadly injures the picture, both as a\n   disagreeable object, and a light in the wrong place. The grass and\n   weeds are, throughout, carefully painted, but the lower figures are of\n   little interest, and the face of the Christ a grievous failure.\n\n   18. _The Ascension._ I have always admired this picture, though it is\n   very slight and thin in execution, and cold in color; but it is\n   remarkable for its thorough effect of open air, and for the sense of\n   motion and clashing in the wings of the Angels which sustain the\n   Christ: they owe this effect a good deal to the manner in which they\n   are set, edge on; all seem like sword-blades cutting the air. It is\n   the most curious in conception of all the pictures in the Scuola, for\n   it represents, beneath the Ascension, a kind of epitome of what took\n   place before the Ascension. In the distance are two Apostles walking,\n   meant, I suppose, for the two going to Emmaus; nearer are a group\n   round a table, to remind us of Christ appearing to them as they sat at\n   meat; and in the foreground is a single reclining figure of, I\n   suppose, St. Peter, because we are told that \"he was seen of Cephas,\n   then of the twelve:\" but this interpretation is doubtful; for why\n   should not the vision by the Lake of Tiberias be expressed also? And\n   the strange thing of all is the scene, for Christ ascended from the\n   Mount of Olives; but the Disciples are walking, and the table is set,\n   in a little marshy and grassy valley, like some of the bits near\n   Maison Neuve on the Jura, with a brook running through it, so\n   capitally expressed, that I believe it is this which makes me so fond\n   of the picture. The reflections are as scientific in the diminution,\n   in the image, of large masses of bank above, as any of Turner's, and\n   the marshy and reedy ground looks as if one would sink into it; but\n   what all this has to do with the Ascension I cannot see. The figure of\n   Christ is not undignified, but by no means either interesting or\n   sublime.\n\n   19. _Pool of Bethesda._ I have no doubt the principal figures have\n   been repainted; but as the colors are faded, and the subject\n   disgusting, I have not paid this picture sufficient attention to say\n   how far the injury extends; nor need any one spend time upon it,\n   unless after having first examined all the other Tintorets in Venice.\n   All the great Italian painters appear insensible to the feeling of\n   disgust at disease; but this study of the population of an hospital is\n   without any points of contrast, and I wish Tintoret had not\n   condescended to paint it. This and the six preceding paintings have\n   all been uninteresting,--I believe chiefly owing to the observance in\n   them of Sir Joshua's rule for the heroic, \"that drapery is to be mere\n   drapery, and not silk, nor satin, nor brocade.\" However wise such a\n   rule may be when applied to works of the purest religious art, it is\n   anything but wise as respects works of color. Tintoret is never quite\n   himself unless he has fur or velvet, or rich stuff of one sort or the\n   other, or jewels, or armor, or something that he can put play of color\n   into, among his figures, and not dead folds of linsey-woolsey; and I\n   believe that even the best pictures of Raffaelle and Angelico are not\n   a little helped by their hems of robes, jewelled crowns, priests'\n   copes, and so on; and the pictures that have nothing of this kind in\n   them, as for instance the \"Transfiguration,\" are to my mind not a\n   little dull.\n\n   20. _Temptation._ This picture singularly illustrates what has just\n   been observed; it owes great part of its effect to the lustre of the\n   jewels in the armlet of the evil angel, and to the beautiful colors of\n   his wings. These are slight accessaries apparently, but they enhance\n   the value of all the rest, and they have evidently been enjoyed by the\n   painter. The armlet is seen by reflected light, its stones shining by\n   inward lustre; this occult fire being the only hint given of the real\n   character of the Tempter, who is otherways represented in the form of\n   a beautiful angel, though the face is sensual: we can hardly tell how\n   far it was intended to be therefore expressive of evil; for Tintoret's\n   good angels have not always the purest features; but there is a\n   peculiar subtlety in this telling of the story by so slight a\n   circumstance as the glare of the jewels in the darkness. It is curious\n   to compare this imagination with that of the mosaics in St. Mark's, in\n   which Satan is a black monster, with horns, and head, and tail,\n   complete. The whole of the picture is powerfully and carefully\n   painted, though very broadly; it is a strong effect of light, and\n   therefore, as usual, subdued in color. The painting of the stones in\n   the foreground I have always thought, and still think, the best piece\n   of rock drawing before Turner, and the most amazing instance of\n   Tintoret's perceptiveness afforded by any of his pictures.\n\n   21. _St. Rocco._ Three figures occupy the spandrils of the window\n   above this and the following picture, painted merely in light and\n   shade, two larger than life, one rather smaller. I believe these to be\n   by Tintoret; but as they are quite in the dark, so that the execution\n   cannot be seen, and very good designs of the kind have been furnished\n   by other masters, I cannot answer for them. The figure of St. Rocco,\n   as well as its companion, St. Sebastian, is colored; they occupy the\n   narrow intervals between the windows, and are of course invisible\n   under ordinary circumstances. By a great deal of straining of the\n   eyes, and sheltering them with the hand from the light, some little\n   idea of the design may be obtained. The \"St. Rocco\" is a fine figure,\n   though rather coarse, but, at all events, worth as much light as would\n   enable us to see it.\n\n   22. _St. Sebastian._ This, the companion figure, is one of the finest\n   things in the whole room, and assuredly the most majestic Saint\n   Sebastian in existence; as far as mere humanity can be majestic, for\n   there is no effort at any expression of angelic or saintly\n   resignation; the effort is simply to realize the fact of the\n   martyrdom, and it seems to me that this is done to an extent not even\n   attempted by any other painter. I never saw a man die a violent death,\n   and therefore cannot say whether this figure be true or not, but it\n   gives the grandest and most intense impression of truth. The figure is\n   dead, and well it may be, for there is one arrow through the forehead\n   and another through the heart; but the eyes are open, though glazed,\n   and the body is rigid in the position in which it last stood, the left\n   arm raised and the left limb advanced, something in the attitude of a\n   soldier sustaining an attack under his shield, while the dead eyes are\n   still turned in the direction from which the arrows came: but the most\n   characteristic feature is the way these arrows are fixed. In the\n   common martyrdoms of St. Sebastian they are stuck into him here and\n   there like pins, as if they had been shot from a great distance and\n   had come faltering down, entering the flesh but a little way, and\n   rather bleeding the saint to death than mortally wounding him; but\n   Tintoret had no such ideas about archery. He must have seen bows drawn\n   in battle, like that of Jehu when he smote Jehoram between the\n   harness: all the arrows in the saint's body lie straight in the same\n   direction, broad-feathered and strong-shafted, and sent apparently\n   with the force of thunderbolts; every one of them has gone through him\n   like a lance, two through the limbs, one through the arm, one through\n   the heart, and the last has crashed through the forehead, nailing the\n   head to the tree behind as if it had been dashed in by a\n   sledge-hammer. The face, in spite of its ghastliness, is beautiful,\n   and has been serene; and the light which enters first and glistens on\n   the plumes of the arrows, dies softly away upon the curling hair, and\n   mixes with the glory upon the forehead. There is not a more remarkable\n   picture in Venice, and yet I do not suppose that one in a thousand of\n   the travellers who pass through the Scuola so much as perceives there\n   is a picture in the place which it occupies.