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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b73bb4 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66295 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66295) diff --git a/old/66295-0.txt b/old/66295-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 87d354f..0000000 --- a/old/66295-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6046 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Venice, by Beryl de Sélincourt - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Venice - -Author: Beryl de Sélincourt - May Sturge Henderson - -Illustrator: Reginald Barratt - -Release Date: September 13, 2021 [eBook #66295] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENICE *** - - - - -VENICE - -[Illustration: - - _By permission of the late Thomas Threlfall, Esq._ - -THE CAMPANILE.] - - - - - VENICE - - BY - BERYL DE SÉLINCOURT - AND - MAY STURGE HENDERSON - - - ILLUSTRATED BY - REGINALD BARRATT - OF THE ROYAL WATER-COLOR - SOCIETY - - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK - DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY - 1907 - - - - - _Copyright, 1907_, - BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY - - Published, October, 1907 - - - - -CONTENTS - - - _Page_ - I - - INTRODUCTORY 1 - - - II - - PHANTOMS OF THE LAGOONS 16 - - - III - - THE NUPTIALS OF VENICE 54 - - - IV - - VENICE IN FESTIVAL 74 - - - V - - A MERCHANT OF VENICE 98 - - - VI - - VENICE OF CRUSADE AND PILGRIMAGE 124 - - - VII - - TWO VENETIAN STATUES 160 - - - VIII - - VENETIAN WATERWAYS (PART I) 187 - - - IX - - VENETIAN WATERWAYS (PART II) 253 - - - X - - ARTISTS OF THE VENETIAN RENAISSANCE 275 - - - XI - - THE SOUL THAT ENDURES 317 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - The Campanile _Frontispiece_ - - PAGE - - View from the Gallery of San Marco 7 - - Santa Maria della Salute 23 - - The Clock Tower 37 - - Riva Degli Schiavoni 57 - - The Doorway of San Marco 71 - - View from Cà d’Oro 81 - - Courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale 91 - - San Giorgio 107 - - The Dogana 119 - - The Shadow of the Campanile 127 - - The Clock Tower from Gallery of San Marco 137 - - The Horses of San Marco, looking South 147 - - The Horses of San Marco, looking North 155 - - In the Piazza 175 - - View on the Grand Canal from San Angelo 189 - - Piazzetta, The Library 195 - - Corner of the Palazzo Dario 201 - - A Venetian Bridge 219 - - Palazzo Sanudo 231 - - A Side Canal 241 - - The Gondoliers’ Shrine 247 - - Entrance of the Grand Canal 257 - - View on the Grand Canal 269 - - Palazzo Rezzonico 281 - - Towards the Rialto San Angelo 291 - - Bronze Well-Head by Alberghetti--The Courtyard of Palazzo Ducale 305 - - Evening in the Piazzetta 313 - - A Palace Door 323 - - Zattere 331 - - - - -VENICE - - - - -Chapter One - -INTRODUCTORY - - -“Venice herself is poetry, and creates a poet out of the dullest clay.” -It was a poet who spoke, and his clay was instinct with the breath -of genius. But it is true that Venice lends wings to duller clay; it -has been her fate to make poets of many who were not so before--a -responsibility that entails loss on her as well as gain. - -She has lived--she has loved and suffered and created; and the echoes -of her creation are with us still; the pulse of the life which once -she knew continues to throb behind the loud and insistent present. The -story of Venice has been often written; the Bride of the Adriatic, -in her decay as in her youthful and her mature beauty, has been the -beloved of many men. “Wo betide the wretch,” cries Landor through -the mouth of Machiavelli, “who desecrates and humiliates her; she -may fall, but she shall rise again.” Venice even then had passed her -zenith; the path she had entered, though blazing with a glory which -had not attended on her dawn of life, was yet a path of decline, -the resplendent, dazzling path of the setting sun. And now a second -Attilla, as Napoleon vaunted himself, has descended upon her. She has -been desecrated, but she has never been dethroned. She could not, -if she would, take the ring off her finger. No hand of man, however -potent, can destroy that once consummated union, however the stranger -and her traitor sons may abase her from within. - -It is to her own domain, embraced by her mutable yet eternally faithful -ocean-lover, that we must still go to see the relics of her pomp. The -old sternness has passed from her face, that compelling sovereignty -which gave her rank among the greatest potentates of the Middle Age; -her features, portrayed by these latter days, are mellowed; a veil of -golden haze softens the bold outlines of that imperious countenance. -We are sometimes tempted to forget that the cup held by the enchanter, -Venice, was filled once with no dream-inducing liquor, but with a -strong potion to fire the nerves of heroes. Viewing Venice in her -greater days, it is impossible to make that separation between the -artist and the man of action so deadly to action and to art. The -portraits of the Venetian masters, supreme among the portraits -of the world, could only have been produced by men who beyond the -divine perception of form and colour were endowed with a profound -understanding and divination of human character. The pictures of -Gentile Bellini, of Carpaccio, of Mansueti, are a gallery of portraits -of stern, strong, capable, self-confident men; and Giovanni Bellini, -who turned from secular themes to concentrate his energy on the -portrayal of the Madonna and Child, endowed her with a strength and -solemn pathos which only Giotto could rival, combined with a luminous -richness of colour in which perhaps he has no rival at all. - -No mystics have sprung from Venice. Her sons have been artists of -life, not dreamers, though the sea, that great weaver of dreams, -has been ever around them. Or rather it is truer to say that the -dreamers of Venice have also been men of action; strong, capable and -intensely practical. They have not turned their back on the practice -of life; they have loved it in all its forms. Even when they speak -through the medium of allegory, of symbols, the art of Carpaccio and -of Tintoretto is a supreme record of the interests of the greatest -Venetians in the actions of everything living in this wonderful world, -and in particular--they are not ashamed to own it--in their supremely -wonderful city of Venice. There are dreamers among those crowds of -Carpaccio, of Gentile Bellini; but their hands can grasp the weapons -and the tools of earth; their heads and hearts can wrestle with the -problems and passions of earth. Compare them with the dreamers of -Perugino’s school: you feel at once that a gulf lies between them; the -fabric of their dream is of another substance. The great Venetians -are giants; like the sea’s, their embrace is vast and powerful, -endowed also with the gentleness of strength. The history of Venetian -greatness in art, in politics, in theology, is the history of men who -have accepted life and strenuously devoted themselves to mastering -its laws. They were not iconoclasts, because they were not idolaters: -the faculties of temperance and restraint are apparent in their very -enthusiasms. Venice did not fall because she loved life too well, but -because she had lost the secret of living. Pride became to her more -beautiful than truth, and finally more worshipful than beauty. - -Much has, with truth, been said about the destruction of Venice. Even -in those who have not known her as she was, who in presence of her -wealth remaining are unconscious of the greatness of her loss, there -constantly stirs indignant sorrow at the childish wantonness of her -inhabitants, which loves to destroy and asks only a newer and brighter -plaything. But much persists that is indestructible; and though Venice -has become a spectacle for strangers, for those who are her lovers the -old spirit lingers still near the form it once so gloriously inhabited, -wakened into being, perchance, by a motion, an echo, a light upon the -waters, and once wakened never again lost or out of mind. Does not -the silent swiftness of the Ten still haunt the sandolo of the water -police, as it steals in the darkness with unlighted lamp under the -shadow of larger craft moored beside the fondamenta, visible only when -it crosses the path of a light from house or garden? It is in her water -that Venice eternally lives; it is thus that we think always of her -image--elusive, unfathomable, though plumbed so often by no novice -hand. It is the wonder of Venice within her waters which justifies the -renewal of the old attempt to reconstruct certain aspects of a career -which has been a challenge to the world, a mystery on which it has -never grown weary of speculating. And as the light falling from a new -angle on familiar features may reveal some grace hidden heretofore -in shadow or unobserved, so, perchance, the vision of Venice may be -renewed or kindled through the medium of a new personality. - -Venice is inexhaustible, and it is from her waters that her mine -of wealth is drawn. They give her wings; without them she would be -fettered like other cities of the land. But Venice with her waters is -never dead. The sun may fall with cruel blankness on calle, piazza -and fondamenta, but nothing can kill the water; it is always mobile, -always alive. Imagine the thoroughfare of an inland city on such a -day as is portrayed in Manet’s _Grand Canal de Venise_; heart and eye -would curse the sunshine. But in the luminous truth of Manet’s picture, -as in Venice herself, the heat quivers and lives. Above ground, blue -sky beating down on blue canal, on the sleepy midday motion of the -gondolas, on the brilliant blue of the striped gondola posts, which -appear to stagger into the water; and under the surface, the secret -of Venice, the region where reflections lurk, where the long wavering -lines are carried on in the deep, cool, liquid life below. When Venice -is weary, what should she do but dive into the water as all her -children do? If we look down, when we can look up no longer, still -she is there; a city more shadowy but not less real, her elements all -dissolved that at our pleasure we may build them again; - - And so not build at all, - And therefore build for ever. - -[Illustration: VIEW FROM THE GALLERY OF SAN MARCO.] - -And if in the middle day we realise this priceless dowry of Venice, it -is in the twilight of morning or evening that her treasury is unlocked -and she invites us to enter. Turner’s _Approach to Venice_ is a vision, -a dream, but not more divinely lovely than the reality of Venice in -these hours, even as she appears to duller eyes. Pass down the Grand -Canal in the twilight of an August evening, the full moon already high -and pouring a lustre from her pale green halo on the broad sweeping -path of the Canal. The noble curves of the houses to west and south -shut out the light; day is past, the reign of night has begun. Then -cross to the Zattere: you pass into another day. A full tide flows -from east to west, blue and swelling like the sea, dyed in the west -a shining orange Where the Euganean hills rise in clear soft outline -against the afterglow, while to the east the moon has laid her silver -bridle upon the dim waters. Cross to the Giudecca and pass along the -narrow, crowded quay into the old palace, which in that deserted -corner shows one dim lamp to the canal. The great hall opens at the -further end on a bowery garden where a fountain drips in the darkness -and the cicalas begin their piping. Mount the winding stair, past the -kitchen and the great key-shaped reception room, and look out over the -city--across the whole sweep of the magnificent Giudecca Canal and the -basin of San Marco. The orange glow is fading and the Euganean hills -are dying into the night, while near at hand one great golden star is -setting behind the Church of the Redentore, and the moon shines with -full brilliance upon the swaying waters, upon the Ducal Palace and the -churches of the Zattere, with the Salute as their chief. The night of -Venice has begun; she has put on her jewels and is blazing with light. -At the back of the house, where the lagoons lie in the shimmering -moonlight, is a silent waste of waters under the stars, broken only -by the lights of the islands. This also is Venice, this mystery of -moonlit water no less than the radiance of the city. And it is possible -to come still nearer to the lagoon. Passing along a dark rio little -changed from the past, we may cross a bridge into one of the wonderful -gardens for which the Giudecca is famous. The families of the Silvi, -Barbolini and Istoili, banished in the ninth century for stirring up -tumult in the Republic, when at last they were recalled by intercession -of Emperor Ludovico, inhabited this island of Spinalunga or Giudecca -and laid out gardens there. This one seems made for the night. The -moonlight streams through the vine pergolas which cross it in every -direction, lights the broad leaves of the banana tree and the dome -of the Salute behind the dark cypress-spire, and stars the grass with -shining petals. The night is full of the scent of haystacks built along -the edge of the lagoon, beside the green terrace which runs the length -of the water-wall. Then, as darkness deepens, we leave to the cicalas -their moonlit paradise, and glide once more into the Grand Canal. It is -at this hour, more than at any other, that, sweeping round the curves -of that marvellous waterway, it possesses us as an idea, a presence -that is not to be put by, so compelling, so vitally creative, is its -beauty. Truly Venice is poetry, and would create a poet out of the -dullest clay. - -Every one will remember that a few years ago an enterprising man of -business attempted with sublime self-confidence to transfer Venice to -London, to enclose her within the walls of a great exhibition. Many -of us delighted in the miniature market of Rialto, in gliding through -the narrow waterways, in the cry of the gondoliers, and the sound of -violin and song across the water. But one gift in the portion of Venice -was forgotten, a gift which she shares indeed with other cities, but -which she alone can put out to interest and increase a thousandfold. -The sky is the roof of all the world, but Venice alone is paved with -sky; and the streets of Venice with no sky above them are like the -wings of the butterfly without the sun. Tintoret and Turner saw Venice -as the offspring of sky and water: that is the spirit in which they -have portrayed her; that is the essence of her life. It has penetrated -everything she has created of enduring beauty. Go into San Marco and -look down at what your feet are treading. Venice, whose streets are -paved with sky, must in her church also have sky beneath her feet. It -is impossible to imagine a more wonderful pavement than the undulating -marbles of San Marco; its rich and varied colours bound together -with the rarest inspiration; orient gems captured and imprisoned and -constantly lit with new and vivid beauty from the domes above. The -floor of San Marco is one of the glories of Venice--of the world; and -it is surely peculiarly expressive of the inspiration which worked in -Venice in the days of her creative life. San Marco, indeed, in its -superb and dazzling harmonies of colour, is almost the only living -representative of the Venice of pomegranate and gold which created -the Cà d’Oro, of the City of Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini, whose -cornice-mouldings were interwoven with glittering golden thread, -while every side canal gave back a glow of colour from richly-tinted -walls. The banners of the Lion in the Piazza no longer wave in solemn -splendour of crimson and gold above a pavement of pale luminous red; in -their place the tricolour of Italy flaunts over colourless uniformity. -The gold is fading from the Palace of the Doges, and only in a few rare -nooks, such as the Scuola of the Shoemakers in the Campo San Tomà, -do we find the original colours of an old relief linger in delicate -gradation over window or door. - -Day after day some intimate treasure is torn from the heart of Venice. -Since Ruskin wrote, one leaf after another has been cut from the Missal -which “once lay open upon the waves, miraculous, like St. Cuthbert’s -book, a golden legend on countless leaves.” Those leaves are numbered -now. Year by year some familiar object disappears from bridge or -doorway, to be labelled and hoarded in a distant museum among aliens -and exiles like itself. And here, in Venice itself, a sentiment of -distress, the _fastidio_ of the Italians, comes over us as we ponder -upon the sculptured relics in the cortile of the Museo Civico. What -meaning have they here? It is atmosphere that they need--the natural -surroundings that would explain and vivify their forms. Many also of -the Venetian churches are despoiled, and their paintings hung side -by side with alien subjects in a light they were never intended to -bear. The Austrian had less power to hurt Venice than she herself -possesses. In those of her sons who understand her malady there flows -an undercurrent