\n\n   [Illustration: Third Group. On the roof of the upper room.\n\n      23. Moses striking the Rock.       29. Elijah.\n      24. Plague of Serpents.            30. Jonah.\n      25. Fall of Manna.                 31. Joshua.\n      26. Jacob's Dream.                 32. Sacrifice of Isaac.\n      27. Ezekiel's Vision.              33. Elijah at the Brook.\n      28. Fall of Man.                   34. Paschal Feast.\n                 35. Elisha feeding the People.]\n\n   23. _Moses striking the Rock._ We now come to the series of pictures\n   upon which the painter concentrated the strength he had reserved for\n   the upper room; and in some sort wisely, for, though it is not\n   pleasant to examine pictures on a ceiling, they are at least\n   distinctly visible without straining the eyes against the light. They\n   are carefully conceived and thoroughly well painted in proportion to\n   their distance from the eye. This carefulness of thought is apparent\n   at a glance: the \"Moses striking the Rock\" embraces the whole of the\n   seventeenth chapter of Exodus, and even something more, for it is not\n   from that chapter, but from parallel passages that we gather the facts\n   of the impatience of Moses and the wrath of God at the waters of\n   Meribah; both which facts are shown by the leaping of the stream out\n   of the rock half-a-dozen ways at once, forming a great arch over the\n   head of Moses, and by the partial veiling of the countenance of the\n   Supreme Being. This latter is the most painful part of the whole\n   picture, at least as it is seen from below; and I believe that in some\n   repairs of the roof this head must have been destroyed and repainted.\n   It is one of Tintoret's usual fine thoughts that the lower part of the\n   figure is veiled, not merely by clouds, but in a kind of watery\n   sphere, showing the Deity coming to the Israelites at that particular\n   moment as the Lord of the Rivers and of the Fountain of the Waters.\n   The whole figure, as well as that of Moses and the greater number of\n   those in the foreground, is at once dark and warm, black and red being\n   the prevailing colors, while the distance is bright gold touched with\n   blue, and seems to open into the picture like a break of blue sky\n   after rain. How exquisite is this expression, by mere color, of the\n   main force of the fact represented! that is to say, joy and\n   refreshment after sorrow and scorching heat. But, when we examine of\n   what this distance consists, we shall find still more cause for\n   admiration. The blue in it is not the blue of sky, it is obtained by\n   blue stripes upon white tents glowing in the sunshine; and in front of\n   these tents is seen that great battle with Amalek of which the account\n   is given in the remainder of the chapter, and for which the Israelites\n   received strength in the streams which ran out of the rock in Horeb.\n   Considered merely as a picture, the opposition of cool light to warm\n   shadow is one of the most remarkable pieces of color in the Scuola,\n   and the great mass of foliage which waves over the rocks on the left\n   appears to have been elaborated with his highest power and his most\n   sublime invention. But this noble passage is much injured, and now\n   hardly visible.\n\n   24. _Plague of Serpents._ The figures in the distance are remarkably\n   important in this picture, Moses himself being among them; in fact,\n   the whole scene is filled chiefly with middle-sized figures, in order\n   to increase the impression of space. It is interesting to observe the\n   difference in the treatment of this subject by the three great\n   painters, Michael Angelo, Rubens, and Tintoret. The first two, equal\n   to the latter in energy, had less love of liberty: they were fond of\n   binding their compositions into knots, Tintoret of scattering his far\n   and wide: they all alike preserve the unity of composition, but the\n   unity in the first two is obtained by binding, and that of the last by\n   springing from one source; and, together with this feeling, comes his\n   love of space, which makes him less regard the rounding and form of\n   objects themselves, than their relations of light and shade and\n   distance. Therefore Rubens and Michael Angelo made the fiery serpents\n   huge boa constrictors, and knotted the sufferers together with them.\n   Tintoret does not like to be so bound; so he makes the serpents little\n   flying and fluttering monsters like lampreys with wings; and the\n   children of Israel, instead of being thrown into convulsed and\n   writhing groups, are scattered, fainting in the fields, far away in\n   the distance. As usual, Tintoret's conception, while thoroughly\n   characteristic of himself, is also truer to the words of Scripture. We\n   are told that \"the Lord sent fiery serpents among the people, and they\n   _bit_ the people;\" we are not told that they crushed the people to\n   death. And while thus the truest, it is also the most terrific\n   conception. M. Angelo's would be terrific if one could believe in it:\n   but our instinct tells us that boa constrictors do not come in armies;\n   and we look upon the picture with as little emotion as upon the handle\n   of a vase, or any other form worked out of serpents, where there is no\n   probability of serpents actually occurring. But there is a probability\n   in Tintoret's conception. We feel that it is not impossible that there\n   should come up a swarm of these small winged reptiles: and their\n   horror is not diminished by their smallness: not that they have any of\n   the grotesque terribleness of German invention; they might have been\n   made infinitely uglier with small pains, but it is their\n   _veritableness_ which makes them awful. They have triangular heads\n   with sharp beaks or muzzle; and short, rather thick bodies, with bony\n   processes down the back like those of sturgeons; and small wings\n   spotted with orange and black; and round glaring eyes, not very large,\n   but very ghastly, with an intense delight in biting expressed in them.