of deep sadness, as if day by day they watched the -ebbing of a life in which all their hope and all their love had root. -They cannot sever themselves from Venice: they cannot save her. Venice -pretending to share in the vulgar life of to-day, Venice recklessly -discarding one glory after another for the poor exchange of coin, still -has a power over us not wielded by the inland cities of Italy, happier -in the untroubled beauty of their decay. For, as you are turning with -sorrow from some fresh sign of pitiless destruction, of a sudden she -will flash upon you a new facet of her magic stone, will draw you -spell-bound to her waters and weave once more that diaphanous web of -radiant mystery: - - Za per dirtelo,--o Catina, - La campagna me consola; - Ma Venezia è la sola - Che me possa contentar. - -Each of us, face to face with Venice, has a new question to ask of her, -and, as he alone framed the question, the answer will be given to him -alone. Every stone has not yielded up its secret: in some there may -still be a mark yet unperceived beneath the dust. Here and there in her -manuscript there may lurk between the lines a word for the skilled or -the fortunate. Venice is not yet dumb: every day and every night the -sun and moon and star make music in her that has not yet been heard: -with patience and love we may redeem here and there a chord of those -divine musicians, or at least a tone which shall make her harmony more -full. - - O Venezia benedetta, - No te vogio più lassar. - - - - -Chapter Two - -PHANTOMS OF THE LAGOONS - - -We have called them the phantoms of the lagoons, those islands that -lie like shadows among the silver waters; for it is in this likeness -that they appear to us of the city--strangely mirrored, remote, a group -of clustering spirits, whose common halo is the sea. They are a choir -of spirits, yet each has a mute music of its own, and accosting them -one by one--slowly and in the silence entering into their life--we may -come to know and love the several members of this company of the blest, -till our senses grow alive to their harmony as they sing together, -sometimes in the clear, cold light of the spreading dawn, sometimes in -the evening twilight--when peak after peak is lit with the flame of -sacrifice and, in the Titanic memory of the sunset cloud, the great -fire lit on earth burns up with solemn flames into the sky. - -All the languors, the fierce passions, of Venice, her vitality and -her mysticism, are mirrored in the lagoons; there is no pulse of -Venice that does not beat in them; in swift sequence, as in a lighter -element, they reflect the phases of her being. And the islands of the -lagoons are, as it were, the footsteps of young Venice. As she was -passing into her kingdom, she set her feet here and there among the -waters, and where she trod a life was born. Her roots are far back in -the past, far up upon the mainland, where still remain some fragments -of the giant growth, which, grafted in the lagoons, was to expand there -into a new fulness of beauty and life. It is as if the genius that -conceived Jesolo, Torcello, the Madonna of San Donato, had undergone -a sea-change as it moved towards the Adriatic, as if some vision had -passed before it and shaken it, as if the immutable had felt the first -touch of mutability--had been endowed with a new sense born of the -ebb and flow of ocean tides. In Malamocco she stepped too near the -sea, and left behind the mystery of a city submerged; but no one can -receive into his mind the peerless blue and green of the open water -beyond the Lido, with the foam upon it, or the sound of its incessant -sweep against the shore, without feeling that the spirit that had thus -embraced the sea had received a new pulse into her being--a nerve of -desire, of expansion, of motion, which her mountain infinitudes had -not inspired. And with the new life came new dreams to Venice, dreams -she was not slow to realise, and into them were woven materials for -which we should seek in vain among the islands, except in so far as -the reflex of her later activities fell also upon them. The Madonna of -San Donato is the goddess of the lagoons; and if there are children of -Venice who creep also for blessing and for protection to the borders of -her dusky garment, they are but few. The mystic beauty of that Madonna -was not the beauty that inspired Venice when she built upon the seas. -The robe of her divinity was more akin to the dazzling incomparable -blue of the bay that lies within the curve of the Schiavoni, as we -may see it from the Palazzo Ducale on a morning of sunshine and east -wind; that indomitable intensity of colour, unveiled, resplendent, -filled to the brim with the whole radiance and strength and glory of -the day--that is the girdle of Venice, the cup she drank of in her -strength. But it is clear that she had bowed to a new dominion: with -the ocean she wedded the world. - -The lagoons are full of mysteries of light; they are a veritable -treasure ground of illusion. They are not one expanse of water over -which the light broods with equable influence; they form a region -of various circles, as it were, of various degrees of remoteness or -tangibility. Almost one feels that each circle must be inhabited by -a spirit appropriate to itself, and that a common language could not -be between them, so sharp are the limits set by the play of light. -On an early autumn morning when the sky is clear and the sun streams -full and level upon the clear blue expanse that separates Venice and -Mestre, we seem to have a firm foothold on this dancing water. It is -a substantial glory; but as our eye flits on from jewel to jewel in -the clear blue paving, a sudden line is drawn beyond which it may not -pass. The rich flood of vital colour has its bound, and beyond it -lies a region bathed in light so intense that even colour is refined -into a mystic whiteness--a mirror of crystal, devoid of substance, -infinitely remote; and above it, suspended in that lucent unearthly -atmosphere, hover the towers of Torcello and Burano, like a mirage -of the desert, midway between the water and the sky. They hang there -in completest isolation, yet with a precise definition, a startling -clearness of contour. There is no vestige of other buildings or of the -earth on which they stand, only the dome and campanile of Murano, the -leaning spire of Burano and Mazzorbo’s lightning-blasted tower, their -reflections distinctly mirrored in a luminous medium, half mist, half -water. There is an immense awe in the vision of these phantoms, caught -up into a region where the happy radiant colour dares not play; and -yet not veiled--clearer in what they choose to reveal than the near -city strong and splendid in the unreserve of the young day, but so -unearthly, so magical, that our morning spirits scarcely dare accost -them. What boat shall navigate that shining nothingness that divides -them from our brave and brilliant water? - -Venice, indeed, at times falls under the phantom spell. In those -mornings of late autumn when the duel between the sun and the scirocco -seems as if it could not end till day is done and night calls up -her reinforcements of mist, Venice is herself the ghost, her goblet -brimming with a liquor that seems the drink of death, a perilous, grey, -steely vapour. One only of her islands looms out of the enfolding, -foggy blanket: it is San Michele, the island of the dead. On such a -morning we may visit this abode of shadows, not at this hour more -strange, more ghostly, than the city. To-day a veil is hung upon the -hard, bare outline of its boundary wall, which in sunny weather is a -glaring eye-sore as you travel towards Murano over the lagoon. Here, -in the cloisters where once Fra Mauro dreamed and studied his famous -Mappamondo, there is nothing to terrify the spirit on this morning -of the mist. The black and tinsel drapings, the strange, unprofitable -records of devotion and bereavement, the panoply of death--all these -are veiled, and only the wild grasses glisten with their dewdrops on -the graves of the very poor, or autumn leaves and flowers gleam from -less humble graves, while the cypresses raise their solemn spires -into the faintly dawning blue. But the cemetery island of San Michele -together with the islands of the Giudecca and San Giorgio Maggiore, -of San Pietro di Castello and Sant’ Elena, with many lesser islands -close to Venice, have become absorbed for us in the life of the city -itself. Their bells and hers sound together; we see them as one with -her, and from them look out to the wider lagoon, where the remoter -islands, the true phantoms, wander. Many of those near to Venice have -had their vicissitudes, their sometime glorious past, their pomp and -solemn festival. But, bit by bit, it has been stolen from them, and -the treasures which once they stored have been destroyed or gathered -into the city. Now they serve only as shelters for those whose life -is done--as places of repose for the dead or for the sick in mind and -body. One only has passed from humble service into a fuller and happier -present. San Lazzaro, once the shelter of lepers from the East, has -become under the Armenian Benedictines a haunt of active, cultured -life. It has a living industry, printing the ancient trade of Venice, -and is in daily commerce with the East. - -[Illustration: SANTA MARIA DELLA SALUTE.] - -Torcello is a _città morta_, but scarcely a cemetery or a ruin. Relics -of a past older than even Torcello has known are gathered into the -humble urn of her museum; beside it stands abandoned, but not in ruins, -the group of the cathedral buildings and the vast secular campanile; -beyond this there is nothing but the soil--the golden gardens of vine -and pomegranate, the fields of maize and artichokes between their -narrow canals. The intervening period has entirely vanished; it is like -a dream. The page of populous palatial Torcello has been blotted out as -if it had had no existence. No vestige remains of the churches which in -the old maps flourished along the chief canal, of the names which in -the documents have no unsubstantial sound. None now can remember the -time when the spoiler was busy among the ruined palaces; he too has -passed into the shadows, and the very stones of Torcello are scattered -far and wide. There is something mysterious in this complete wiping out -of a page of history, so that not time only, but even the mourners of -time have disappeared. There is something unique in the isolation of -the cathedral and the campanile, rising thus out of the far past--this -mighty masonry alone among the herbs of the field. Of her great history -Torcello brings only the first page and the last, the duomo, the -peasants’ houses and the thatch shelters of their boats. Wandering -along the grassy paths beside the vineyards, the pomegranates, the -golden thorn bushes of Torcello, we seem in a sleepy pastoral land -where the sun always shines. Torcello seems ripe, rich ground for a new -life rather than the cemetery of an old; and we may feed the fancy as -we will, for she does not refuse her doom; she has no hard contrasts of -the old and new. - -The few natives whom foreign gold supports upon this island of malaria, -have their chief haunts in the cathedral campo, keeping guard over -the treasures of the past. For here upon the campo stands the urn -where Torcello keeps the ashes of her ancestors--strange relics of old -Altinum, pathetic household gods, forks and spoons and safety-pins, -keys and necklaces, lamps and broken plates and vases, chains and -girdles and mighty bracelets, some of delicate and some of coarser -make, with more ambitious works of mosaic and relief, Greek and Roman -and Oriental. There is little in all; yet as we stand here in the -museum, looking out through the sunny window on the hazy autumn -gold of earth and the shimmering water beyond, this little speaks -eloquently to the mind. Even to Torcello, the aged, these things are -ancestral; their life was in the old Altinum when Torcello lay still -undreamed-of in the womb of time. Climb the campanile, and you will -wonder no more at the passing of the city at its feet; it is so mighty, -so self-contained and now so voiceless with any tongue that earth can -hear and understand; almost it seems as if that iron clapper, lying -mute below the bell, were symbol of Torcello’s farewell to the busy -populous world that needs the call to prayer. The great tower is given -up to mighty musings, and we upon its summit speculate no more on the -forgotten Middle Age; we are content in the golden earth beneath our -feet, in the soft dreamy azure of the encircling lagoon, where in the -low tide the deep tracks wind and writhe like glistening water-snakes, -or lie, like the faint transparent veining of a leaf, upon that smooth -expanse of interchanging marsh and water, the uncertain dominion over -which Torcello towers. For the campanile, in its vast simplicity of -structure, its loneliness, its duration, is of kin with those great -sentinels of the desert in which the Egyptians embodied their giant -dreams of power. It is here that the soul of Torcello still abides, to -dream out upon the mystery of day and night to the mountains and the -city and the sea. And even if the sunlight is rich and jubilant in the -yellow fields below, where the autumn has such fitting habitation, it -spreads upon the waters a broad path of silver that gleams mysteriously -like moonlight upon the distant spaces of the ocean shield, waking -points of light out of the immense surrounding dimness. And it is most -of all in the deep night that the gulf of the centuries may be bridged. -The monotonous piping of the cicalas rises even to this height in -the darkness, but no other sound is heard. It is a strangely moving, -melancholy landscape, half hidden, half revealed, still holding in -its patient, silent heart the tragic sorrows, the hopes and shattered -longings, the courageous struggle of the past ages, the fierce cry of -desolation, the flames of cities doomed to destruction in the darkness -of night, and their ruins outspread beneath the unsparing sun. It has -lain now so long deserted, a presence from which the stream of life has -flowed away, carrying with it all the agitations of joy and sorrow, -that among the fluctuating marshes the key for its deciphering has been -lost. - -As we have said, whole pages are torn from the history of Torcello. -Fragments only remain. But here and there is a word or two that may -be gathered into a sentence. If we approach the island from the east, -by the waterway between Sant’ Erasmo and Tre Porti instead of by the -narrow channels of the inner lagoon, we may receive some impression -of the relation it once bore to the mainland. We may see how Torcello -stands as the entrance of the lagoon north of Venice, the last outpost -of the mainland, the first-fruits of a new career--recognise that she -was once through the Portus Torcellus in closest touch with the high -seas. In the ninth century it was one Rustico of Torcello who combined -with Buono of Malamocco to carry the bones of St. Mark from Alexandria -to Venice. In 1268 Torcello is specially mentioned by da Canale among -the “Contrees, que armerent lor navie, et vindrent a lor signor Mesire -Laurens Teuple (Lorenzo Tiepolo) li haut Dus de Venise, et a Madame la -Duchoise” on the occasion of Tiepolo’s election. Torcello contributed -three galleys completely equipped for the Genoese war, and in 1463 sent -one hundred crossbowmen in the service of the Republic against Trieste. - -What is left of this city, which shared the early glory if not the -later pomp of Venice? Where are her palaces, her gardens, her bridges, -her waterways? Where are her piazzas and calles and fondamentas, her -churches and rich convents? We pass their names in the old chronicles: -Piazza del Duomo, Rio Campo di San Giovanni, Fondamenta dei Borgognoni, -Calle Santa Margherita, Fondamenta Bobizo, Ponte di Chà Delfino, Ponte -de Pino, and the rest. Many of these were of very old foundation: their -stones and traces of their construction have been discovered from time -to time under the mud of the canals. In the poor houses of the peasants -traces still remain of original windows, cornices and pillars; the main -canal is still spanned by the beautiful ruined bridge of the Diavolo. -But for the rest the grass piazza with its little group of buildings, -its museum flanked by the cathedral, is the sole echo, itself no more -than an echo of the past. - -When Altinum and her neighbouring cities roused themselves from the -crushing desolation of conquest which had driven them forth to the -remote borders of the mainland, they began to desire to live anew -in the lagoons. There is no reason to question Dandolo’s statement -that Torcello and the group of surrounding islands, Burano, Mazzorbo, -Constanziana, Amoriana and Ammiana, were named from the gates of -Altinum--a pathetic attempt to perpetuate the ruined city. Nuovo Altino -was indeed the name for Torcello, and when the terror of invasion had -momentarily passed, the fugitives ventured back to the mainland, and -brought down to the