\n   (It is observable, that the Venetian painter has got his main idea of\n   them from the sea-horses and small reptiles of the Lagoons.) These\n   monsters are fluttering and writhing about everywhere, fixing on\n   whatever they come near with their sharp venomous heads; and they are\n   coiling about on the ground, and all the shadows and thickets are full\n   of them, so that there is no escape anywhere: and, in order to give\n   the idea of greater extent to the plague, Tintoret has not been\n   content with one horizon; I have before mentioned the excessive\n   strangeness of this composition, in having a cavern open in the right\n   of the foreground, through which is seen another sky and another\n   horizon. At the top of the picture, the Divine Being is seen borne by\n   angels, apparently passing over the congregation in wrath, involved in\n   masses of dark clouds; while, behind, an Angel of mercy is descending\n   toward Moses, surrounded by a globe of white light. This globe is\n   hardly seen from below; it is not a common glory, but a transparent\n   sphere, like a bubble, which not only envelopes the angel, but crosses\n   the figure of Moses, throwing the upper part of it into a subdued pale\n   color, as if it were crossed by a sunbeam. Tintoret is the only\n   painter who plays these tricks with transparent light, the only man\n   who seems to have perceived the effects of sunbeams, mists, and\n   clouds, in the far away atmosphere; and to have used what he saw on\n   towers, clouds, or mountains, to enhance the sublimity of his figures.\n   The whole upper part of this picture is magnificent, less with respect\n   to individual figures, than for the drift of its clouds, and\n   originality and complication of its light and shade; it is something\n   like Raffaelle's \"Vision of Ezekiel,\" but far finer. It is difficult\n   to understand how any painter, who could represent floating clouds so\n   nobly as he has done here, could ever paint the odd, round, pillowy\n   masses which so often occur in his more carelessly designed sacred\n   subjects. The lower figures are not so interesting, and the whole is\n   painted with a view to effect from below, and gains little by close\n   examination.\n\n   25. _Fall of Manna._ In none of these three large compositions has the\n   painter made the slightest effort at expression in the human\n   countenance; everything is done by gesture, and the faces of the\n   people who are drinking from the rock, dying from the serpent-bites,\n   and eating the manna, are all alike as calm as if nothing was\n   happening; in addition to this, as they are painted for distant\n   effect, the heads are unsatisfactory and coarse when seen near, and\n   perhaps in this last picture the more so, and yet the story is\n   exquisitely told. We have seen in the Church of San Giorgio Maggiore\n   another example of his treatment of it, where, however, the gathering\n   of manna is a subordinate employment, but here it is principal. Now,\n   observe, we are told of the manna, that it was found in the morning;\n   that then there lay round about the camp a small round thing like the\n   hoar-frost, and that \"when the sun waxed hot it melted.\" Tintoret has\n   endeavored, therefore, first of all, to give the idea of coolness; the\n   congregation are reposing in a soft green meadow, surrounded by blue\n   hills, and there are rich trees above them, to the branches of one of\n   which is attached a great grey drapery to catch the manna as it comes\n   down. In any other picture such a mass of drapery would assuredly have\n   had some vivid color, but here it is grey; the fields are cool frosty\n   green, the mountains cold blue, and, to complete the expression and\n   meaning of all this, there is a most important point to be noted in\n   the form of the Deity, seen above, through an opening in the clouds.\n   There are at least ten or twelve other pictures in which the form of\n   the Supreme Being occurs, to be found in the Scuola di San Rocco\n   alone; and in every one of these instances it is richly colored, the\n   garments being generally red and blue, but in this picture of the\n   manna the figure is _snow white_. Thus the painter endeavors to show\n   the Deity as the giver of bread, just as in the \"Striking of the Rock\"\n   we saw that he represented Him as the Lord of the rivers, the\n   fountains, and the waters. There is one other very sweet incident at\n   the bottom of the picture; four or five sheep, instead of pasturing,\n   turn their heads aside to catch the manna as it comes down, or seem to\n   be licking it off each other's fleeces. The tree above, to which the\n   drapery is tied, is the most delicate and delightful piece of leafage\n   in all the Scuola; it has a large sharp leaf, something like that of a\n   willow, but five times the size.\n\n   26. _Jacob's Dream._ A picture which has good effect from below, but\n   gains little when seen near. It is an embarrassing one for any\n   painter, because angels always look awkward going up and down stairs;\n   one does not see the use of their wings. Tintoret has thrown them into\n   buoyant and various attitudes, but has evidently not treated the\n   subject with delight; and it is seen to all the more disadvantage\n   because just above the painting of the \"Ascension,\" in which the full\n   fresh power of the painter is developed. One would think this latter\n   picture had been done just after a walk among hills, for it is full of\n   the most delicate effects of transparent cloud, more or less veiling\n   the faces and forms of the angels, and covering with white light the\n   silvery sprays of the palms, while the clouds in the \"Jacob's Dream\"\n   are the ordinary rotundities of the studio.\n\n   27. _Ezekiel's Vision._ I suspect this has been repainted, it is so\n   heavy and dead in color; a fault, however, observable in many of the\n   small pictures on the ceiling, and perhaps the natural result of the\n   fatigue of such a mind as Tintoret's. A painter who threw such intense\n   energy into some of his works can hardly but have been languid in\n   others in a degree never experienced by the more tranquil minds of\n   less powerful workmen; and when this languor overtook him whilst he\n   was at work on pictures where a certain space had to be covered by\n   mere force of arm, this heaviness of color could hardly but have been\n   the consequence: it shows itself chiefly in reds and other hot hues,\n   many of the pictures in the Ducal Palace also displaying it in a\n   painful degree. This \"Ezekiel's Vision\" is, however, in some measure\n   worthy of the master, in the wild and horrible energy with which the\n   skeletons are leaping up about the prophet; but it might have been\n   less horrible and more sublime, no attempt being made to represent the\n   space of the Valley of Dry Bones, and the whole canvas being occupied\n   only by eight figures, of which five are half skeletons. It it is\n   strange that, in such a subject, the prevailing hues should be red and\n   brown.\n\n   28. _Fall of Man._ The two canvases last named are the most\n   considerable in size upon the roof, after the centre pieces. We now\n   come to the smaller subjects which surround the \"Striking the Rock;\"\n   of these this \"Fall of Man\" is the best, and I should think it very\n   fine anywhere but in the Scuola di San Rocco; there is a grand light\n   on the body of Eve, and the vegetation is remarkably rich, but the\n   faces are coarse, and the composition uninteresting. I could not get\n   near enough to see what the grey object is upon which Eve appears to\n   be sitting, nor could I see any serpent. It is made prominent in the\n   picture of the Academy of this same subject, so that I suppose it is\n   hidden in the darkness, together with much detail which it would be\n   necessary to discover in order to judge the work justly.\n\n   29. _Elijah (?)._ A prophet holding down his face, which is covered\n   with his hand. God is talking with him, apparently in rebuke. The\n   clothes on his breast are rent, and the action of the figures might\n   suggest the idea of the scene between the Deity and Elijah at Horeb:\n   but there is no suggestion of the past magnificent scenery,--of the\n   wind, the earthquake, or the fire; so that the conjecture is good for\n   very little. The painting is of small interest; the faces are vulgar,\n   and the draperies have too much vapid historical dignity to be\n   delightful.\n\n   30. _Jonah._ The whale here occupies fully one-half of the canvas;\n   being correspondent in value with a landscape background. His mouth is\n   as large as a cavern, and yet, unless the mass of red color in the\n   foreground be a piece of drapery, his tongue is too large for it. He\n   seems to have lifted Jonah out upon it, and not yet drawn it back, so\n   that it forms a kind of crimson cushion for him to kneel upon in his\n   submission to the Deity. The head to which this vast tongue belongs is\n   sketched in somewhat loosely, and there is little remarkable about it\n   except its size, nor much in the figures, though the submissiveness of\n   Jonah is well given. The great thought of Michael Angelo renders one\n   little charitable to any less imaginative treatment of this subject.\n\n   31. _Joshua (?)._ This is a most interesting picture, and it is a\n   shame that its subject is not made out, for it is not a common one.\n   The figure has a sword in its hand, and looks up to a sky full of\n   fire, out of which the form of the Deity is stooping, represented as\n   white and colorless. On the other side of the picture there is seen\n   among the clouds a pillar apparently falling, and there is a crowd at\n   the feet of the principal figure, carrying spears. Unless this be\n   Joshua at the fall of Jericho, I cannot tell what it means; it is\n   painted with great vigor, and worthy of a better place.\n\n   32. _Sacrifice of Isaac._ In conception, it is one of the least worthy\n   of the master in the whole room, the three figures being thrown into\n   violent attitudes, as inexpressive as they are strained and\n   artificial. It appears to have been vigorously painted, but vulgarly;\n   that is to say, the light is concentrated upon the white beard and\n   upturned countenance of Abraham, as it would have been in one of the\n   dramatic effects of the French school, the result being that the head\n   is very bright and very conspicuous, and perhaps, in some of the late\n   operations upon the roof, recently washed and touched. In consequence,\n   every one who comes into the room, is first invited to observe the\n   \"bella testa di Abramo.\" The only thing characteristic of Tintoret is\n   the way in which the pieces of ragged wood are tossed hither and\n   thither in the pile upon which Isaac is bound, although this\n   scattering of the wood is inconsistent with the Scriptural account of\n   Abraham's deliberate procedure, for we are told of him that \"he set\n   the wood in order.\" But Tintoret had probably not noticed this, and\n   thought the tossing of the timber into the disordered heap more like\n   the act of the father in his agony.\n\n   33. _Elijah at the Brook Cherith (?)._ I cannot tell if I have rightly\n   interpreted the meaning of this picture, which merely represents a\n   noble figure couched upon the ground, and an angel appearing to him;\n   but I think that between the dark tree on the left, and the recumbent\n   figure, there is some appearance of a running stream, at all events\n   there is of a mountainous and stony place. The longer I study this\n   master, the more I feel the strange likeness between him and Turner,\n   in our never knowing what subject it is that will stir him to\n   exertion. We have lately had him treating Jacob's Dream, Ezekiel's\n   Vision, Abraham's Sacrifice, and Jonah's Prayer, (all of them subjects\n   on which the greatest painters have delighted to expend their\n   strength,) with coldness, carelessness, and evident absence of\n   delight; and here, on a sudden, in a subject so indistinct that one\n   cannot be sure of its meaning, and embracing only two figures, a man\n   and an angel, forth he starts in his full strength. I believe he must\n   somewhere or another, the day before, have seen a kingfisher; for this\n   picture seems entirely painted for the sake of the glorious downy\n   wings of the angel,--white clouded with blue, as the bird's head and\n   wings are with green,--the softest and most elaborate in plumage that\n   I have seen in any of his works: but observe also the general\n   sublimity obtained by the mountainous lines of the drapery of the\n   recumbent figure, dependent for its dignity upon these forms alone, as\n   the face is more than half hidden, and what is seen of it\n   expressionless.\n\n   34. _The Paschal Feast._ I name this picture by the title given in the\n   guide-books; it represents merely five persons watching the increase\n   of a small fire lighted on a table or altar in the midst of them. It\n   is only because they have all staves in their hands that one may\n   conjecture this fire to be that kindled to consume the Paschal\n   offering. The effect is of course a fire light; and, like all mere\n   fire lights that I have ever seen, totally devoid of interest.\n\n   35. _Elisha feeding the People._ I again guess at the subject: the\n   picture only represents a figure casting down a number of loaves\n   before a multitude; but, as Elisha has not elsewhere occurred, I\n   suppose that these must be the barley loaves brought from\n   Baalshalisha. In conception and manner of painting, this picture and\n   the last, together with the others above-mentioned, in comparison with\n   the \"Elijah at Cherith,\" may be generally described as \"dregs of\n   Tintoret:\" they are tired, dead, dragged out upon the canvas\n   apparently in the heavy-hearted state which a man falls into when he\n   is both jaded with toil and sick of the work he is employed upon. They\n   are not hastily painted; on the contrary, finished with considerably\n   more care than several of the works upon the walls; but those, as, for\n   instance, the \"Agony in the Garden,\" are hurried sketches with the\n   man's whole heart in them, while these pictures are exhausted\n   fulfilments of an appointed task. Whether they were really amongst the\n   last painted, or whether the painter had fallen ill at some\n   intermediate time, I cannot say; but we shall find him again in his\n   utmost strength in the room which we last enter.\n\n   [Illustration: Fourth Group. Inner room on the upper floor.\n\n                              On the Roof.\n\n      36 to 39. Children's Heads.          41 to 44. Children.\n      40. St. Rocco in Heaven.             45 to 56. Allegorical Figures.\n\n                             On the Walls.\n\n      57. Figure in Niche.                 60. Ecce Homo.\n      58. Figure in Niche.                 61. Christ bearing his Cross.\n      59. Christ before Pilate.            62. CRUCIFIXION.]\n\n   36 to 39. _Four Children's Heads_, which it is much to be regretted\n   should be thus lost in filling small vacuities of the ceiling.\n\n   40. _St. Rocco in Heaven._ The central picture of the roof, in the\n   inner room. From the well-known anecdote respecting the production of\n   this picture, whether in all its details true or not, we may at least\n   gather that having been painted in competition with Paul Veronese and\n   other powerful painters of the day, it was probably Tintoret's\n   endeavor to make it as popular and showy as possible. It is quite\n   different from his common works; bright in all its tints and tones;\n   the faces carefully drawn, and of an agreeable type; the outlines\n   firm, and the shadows few; the whole resembling Correggio more than\n   any Venetian painter. It is, however, an example of the danger, even\n   to the greatest artist, of leaving his own style; for it lacks all the\n   great virtues of Tintoret, without obtaining the lusciousness of\n   Correggio. One thing, at all events, is remarkable in it,--that,\n   though painted while the competitors were making their sketches, it\n   shows no sign of haste or inattention.