soft-soiled island the stones of their ancient -city. Torcello was built from the stones of Altinum; her very stones -were veterans, the stamp of old times was upon them, the stamp of -thoughts that were often sealed for those men of a later day who built -them anew into their temples. The steps up to the pulpit in the duomo -are perhaps the most striking instance of this ingrafting of the old -upon the new, the naïve earnestness, perhaps the urgent haste and need -of builders who did not fear to set an old pagan relief to do service -in this temple of their Christian God. There are various theories as -to the meaning of the wonderful relief which forms the base of the -pulpit stair, cut like its companion slabs to meet the requirements -of the stair without regard to its individual existence. We cannot -help pausing before it; for it is unique among the monuments of the -estuary, so unique that it seems incredible it should have been the -work of those late Greek artists who executed the wonderful beasts -and birds of the sanctuary screen. On the right is a woman’s figure, -of Egyptian rather than Greek or Roman mould, standing with averted -face and head resting on her arms, in melancholy thought. Beside her -a man, like her resigned and meditative in attitude, but not yet with -the resignation of despair, raises his left arm as if to ward off a -blow. The blow is dealt left-handed by one who in his right hand holds -a pair of scales and advances swiftly on winged wheels. He, again, -is met in his advance by a fourth figure whom we only see in part, -his right side having been almost completely cut away. He is fronting -us, however--his feet planted firmly on the ground, his right hand -folded on his breast, while with his left he grasps the forelock of -the impetuous figure of the winged wheels and balances. Thanks to the -happy discovery by Professor Cattaneo of part of the fragment missing -to the design, we know that a woman’s figure stood beyond him, holding -in her left hand a palm and in her right a crown which she raises to -the stalwart conqueror’s head. It is a simple but daring and most -spirited composition. It seems to belong to a far remoter past than -that of the earliest building of Torcello. Professor Cattaneo explains -it as an allegory of the passage of Time, who on his winged wheels has -already passed one man by, as he stands stroking his beard, while -tears and sorrow await him in the form of the woman on his right in -mourning guise and posture; the stalwart man on the left is he who -faces Time and takes him by the forelock, and for him the crown and -palm of victory are in waiting. But Professor Cattaneo seems to give a -needlessly limited significance to the idea of Time. It is to him the -Time which God offers to man that he may do what is just and combat his -own evil passions; this seems to him to be expressed by the scales and -the stick he grasps in his hand. Perhaps it is enough to think merely -of the club as that with which a more familiar Time is wont to deal -back-handed blows at those who are so idle or so sluggish as to let him -pass. At any rate the men of Torcello could comprehend this language -of the rough stone. What matter if the oracles were dumb? Which of -them had not wept to see the face of Time averted, which of them had -not felt the weight of his backward blow? And yet this symbol of old -Time must have been mute to them before the great solemn Madonna in -the dusky, golden circle of the apse; she looks beyond all fortunes -and vicissitudes of man. How should they dare to pray to her? Worship -they may, and rise with strength to contend with Time and conquer -him, with a weapon to face the mystery of life; but they meet here no -smile of comfort, no companionable grace. To those men who dreamed this -figure, to us who look upon her and worship, the dominion of Time is a -forgotten thing; we ask no pity for our human woes; they have passed, -they have crumbled: she gives us a better gift than pity, insight into -the hidden things of life and of art; she wings with hope, if with -stern hope, our dream of beauty. The mosaics on the west wall of the -cathedral have the same stern character, with less of beauty than the -Madonna of the apse: the great angels on either side the weird central -Christ in the upper division have a strangely oriental effect. They -might be Indian gods. They hold the Christian symbols, but with how -abstracted, how remote a gaze they look out from their aureoles! They -are at one with the noble simplicity and strength and greatness of the -spirit of the building they adorn. Somehow they seem to us the oldest -thing within it; we begin to be drawn by them into mysteries older -than the caves of Greece whence the pillars of this duomo came; we -begin to share their watch over a vast desert where all the faiths and -imaginings of men may move and mingle, and find a common altar under -the dome of the evening sky. - -Greater than Torcello, and still maintaining, as near neighbour to -Venice, something of its old activities, Murano lives, none the less, -a phantom life. We would choose, as a fitting atmosphere for Murano, a -day of delicate lights and pale, lucent water, with faint fine tints -within the water and the sky: a day of the falling year, not expectant, -only acceptant, pausing in the dim quiet of its decay. Even the hot -sunshine, though it irradiates the features of Murano, cannot penetrate -to that spent heart. The marvellous fascination of its Grand Canal, -with its swift and unaccustomed current of blue waters, cannot draw us -from the sadness, or disperse the spectral melancholy which invades the -spirit and surrounds it as an atmosphere. The sun infects the dirty -children with a desire to shine, and prompts somersaults for a soldino; -but the weary women, the old, crouching men, still creep about the -fondamenta impervious to his rays. Murano is not less disinherited, not -less phantasmal, because the daylight comes to pierce the semblance of -her life. It is strangely invasive and possessing, this sentiment of a -life outlived, a body whose soul is fled. The long vine gardens that -spread to the lagoon, dispossessed, but still apparently doing service -and rich in vegetables and fruit, seem as if they would persuade us -of their reality; but their walls are ruined, their ways are low and -narrow; it was not thus they looked when Bembo and Navagero paced here -in an earthly paradise, a haunt of nymphs and demigods. The living -population of Murano seems to have fallen under the same spell. If -we bestow on them more than a cursory glance as we pass along the -fondamenta, we seem to detect in their faces an indescribable sense of -weariness and sorrow and decay. There seem many old among them, and on -the young toil and privation have already laid their hand. The strange -habitual chant of priest and women and young girls, going up from -tired nerveless throats in the twilight of San Pietro Martire, seemed -a symbol of the voice of Murano, melancholy, mechanical, the phantom -of a voice--an echo struck with the hand or by a breath of wind from -a fallen instrument, an instrument that has lost its virtue and its -ring, an instrument unstrung. We have seen Murano in festa. She can -pay her tribute to free Italy. Ponte Lungo was hung with lamps, and -the desolate campi had their share in the illumination. In the very -piazza of San Donato a hawker was winding elastic strings of golden -treacle, while women and children in gay dresses hurried to and fro. -In another square, under the clock tower, a demagogue addressed the -crowd excitedly: there was plentiful noise, plentiful determination to -enjoy. The campanile looked down and wondered. _O Roma o morte._ Had -it been Rome then and not death? Rome and freedom, freedom to destroy -the historic and the old? It was a grand triumph, a triumph justly -commemorated, and yet the conquerors themselves might grieve over the -Italy of to-day. Mazzini, we know, struck a note of melancholy out of -that proud exultation. Italy, if she lives, lives among ruins, and for -the most part she is careless of her decay. - -[Illustration: THE CLOCK TOWER.] - -Murano, like Torcello, is bound by one glorious link with her Byzantine -past, and this one of the noblest monuments, not of the lagoons only, -but of all Italy; simple, stern, august. San Donato has not, indeed, -gone unscathed by time, nor by modernity. The wonders of its pavement -are becoming blackened and obscured; holes are being worn in it, -missing cubes leave gaps in the design. In winter it is constantly -flooded