\n\n   41 to 44. _Figures of Children_, merely decorative.\n\n   45 to 56. _Allegorical Figures on the Roof._ If these were not in the\n   same room with the \"Crucifixion,\" they would attract more public\n   attention than any works in the Scuola, as there are here no black\n   shadows, nor extravagances of invention, but very beautiful figures\n   richly and delicately colored, a good deal resembling some of the best\n   works of Andrea del Sarto. There is nothing in them, however,\n   requiring detailed examination. The two figures between the windows\n   are very slovenly, if they are his at all; and there are bits of\n   marbling and fruit filling the cornices, which may or may not be his:\n   if they are, they are tired work, and of small importance.\n\n   59. _Christ before Pilate._ A most interesting picture, but, which is\n   unusual, best seen on a dark day, when the white figure of Christ\n   alone draws the eye, looking almost like a spirit; the painting of the\n   rest of the picture being both somewhat thin and imperfect. There is a\n   certain meagreness about all the minor figures, less grandeur and\n   largeness in the limbs and draperies, and less solidity, it seems,\n   even in the color, although its arrangements are richer than in many\n   of the compositions above described. I hardly know whether it is owing\n   to this thinness of color, or on purpose, that the horizontal clouds\n   shine through the crimson flag in the distance; though I should think\n   the latter, for the effect is most beautiful. The passionate action of\n   the Scribe in lifting his hand to dip the pen into the ink-horn is,\n   however, affected and overstrained, and the Pilate is very mean;\n   perhaps intentionally, that no reverence might be withdrawn from the\n   person of Christ. In work of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries,\n   the figures of Pilate and Herod are always intentionally made\n   contemptible.\n\n   _Ecce Homo._ As usual, Tintoret's own peculiar view of the subject.\n   Christ is laid fainting on the ground, with a soldier standing on one\n   side of him; while Pilate, on the other, withdraws the robe from the\n   scourged and wounded body, and points it out to the Jews. Both this\n   and the picture last mentioned resemble Titian more than Tintoret in\n   the style of their treatment.\n\n   61. _Christ bearing his Cross._ Tintoret is here recognizable again in\n   undiminished strength. He has represented the troops and attendants\n   climbing Calvary by a winding path, of which two turns are seen, the\n   figures on the uppermost ledge, and Christ in the centre of them,\n   being relieved against the sky; but, instead of the usual simple\n   expedient of the bright horizon to relieve the dark masses, there is\n   here introduced, on the left, the head of a white horse, which blends\n   itself with the sky in one broad mass of light. The power of the\n   picture is chiefly in effect, the figure of Christ being too far off\n   to be very interesting, and only the malefactors being seen on the\n   nearer path; but for this very reason it seems to me more impressive,\n   as if one had been truly present at the scene, though not exactly in\n   the right place for seeing it.\n\n   62. _The Crucifixion._ I must leave this picture to work its will on\n   the spectator; for it is beyond all analysis, and above all praise.\n\n\n    S\n\n SAGREDO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal, II. 256. Much defaced, but full\n   of interest. Its sea story is restored; its first floor has a most\n   interesting arcade of the early thirteenth century third order\n   windows; its upper windows are the finest fourth and fifth orders of\n   early fourteenth century; the group of fourth orders in the centre\n   being brought into some resemblance to the late Gothic traceries by\n   the subsequent introduction of the quatrefoils above them.\n\n SALUTE, CHURCH OF STA. MARIA DELLA, on the Grand Canal, II. 378. One\n   of the earliest buildings of the Grotesque Renaissance, rendered\n   impressive by its position, size, and general proportions. These\n   latter are exceedingly good; the grace of the whole building being\n   chiefly dependent on the inequality of size in its cupolas, and pretty\n   grouping of the two campaniles behind them. It is to be generally\n   observed that the proportions of buildings have nothing whatever to\n   do with the style or general merits of their architecture. An\n   architect trained in the worst schools, and utterly devoid of all\n   meaning or purpose in his work, may yet have such a natural gift of\n   massing and grouping as will render all his structures effective when\n   seen from a distance: such a gift is very general with the late\n   Italian builders, so that many of the most contemptible edifices in\n   the country have good stage effect so long as we do not approach them.\n   The Church of the Salute is farther assisted by the beautiful flight\n   of steps in front of it down to the canal; and its fa\u00e7ade is rich and\n   beautiful of its kind, and was chosen by Turner for the principal\n   object in his well-known view of the Grand Canal. The principal faults\n   of the building are the meagre windows in the sides of the cupola, and\n   the ridiculous disguise of the buttresses under the form of colossal\n   scrolls; the buttresses themselves being originally a hypocrisy, for\n   the cupola is stated by Lazari to be of timber, and therefore needs\n   none. The sacristy contains several precious pictures: the three on\n   its roof by Titian, much vaunted, are indeed as feeble as they are\n   monstrous; but the small Titian, \"St. Mark, with Sts. Cosmo and\n   Damian,\" was, when I first saw it, to my judgment, by far the first\n   work of Titian's in Venice. It has since been restored by the Academy,\n   and it seemed to me entirely destroyed, but I had not time to examine\n   it carefully.\n\n   At the end of the larger sacristy is the lunette which once decorated\n   the tomb of the Doge Francesco Dandolo (see above, page 74); and, at\n   the side of it, one of the most highly finished Tintorets in Venice,\n   namely:\n\n   _The Marriage in Cana._ An immense picture, some twenty-five feet long\n   by fifteen high, and said by Lazari to be one of the few which\n   Tintoret signed with his name. I am not surprised at his having done\n   so in this case. Evidently the work has been a favorite with him, and\n   he has taken as much pains as it was ever necessary for his colossal\n   strength to take with anything. The subject is not one which admits of\n   much singularity or energy in composition. It was always a favorite\n   one with Veronese, because it gave dramatic interest to figures in gay\n   costumes and of cheerful countenances; but one is surprised to find\n   Tintoret, whose tone of mind was always grave, and who did not like to\n   make a picture out of brocades and diadems, throwing his whole\n   strength into the conception of a marriage feast; but so it is, and\n   there are assuredly no female heads in any of his pictures in Venice\n   elaborated so far as those which here form the central light. Neither\n   is it often that the works of this mighty master conform themselves to\n   any of the rules acted upon by ordinary painters; but in this instance\n   the popular laws have been observed, and an academy student would be\n   delighted to see with what severity the principal light is arranged in\n   a central mass, which is divided and made more brilliant by a vigorous\n   piece of shadow thrust into the midst of it, and which dies away in\n   lesser fragments and sparkling towards the extremities of the picture.\n   This mass of light is as interesting by its composition as by its\n   intensity. The cicerone who escorts the stranger round the sacristy in\n   the course of five minutes, and allows him some forty seconds for the\n   contemplation of a picture which the study of six months would not\n   entirely fathom, directs his attention very carefully to the \"bell'\n   effetto di prospettivo,\" the whole merit of the picture being, in the\n   eyes of the intelligent public, that there is a long table in it, one\n   end of which looks farther off than the other; but there is more in\n   the \"bell' effetto di prospettivo\" than the observance of the common\n   laws of optics. The table is set in a spacious chamber, of which the\n   windows at the end let in the light from the horizon, and those in the\n   side wall the intense blue of an Eastern sky. The spectator looks all\n   along the table, at the farther end of which are seated Christ and the\n   Madonna, the marriage guests on each side of it,--on one side men, on\n   the other women; the men are set with their backs to the light, which\n   passing over their heads and glancing slightly on the tablecloth,\n   falls in full length along the line of young Venetian women, who thus\n   fill the whole centre of the picture with one broad sunbeam, made up\n   of fair faces and golden hair. Close to the spectator a woman has\n   risen in amazement, and stretches across the table to show the wine in\n   her cup to those opposite; her dark red dress intercepts and enhances\n   the mass of gathered light. It is rather curious, considering the\n   subject of the picture, that one cannot distinguish either the bride\n   or the bridegroom; but the fourth figure from the Madonna in the line\n   of women, who wears a white head-dress of lace and rich chains of\n   pearls in her hair, may well be accepted for the former, and I think\n   that between her and the woman on the Madonna's left hand the unity of\n   the line of women is intercepted by a male figure; be this as it may,\n   this fourth female face is the most beautiful, as far as I recollect,\n   that occurs in the works of the painter, with the exception only of\n   the Madonna in the \"Flight into Egypt.\" It is an ideal which occurs\n   indeed elsewhere in many of his works, a face at once dark and\n   delicate, the Italian cast of feature moulded with the softness and\n   childishness of English beauty some half a century ago; but I have\n   never seen the ideal so completely worked out by the master. The face\n   may best be described as one of the purest and softest of Stothard's\n   conceptions, executed with all the strength of Tintoret. The other\n   women are all made inferior to this one, but there are beautiful\n   profiles and bendings of breasts and necks along the whole line. The\n   men are all subordinate, though there are interesting portraits among\n   them; perhaps the only fault of the picture being that the faces are a\n   little too conspicuous, seen like balls of light among the crowd of\n   minor figures which fill the background of the picture. The tone of\n   the whole is sober and majestic in the highest degree; the dresses are\n   all broad masses of color, and the only parts of the picture which lay\n   claim to the expression of wealth or splendor are the head-dresses of\n   the women. In this respect the conception of the scene differs widely\n   from that of Veronese, and approaches more nearly to the probable\n   truth. Still the marriage is not an unimportant one; an immense crowd,\n   filling the background, forming superbly rich mosaic of color against\n   the distant sky. Taken as a whole, the picture is perhaps the most\n   perfect example which human art has produced of the utmost possible\n   force and sharpness of shadow united with richness of local color. In\n   all the other works of Tintoret, and much more of other colorists,\n   either the light and shade or the local color is predominant; in the\n   one case the picture has a tendency to look as if painted by\n   candle-light, in the other it becomes daringly conventional, and\n   approaches the conditions of glass-painting. This picture unites\n   color as rich as Titian's with light and shade as forcible as\n   Rembrandt's, and far more decisive.\n\n   There are one or two other interesting pictures of the early Venetian\n   schools in this sacristy, and several important tombs in the adjoining\n   cloister; among which that of Francesco Dandolo, transported here from\n   the Church of the Frari, deserves especial attention. See above, p.\n   74.\n\n SALVATORE, CHURCH OF ST. Base Renaissance, occupying the place of the\n   ancient church, under the porch of which the Pope Alexander III. is\n   said to have passed the night. M. Lazari states it to have been richly\n   decorated with mosaics; now all is gone.\n\n   In the interior of the church are some of the best examples of\n   Renaissance sculptural monuments in Venice. (See above, Chap. II. \u00a7\n   LXXX.) It is said to possess an important pala of silver, of the\n   thirteenth century, one of the objects in Venice which I much regret\n   having forgotten to examine; besides two Titians, a Bonifazio, and a\n   John Bellini. The latter (\"The Supper at Emmaus\") must, I think, have\n   been entirely repainted: it is not only unworthy of the master, but\n   unlike him; as far, at least, as I could see from below, for it is\n   hung high.\n\n SANUDO PALAZZO. At the Miracoli. A noble Gothic palace of the fourteenth\n   century, with Byzantine fragments and cornices built into its walls,\n   especially round the interior court, in which the staircase is very\n   noble. Its door, opening on the quay, is the only one in Venice\n   entirely uninjured; retaining its wooden valve richly sculptured, its\n   wicket for examination of the stranger demanding admittance, and its\n   quaint knocker in the form of a fish.\n\n SCALZI, CHURCH OF THE. It possesses a fine John Bellini, and is renowned\n   through Venice for its precious marbles. I omitted to notice above, in\n   speaking of the buildings of the Grotesque Renaissance, that many of\n   them are remarkable for a kind of dishonesty, even in the use of\n   _true_ marbles, resulting not from motives of economy, but from mere\n   love of juggling and falsehood for their own sake. I hardly know which\n   condition of mind is meanest, that which has pride in plaster made to\n   look like marble, or that which takes delight in marble made to look\n   like silk. Several of the later churches in Venice, more especially\n   those of the Jesuiti, of San Clemente, and this of the Scalzi, rest\n   their chief claims to admiration on their having curtains and cushions\n   cut out of rock. The most ridiculous example is in San Clemente, and\n   the most curious and costly are in the Scalzi; which latter church is\n   a perfect type of the vulgar abuse of marble in every possible way, by\n   men who had no eye for color, and no understanding of any merit in a\n   work of art but that which arises from costliness of material, and\n   such powers of imitation as are devoted in England to the manufacture\n   of peaches and eggs out of Derbyshire spar.