by high tide, and even in other seasons the damp is ruining -a pavement which rivals, if it does not surpass, that of San Marco. -It is impossible to describe the beauty of the designs, the exquisite -harmonics of its precious marbles, porphyry and verd-antique, Verona, -serpentine and marmo greco, with noble masses of colour among the -smaller fragments, and a most precious gem of chalcedony, which, if we -may believe the poor old sacristan, whose complaints concerning his -precious floor wake no response, an English visitor would have wished -to steal. The sacristan can show to all who will lament with him the -ruin wrought by sacrilegious man. But no profane hand has dared to -raise itself against the Madonna of the apse. This Madonna of San -Donato is even grander, more august, than that other who in Torcello -conquers Time, and surely it is not without reason that we have called -her the goddess of the lagoons. In perfect aloofness and secrecy she -stands, but with luminous revelation in her strangely significant eyes; -her white hands uplifted, her white face shining out of the darkness, -the long, straight folds of her dark robe worked with gold, her feet -resting, it seems, upon a golden fire. The gaze of this marvellous -Madonna seems to comprehend the world. She is a sphinx who holds the -key of every mystery. In her presence we are overcome by the impulse to -kneel and worship. She is not, like many Byzantine Madonnas, grotesque, -forbidding in her immensity, in her aloofness; for even while she -rebukes and subdues our littleness of soul, she draws all our senses as -a being of absolute, inexplicable beauty. She holds us rapt and will -not let us go. The memory of the Duomo of San Donato is concentrated in -the single magical figure of her Madonna, leaning in benediction from -the golden apse. - -Murano is full of corners where Gothic and Byzantine have combined to -beautify portico, pillar and arch. In the Asilo dei Vecchii are two of -the most ancient fireplaces known in Venice, and at Venice fireplaces -were very early in use. One is a deep square hollowed in the wall, and -furnished with doors that shut upon it like a panelling, while two -little windows, as usual, open out behind. The other projects into the -room, with sloping roof and little seats within on either side. Murano, -it is well known, was the pleasure-ground of the Venetians in happier -days; it was here that the men of the Great Republic had their gardens -elect for solace and for beauty. But with the Republic Murano fell; the -patrimonies of the patricians were scattered--gradually their palaces -were snatched away, piece by piece, and fell into irrecoverable ruin. -One only now retains some image of its former splendour, the famous Cà -da Mula, upon the fine sweep of the Grand Canal. The Madonna of San -Donato has looked down on the spoliation of her temple; she still looks -on its slow decay. She has shared the proud sorrows of the campanile; -in colloquy through the night what may he not have told of the passing -of Murano? They have little, these solemn guardians of the past, in -common with the exuberant Renaissance, but perhaps a common fate, the -unifying hand of Time, may have bound their spirits in a confraternity -of grief. The heart of the old campanile would be stirred with pity -for the fate of those deserted palaces, the sublime Madonna would turn -an eye not of scorn but of sorrow on the fading forms of those radiant -women, so splendid on the frescoed palace fronts, so alluring in the -smooth mirror of the canal. The work of the spoiler, so far as it was a -work of violence, of a human spoiler, is done; but the slower work of -nature still proceeds. - -Long before Murano became a Venetian pleasure-ground, she had been -famous for her painters, for her ships, for her furnaces. Like -Torcello, she sent vessels to the triumph of the Doge Lorenzo Tiepolo, -and she was conspicuous among the others, as da Canale says: “For you -must know that those of Murano had on their vessels living cocks, so -that they might be known and whence they came.” Molmenti thinks that -Carpaccio himself belonged to a shipbuilding family of Murano, and -this is the more interesting in view of the frequency and detail of -shipping operations in his pictures. Murano was indeed the birthplace -of Venetian art, and the riches of its furnaces glow in the garments -of those early painters, Vivarini, Andrea and Quirico. From the end -of the eleventh century the glass works had begun to flourish; by the -thirteenth the industry was transferred wholly to Murano. The legend -runs that a certain Cristoforo Briani, hearing from Marco Polo of -the monopoly of agates, chalcedony and other precious stones on the -coast of Guiana, set about imitating them. With Domenico Miotto to -help him he succeeded, and the latter carried the art to still greater -perfection, which resulted at last in the imitation of the pearl. -In 1528 Andrea Vidoare received a special mariegola or charter for -the fame of his wonderful pearls, polished and variegated by him to -a degree unknown before. In the middle of the fifteenth century the -first crystals came from the furnaces, and the following century was -the golden period of the art--a period coinciding with the greatest -patrician glory of the island. Murano still burns with its secular -fire, winning from the old world its secrets, the old, wise world that -worshipped fire, to fuse them once more in its crucible for the wonder -of the new; secrets of crystal, pearl and ruby, and of the blue of the -deepest ocean depths or the impenetrable night sky, imprisoning them -in those transparent cenotaphs in forms of infinite harmony and grace. -And it is not only in the revival of ancient memories and forgotten -mysteries that the furnaces of Murano play their part; they contribute -also to the present renewal of Venice: for it is here that the units of -the mosaicist’s art are made. In Murano is laid the foundation-stone -of its success--the quality of the colour, the depth and richness of -the gold. The period of decadence in the Venetian arts is accurately -reflected in its mosaics; with the decadence of conception we note also -the decadence of colour. Those hard blatant tones that characterise the -late mosaics of San Marco are records, too permanent, alas! of a time -when the furnaces had lost their cunning, or rather when the master -minds were blunted and the secret of the ancient colourists allowed to -lie unquestioned under the dust of time. - -There is a humbler department of the glass works which we must not pass -by. It lies away from the furnaces devoted to rare and subtle texture -and design, behind San Pietro Martire, among the gardens: a manufactory -of common glass for daily use, tumblers and water-bottles and other -humble ware. Here there is the swift operation of machinery, at least -among the coarser glasses, and a noise of the very inferno with -countless sweating fiends--little black-faced grinning boys, grateful -for a package full of grapes or juicy figs; there is little mystery -in the production of this coarser glass, or rather few of the obvious -accessories of mystery, the delicate slow fashioning, the infusion -of colours. Instead, the constant noise of machinery, deafening and -exhausting in its incessant motion, though even here the reign of -machinery is limited: the finer tumblers must go a longer journey to be -filed by a slower, more gradual process, the direct handiwork of man. -There is an upper circle to which we gladly pass from this inferno, -almost a paradise if we contrast it with the turmoil and heat below; -to reach it we pass by the troughs of grey sand which all day men are -trampling with the soles of their bare feet, to mould into fit temper -for the furnace. The floor of the room above is covered and the walls -lined with strange creations of cold, grey earth, fashioned by hand, -roll after roll of clay, ungainly forms to be inhabited by fire. This -upper attic, with its company of mute grey moulds, opens out upon the -vineyards of Murano, with water shimmering through the long golden -alleys, and the city visible beyond. The gardens of the Palazzo da Mula -and of San Cipriano are beside us. The bustle of the new world has -invaded the peaceful seclusion of a spot once sacred to the student -aristocracy of Venice. - -For this island, famed for so glorious an industry, was beloved and -honoured by the noblest of Venetian names, Trifone Gabriele and Pietro -Bembo and Andrea Navagero. Here Navagero founded one of the first -botanic gardens of Europe--“a