\n\n SEBASTIAN, CHURCH OF ST. The tomb, and of old the monument, of Paul\n   Veronese. It is full of his noblest pictures, or of what once were\n   such; but they seemed to me for the most part destroyed by repainting.\n   I had not time to examine them justly, but I would especially direct\n   the traveller's attention to the small Madonna over the second altar\n   on the right of the nave, still a perfect and priceless treasure.\n\n SERVI, CHURCH OF THE. Only two of its gates and some ruined walls are\n   left, in one of the foulest districts of the city. It was one of the\n   most interesting monuments of the early fourteenth century Gothic; and\n   there is much beauty in the fragments yet remaining. How long they may\n   stand I know not, the whole building having been offered me for sale,\n   ground and all, or stone by stone, as I chose, by its present\n   proprietor, when I was last in Venice. More real good might at present\n   be effected by any wealthy person who would devote his resources to\n   the preservation of such monuments wherever they exist, by freehold\n   purchase of the entire ruin, and afterwards by taking proper charge of\n   it, and forming a garden round it, than by any other mode of\n   protecting or encouraging art. There is no school, no lecturer, like a\n   ruin of the early ages.\n\n SEVERO, FONDAMENTA SAN, palace at, II. 264.\n\n SILVESTRO, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance in itself, but it contains\n   two very interesting pictures: the first, a \"St. Thomas of Canterbury\n   with the Baptist and St. Francis,\" by Girolamo Santa Croce, a superb\n   example of the Venetian religious school; the second by Tintoret,\n   namely:\n\n   _The Baptism of Christ._ (Over the first altar on the right of the\n   nave.) An upright picture, some ten feet wide by fifteen high; the top\n   of it is arched, representing the Father supported by angels. It\n   requires little knowledge of Tintoret to see that these figures are\n   not by his hand. By returning to the opposite side of the nave, the\n   join in the canvas may be plainly seen, the upper part of the picture\n   having been entirely added on: whether it had this upper part before\n   it was repainted, or whether originally square, cannot now be told,\n   but I believe it had an upper part which has been destroyed. I am not\n   sure if even the dove and the two angels which are at the top of the\n   older part of the picture are quite genuine. The rest of it is\n   magnificent, though both the figures of the Saviour and the Baptist\n   show some concession on the part of the painter to the imperative\n   requirement of his age, that nothing should be done except in an\n   attitude; neither are there any of his usual fantastic imaginations.\n   There is simply the Christ in the water and the St. John on the shore,\n   without attendants, disciples, or witnesses of any kind; but the power\n   of the light and shade, and the splendor of the landscape, which on\n   the whole is well preserved, render it a most interesting example. The\n   Jordan is represented as a mountain brook, receiving a tributary\n   stream in a cascade from the rocks, in which St. John stands: there is\n   a rounded stone in the centre of the current; and the parting of the\n   water at this, as well as its rippling among the roots of some dark\n   trees on the left, are among the most accurate remembrances of nature\n   to be found in any of the works of the great masters. I hardly know\n   whether most to wonder at the power of the man who thus broke through\n   the neglect of nature which was universal at his time; or at the\n   evidences, visible throughout the whole of the conception, that he was\n   still content to paint from slight memories of what he had seen in\n   hill countries, instead of following out to its full depth the\n   fountain which he had opened. There is not a stream among the hills of\n   Priuli which in any quarter of a mile of its course would not have\n   suggested to him finer forms of cascade than those which he has idly\n   painted at Venice.\n\n SIMEONE, PROFETA, CHURCH OF ST. Very important, though small, possessing\n   the precious statue of St. Simeon, above noticed, II. 309. The rare\n   early Gothic capitals of the nave are only interesting to the\n   architect; but in the little passage by the side of the church,\n   leading out of the Campo, there is a curious Gothic monument built\n   into the wall, very beautiful in the placing of the angels in the\n   spandrils, and rich in the vine-leaf moulding above.\n\n SIMEONE, PICCOLO, CHURCH OF ST. One of the ugliest churches in Venice or\n   elsewhere. Its black dome, like an unusual species of gasometer, is\n   the admiration of modern Italian architects.\n\n\n SOSPIRI, PONTE DE'. The well known \"Bridge of Sighs,\" a work of no\n   merit, and of a late period (see Vol. II. p. 304), owing the interest\n   it possesses chiefly to its pretty name, and to the ignorant\n   sentimentalism of Byron.\n\n SPIRITO SANTO, CHURCH OF THE. Of no importance.\n\n STEFANO, CHURCH OF ST. An interesting building of central Gothic, the\n   best ecclesiastical example of it in Venice. The west entrance is much\n   later than any of the rest, and is of the richest Renaissance Gothic,\n   a little anterior to the Porta della Carta, and first-rate of its\n   kind. The manner of the introduction of the figure of the angel at the\n   top of the arch is full of beauty. Note the extravagant crockets and\n   cusp finials as signs of decline.\n\n STEFANO, CHURCH OF ST., at Murano (pugnacity of its abbot), II. 33. The\n   church no longer exists.\n\n STROPE, CAMPIELLO DELLA, house in, II. 266.\n\n\n    T\n\n\n TANA, windows at the, II. 260.\n\n TIEPOLO, PALAZZO, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.\n\n TOLENTINI, CHURCH OF THE. One of the basest and coldest works of the\n   late Renaissance. It is said to contain two Bonifazios.\n\n TOMA, CHURCH OF ST. Of no importance.\n\n TOMA, PONTE SAN. There is an interesting ancient doorway opening on the\n   canal close to this bridge, probably of the twelfth century, and a\n   good early Gothic door, opening upon the bridge itself.\n\n TORCELLO, general aspect of, II. 12; Santa Fosca at, I. 117, II. 13;\n   duomo, II. 14; mosaics of, II. 196; measures of, II. 378; date of, II.\n   380.\n\n TREVISAN, PALAZZO, I. 369, III. 212.\n\n TRON, PALAZZO. Of no importance.\n\n TROVASO, CHURCH OF ST. Itself of no importance, but containing two\n   pictures by Tintoret, namely:\n\n   1. _The Temptation of St. Anthony._ (Altar piece in the chapel on the\n   left of the choir.) A small and very carefully finished picture, but\n   marvellously temperate and quiet in treatment, especially considering\n   the subject, which one would have imagined likely to inspire the\n   painter with one of his most fantastic visions. As if on purpose to\n   disappoint us, both the effect, and the conception of the figures, are\n   perfectly quiet, and appear the result much more of careful study than\n   of vigorous imagination. The effect is one of plain daylight; there\n   are a few clouds drifting in the distance, but with no wildness in\n   them, nor is there any energy or heat in the flames which mantle about\n   the waist of one of the figures. But for the noble workmanship, we\n   might almost fancy it the production of a modern academy; yet as we\n   begin to read the picture, the painter's mind becomes felt. St.\n   Anthony is surrounded by four figures, one of which only has the form\n   of a demon, and he is in the background, engaged in no more terrific\n   act of violence toward St. Anthony, than endeavoring to pull off his\n   mantle; he has, however, a scourge over his shoulder, but this is\n   probably intended for St. Anthony's weapon of self-discipline, which\n   the fiend, with a very Protestant turn of mind, is carrying off. A\n   broken staff, with a bell hanging to it, at the saint's feet, also\n   expresses his interrupted devotion. The three other figures beside him\n   are bent on more cunning mischief: the woman on the left is one of\n   Tintoret's best portraits of a young and bright-eyed Venetian beauty.\n   It is curious that he has given so attractive a countenance to a type\n   apparently of the temptation to violate the power of poverty, for this\n   woman places one hand in a vase full of coins, and shakes golden\n   chains with the other. On the opposite side of the saint, another\n   woman, admirably painted, but of a far less attractive countenance, is\n   a type of the lusts of the flesh, yet there is nothing gross or\n   immodest in her dress or gesture. She appears to have been baffled,\n   and for the present to have given up addressing the saint: she lays\n   one hand upon her breast, and might be taken for a very respectable\n   person, but that there are flames playing about her loins. A recumbent\n   figure on the ground is of less intelligible character, but may\n   perhaps be meant for Indolence; at all events, he has torn the saint's\n   book to pieces. I forgot to note, that under the figure representing\n   Avarice, there is a creature like a pig; whether actual pig or not is\n   unascertainable, for the church is dark, the little light that comes\n   on the picture falls on it the wrong way, and one third of the lower\n   part of it is hidden by a white case, containing a modern daub, lately\n   painted by way of an altar piece; the meaning, as well as the merit,\n   of the grand old picture being now far beyond the comprehension both\n   of priests and people.\n\n   2. _The Last Supper._ (On the left-hand side of the Chapel of the\n   Sacrament.) A picture which has been through the hands of the Academy,\n   and is therefore now hardly worth notice. Its conception seems always\n   to have been vulgar, and far below Tintoret's usual standard; there is\n   singular baseness in the circumstance, that one of the near Apostles,\n   while all the others are, as usual, intent upon Christ's words, \"One\n   of you shall betray me,\" is going to help himself to wine out of a\n   bottle which stands behind him. In so doing he stoops towards the\n   table, the flask being on the floor. If intended for the action of\n   Judas at this moment, there is the painter's usual originality in the\n   thought; but it seems to me rather done to obtain variation of\n   posture, in bringing the red dress into strong contrast with the\n   tablecloth. The color has once been fine, and there are fragments of\n   good painting still left; but the light does not permit these to be\n   seen, and there is too much perfect work of the master's in Venice, to\n   permit us to spend time on retouched remnants. The picture is only\n   worth mentioning, because it is ignorantly and ridiculously referred\n   to by Kugler as characteristic of Tintoret.\n\n\n    V\n\n VITALI, CHURCH OF ST. Said to contain a picture by Vittor Carpaccio,\n   over the high altar: otherwise of no importance.\n\n\n VOLTO SANTO, CHURCH OF THE. An interesting but desecrated ruin of the\n   fourteenth century; fine in style. Its roof retains some fresco\n   coloring, but, as far as I recollect, of later date than the\n   architecture.\n\n\n    Z\n\n ZACCARIA, CHURCH OF ST. Early Renaissance, and fine of its kind; a\n   Gothic chapel attached to it is of great beauty. It contains the best\n   John Bellini in Venice, after that of San G. Grisostomo, \"The Virgin,\n   with Four Saints;\" and is said to contain another John Bellini and a\n   Tintoret, neither of which I have seen.\n\n ZITELLE, CHURCH OF THE. Of no importance.\n\n ZOBENIGO, CHURCH OF SANTA MARIA, III. 124. It contains one valuable\n   Tintoret, namely:\n\n   _Christ with Sta. Justina and St. Augustin._ (Over the third altar on\n   the south side of the nave.) A picture of small size, and upright,\n   about ten feet by eight. Christ appears to be descending out of the\n   clouds between the two saints, who are both kneeling on the sea shore.\n   It is a Venetian sea, breaking on a flat beach, like the Lido, with a\n   scarlet galley in the middle distance, of which the chief use is to\n   unite the two figures by a point of color. Both the saints are\n   respectable Venetians of the lower class, in homely dresses and with\n   homely faces. The whole picture is quietly painted, and somewhat\n   slightly; free from all extravagance, and displaying little power\n   except in the general truth or harmony of colors so easily laid on. It\n   is better preserved than usual, and worth dwelling upon as an instance\n   of the style of the master when _at rest_.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n  [71]  \"Am I in Italy? Is this the Mincius?\n         Are those the distant turrets of Verona?\n         And shall I sup where Juliet at the Masque\n         Saw her loved Montague, and now sleeps by him?\n         Such questions hourly do I ask myself;\n         And not a stone in a crossway inscribed\n         'To Mantua,' 'To Ferrara,' but excites\n         Surprise, and doubt, and self-congratulation.\"\n\n    Alas, after a few short months, spent even in the scenes dearest to\n    history, we can feel thus no more.\n\n  [72] I have always called this church, in the text, simply \"St. John\n    and Paul,\" not Sts. John and Paul, just as the Venetians say San\n    Giovanni e Paolo, and not Santi G., &c.\n\n\n\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nCORRECTIONS MADE TO THE ORIGINAL TEXT.\n\nPage 69: 'Italian sarcophagi are kept massive, smoth and gloomy' smoth\n            corrected to smooth.\n\nPage 74: 'fallen back peacefully uppon his pillow' uppon corrected to\n            upon.\n\nPage 100: 'men's modes of life, and tones of throught' throught changed\n             to thought.\n\nPage 121: 'breathed upon her beaaty, until it melted away' beaaty\n             corrected to beauty.\n\nPage 157: 'morbid action by terror, accompained by the belief'\n             accompained changed to accompanied.\n\nPage 207: 'finds him by a fountaiu side' fountaiu corrected to fountain.\n\nPage 222: 'Pietro di Castello, for the feast of St. Mary' Mary changed\n             to Mark.\n\nPage 233: Number 2. misplaced. Moved to 'a. Lower arcade, Fondaco de'\n            Turchi.'\n\nPage 233: Missing 4. added before 'a. Fondaco de' Turchi, central shaft,\n            upper arcade.'\n\nPage 237: 'fourth order windows in Campo Sta. Ma Mater Domini' Ma\n             changed to M^a.\n\nPage 293: 'the usual inportant purposes of the modern Italians.'\n             inportant changed to important.\n\nPage 294: 'not the slightest touch os it but is delicious.' os corrected\n             to of.\n\nPage 318: 'examine the two large tintorets' tintorets changed to\n             Tintorets.\n\nPage 319: 'Mlaipiero, Palazzo, on the Campo St. M. Formosa.' Mlaipiero\n             corrected to Malipiero.\n\nPage 358: 'drift of its clouds, and originalty and complication.'\n             originalty corrected to originality.","title":"The Stones of Venice, Volume 3 (of 3)","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":139418}