terrestrial paradise, a place of nymphs -and demigods”; here Gabriele wandered for hours under the thick vine -pergola walled with jessamine against the sun. And it was not only as -a temporary pleasure-ground that they loved Murano: they clung to it -as their resting-place in death. Bernardo Giustiniani desired to be -buried by his palace, at the foot of Ponte Lungo, and Andrea Navagero -in the church of San Martino in the same quarter where his house was -built. Murano was honoured by at least one royal guest. It was here -that Henry III of France, on his passage through Venice from Polonia, -was given his first lodging, and the palace which witnessed the first -transports of this rapturous monarch, the palace of Bartolomeo Capello, -still exists, close beside the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli, at -the extreme western point of the city. It would thus form the most -convenient landing-place, besides commanding a view of extreme beauty; -to the left, the fine torrent-like sweep of the chief canal, with the -noble Cà da Mula a little lower on the opposite bank and its gardens -immediately over the water; Venice filling the horizon clear across -the lagoon, where the south curve of Murano ends to-day in a meadow -of rough grass and fragrant herbs; to the right the Convent of the -Angeli, leading on the eye across the lagoon to the mainland and the -distant mountains beyond. Traces of fresco remain on the outer walls -of the palazzo, and the upper hall still stretches through the whole -breadth of the house. It is on the balcony of this central hall that -Henry must have stood when he appeared before dinner to gratify the -crowds on the fondamenta and in the boats below. The view of Venice in -the evening light is exquisitely lovely, with the lagoon spread like a -mirror to reflect the delicate opaline of the sunset sky. In this hall -hung with cloth of gold and cremosine, and perhaps with the colours of -Veronese, looking over a paradise of gardens and water to the immortal -city, Henry kept his court, received the legates from the Pope and said -a thousand graceful things about His Holiness, rejoiced the natives by -his noble bearing, his perfumed gloves, his frank pleasure in their -tribute, his decision to go on foot to the Angeli to morning Mass. -Thus was he initiated to the magical city and its enchantments by -that wise providence of the Venetians, who made their islands always -stepping-stones, outer courts of the central shrine, where their -pilgrim must pause awhile to shake the dust of the mainland off his -feet, that the spell might permeate his being and fill his senses with -desire. - -The fondamenta below Henry’s palace, leading to the church of the -Angeli, is one of the most desolate in Murano; the wide green campo -of the cemetery which opens from it is deserted and bare, save for a -few fowls that humbly commemorate the proud old shield. The dirt of -the children is indescribable, as they press close begging a soldino. -But their dirt is dearer to them. A bargain for a washed face, even -when the reward rings cheerily on the pavement, brings no response but -laughter and surprise. We are reminded by contrast of the tribute of -Andrea Calmo, a popular poet of the sixteenth century: - - E voio tanto bene a quel Muran, - Che, per diroelo certo in veritæ, - Son in pensier de vender le mie intræ. - E venir la per starmene pì san. - Quei horti a pieni de herbe uliose - E quel canal cusi chiaro e pulio - Con quelle belle casi si aierose, - Con tante creature che par riose - Liogo che l’ha stampao Domenedio. - -(And I wish so well to that Murano, that to tell you the sober truth -I am thinking of selling my takings and coming there to live more -healthily. The gardens there are so full of olive trees, and the -canal so clear and clean, the houses so beautiful and so airy, with -so many fair creatures that it seems a place of joy stamped by the -Lord God.) Beside the Cà da Mula, hidden among some outbuildings, from -which it has in the last years been partially released, is one of -Murano’s finest treasures, the convent front of San Cipriano, which -in the ninth century, when Malamocco was on the point of submersion, -was brought here by order of Ordelafo Faliero. Andrea Dandolo dates -the building from 881; it was rebuilt in 1109 and restored in 1605, -and its exquisite façade, still bearing the stamp of several ages, -freed somewhat from the earth about its base, stands up nobly from the -tangled garden around it. The central arch is outlined with the finest -Byzantine tracery lined with Gothic, surrounded once with coloured -marbles of which only fragments now remain, and above this is a frieze -of the best Roman of the Renaissance: slender columns, some Byzantine, -some Gothic, adorn it on either side, and fantastic Byzantine symbols -are sculptured in the stone discs that are embedded in the walls -between the arches of the cloister. A campanula on the ruined wall -to the left of the arch stands out clear and pale against the brick -building behind, where once the cloister opened out, an exquisite -harmony of lavender and rose. Fragmentary though it is, this façade of -the famous monastery is one of the most precious relics of the islands -of the lagoons. - -There is an island where we cannot think of death, where decay dare -not come; though the water plants smell faint upon its shores, and the -cypresses that clothe it rise black against the sky. It is the island -that sheltered one of the most joyful spirits that has ever walked the -world, the island where the larks once sang in such prolonged impulsive -harmony of joy that the sound of their singing has never passed away; -it may seem to lie silent as a veil upon the water, but the tremor -of the sunshine will waken it to renewed harmonics of delight--San -Francesco del Deserto. We rejoice to think that the Poverello set -foot in the lagoons, that he left here in the lonely waters the -blossom of his love. St. Francis of the Desert can wake no thoughts of -melancholy, and indeed this is no deserted place, nor in the morning -of his coming, after the night of storm, can it have seemed a place -of desolation; for nothing is more wonderful, more prodigally full -of the mysterious rapture of life, than the flowing in of day upon -the lagoons after the tumult of rain and hurricane. They say that St. -Francis, coming from the Holy Land on a Venetian ship, was driven by -the storm to cast anchor near Torcello; that as he prayed, the storm -subsided, and a great calm fell on the lagoon. Then as the Poverello -set foot upon this cypress-covered shore, the sun came out--the sun -of the early summer dawn--and shone through the dripping branches of -the cypresses, covering them with glistening crystals, and shone on -the damp feathered creatures among the branches and on the larks among -the reedy grass, and as he shone a choir of voices woke in the lonely -island and a chorus of welcome burst from ten thousand throats. And -the sun shone in the heart of St. Francis also, and it overflowed with -joy; and St. Francis said to his companion, “The little birds, our -brothers, praise their Creator with joy; and we also as we walk in -the midst of them--let us sing the praises of God.” And then as St. -Bonaventura relates the legend, the birds sang so clamorously on the -branches that St. Francis had to entreat their silence till he had -sung the Lauds; but we may read another story if we will, and say that -the dewy matin song of the birds was not so clamorous as to disturb -the quiet morning gladness of the Poverello, that they sang together -in the dawn. San Francesco del Deserto is not an island of sorrow. In -the little convent inhabited still by a few quiet Franciscans, the -narrow gloomy corner is to be seen which they name St. Francis’s bed: -in the convent garden there rises a stone memorial round the tree that -flowered from the Saint’s planted staff. We know these familiar symbols -of the Franciscan convents: the brothers cling to them as to some -fragmentary testament that their eyes can read and their hand grasp -when the living spirit has fled away; everywhere among the mountain or -the valley solitudes where St. Francis dwelt, the same dark relics of -that luminous spirit are to be found, the story even of birds banished -for ever by the command of that prince of singers, as if his own voice -chanting eternal litanies could be his sole delight. They are strange -stories; we pass them by, and go out to find the Poverello where the -cones of the cypresses gleam silver-grey against the blue. His spirit -has taken happy root among the waters of the lagoons; a new joy and -glory is added to the mountains as they rise in the calm dawn, clear -and luminous from the departing rain cloud; there is joy and peace in -the raised grass walk between the cypress trees; the island is indeed -a place of life and not of death for those who have felt the suffering -and the joy of love, and who worship beauty in their hearts. - - O Beata Solitudo, - O Sola Beatitudo. - -There are still solitudes in the desert of the lagoon where some of us -have dreamed of beginning a new day. In the hour when the last gold has -faded from the sun-path--when those dancing gems he flings to leap and -sport upon the water have been slowly gathered in, when the churches -and palaces of the city are folded under one soft clinging veil, which -softens the outline that it does not obscure, when Torcello and Burano -lean in pallid solitude above the level disc of the marsh, and the Lido -lies like a sea-serpent coiled on itself, its spires reflected in the -motionless mirror far south to Chioggia--they steal out, these island -phantoms, faint, alluring, upon the still mosaic of the lagoon, like -black pearls in that shell-like surface of tenderest azure and rose. -Shall we not dare to wander among those lovely paths, those dimly -burning gems? None visits them, unless it be the golden stars and the -dreaming lover of Endymion: their roof is the broad rainbow spread -above them by the setting sun. They seem sometimes to welcome a spirit -that should come and dwell among them silently; one that should tread -them with loving reverence and quiet hope, seeking to set free the -fantasies with which earth has stored it, but which no power of earth -may help it to disburden. - - - - -Chapter Three - -THE NUPTIALS OF VENICE - - -Until the fall of the Venetian Republic the rite of the _Sporalizio del -Mare_, the wedding of Venice with the sea, continued to be celebrated -annually at the feast of the Ascension. Long after the fruits of the -espousal had been gathered, when its renewal had become no more than -a ceremonious display, there stirred a pulse of present life in the -embrace; and in a sense, the significance of the ceremony never can be -lost while one stone remains upon another in the city of the sea. - -For the earliest celebration of the nuptials there was need of no -golden Bucintoro, no feast of red wine and chestnuts, no damask roses -in a silver cup, not so much as a ring to seal the bond. For it was no -vaunt of sovereignty; it was a humble oblation, a prayer to the Creator -that His creature might be calm and tranquil to all who travelled over -it, an oblation to the creature that it might be pleased to assist -the gracious and pacific work of its Creator. The regal ceremony of -later times was inaugurated by the Doge Pietro Orseolo II who, having -largely increased the sea dominion of Venice and made himself lord of -the Adriatic, welded his achievement into the fabric of the state by -the ceremony of the espousal. The ring was not introduced till the year -1177, when Pope Alexander III, being present at the festival, bestowed -it on the Doge, as token of the papal sanction of the ceremony, with -the words, “Receive it as pledge of the sovereignty that you and your -successors shall maintain over the sea.” But the true importance of the -festival, whether in its primitive form or in its later elaboration, is -the development of Venetian policy which it signified--a development -which, for the purposes of this chapter, will best be considered in -relation to events separated by nearly two centuries, but united in -their acknowledgment of the growing importance of Venice on the waters. -The first is Pietro Orseolo’s Dalmatian campaign, followed in 1001 -by the secret visit of the German Emperor Otho III, and the second -the famous concordat of Pope Alexander III and the Emperor Frederick -Barbarossa, concluded under the auspices of Venetian statecraft in 1177. - -Pietro Orseolo II appears as one of the most potent interpreters of the -Venetian spirit. He combined qualities which enabled him to gather -together the threads which the genius of Venice and the exigencies -of her position were weaving, and to fashion from them a substantial -web on which her industry might operate. He was a soldier, a great -statesman and a patriot. All the subtlety, all the ambition, all the -dreams of glory with which his potent and spacious mind was endowed, -were at his country’s service, and the material in which he had to -work was plastic to his touch. Venice lay midway between the kingdoms -of the East and West, and from the earliest times this fact had -determined her importance: she might rise to greatness or she might -be annihilated; she could not be ignored. The Venice of Orseolo was -instinct with vitality and teeming with energies, but she was divided -against herself. The foundations of her greatness were already laid, -but her general aim and tendency were not determined. She was in need -of a leader of commanding mind and capacious imagination, who could -envisage her future, and who should possess the power of inspiring -others with confidence in his dreams. Such a man was Pietro Orseolo II. -Venice had been threatened with destruction by the division of the two -interests which, interwoven, were the basis of her power. Before the -final settlement at Rialto she had been torn hither and thither by -the factions of the East and West, the party favouring Constantinople -and the party favouring the Frankish King; and at any moment still the -Doge’s policy might be wrecked by the rivalries of the two parties, if -he proved lacking in insight or capacity for uniting in his service the -interests of both. - -[Illustration: RIVA DEGLI SCHIAVONI.] - -For some time Dalmatia had been a thorn in the side of Venice, a -refuge for the disloyal, and, through the agency of the hordes of -pirates infesting the coast, a real menace to her commerce. Venice had -attempted to purchase immunity from the pirates by payment of an annual -indemnity. Orseolo decided at once to put an end to this payment, but -he realised that the price of the decision was a foothold in Dalmatia -that would need to be obtained by force of arms. For this end it was -necessary to secure harmony within the city itself, and, knowing this, -he exercised his powers to obtain approval of his expedition from -the authorities of East and of West, from the Emperors of Germany -and Byzantium. He was successful in this, and circumstances combined -further to aid his designs. The Croatians and Narentines, by wreaking -on Northern Dalmatia their anger at the loss of the Venetian indemnity, -had prepared the minds of the Dalmatians to look on the prospect of -Venetian supremacy as one of release rather than of subjugation. It -is said that they even went so far as to send a message to Orseolo -encouraging his coming. Their province was nominally under the Emperor -of Byzantium, but their overlord had decided to look favourably on a -means of securing peace and safe passage to his province at so small an -expense to himself. Orseolo set sail on Ascension Day, after a service -in the Cathedral of Olivolo (now San Pietro di Castello), fortified by -the good will of East and of West, and the united acclamations of all -parties in Venice. Pride and vigorous hope must have swelled the hearts -of these warriors. It was summer, and their songs must have travelled -across the dazzling blue of the great basin of St. Mark, and echoed -and re-echoed far out on the crystal waters of the lagoon. Triumph was -anticipated, and triumph was their portion. Orseolo’s expedition was -little less than a triumphal progress; the coast towns of Dalmatia from -Zara to Ragusa rendered him their homage. A new and immensely rich -province was acquired by Venice, and the title of Duke of Dalmatia -accorded to himself. - -Soon after Orseolo’s return from this campaign, Venice, unknown to -herself, was to receive the homage of one of the emperors she had made -it her business to propitiate. There is something that stirs the -imagination in this secret visit of Otho III to the Doge. According -to the ingenuous account of John the Deacon, Venetian ambassador at -the Emperor’s court, it was merely one of those visits of princely -compliment which the age knew so well how to contrive, and loved -so well to recount--a visit in disguise for humility or greater -freedom, like that of St. Louis to Brother Giles at Perugia, where -host and guest embrace in fellowship too deep for words. The Emperor, -John the Deacon tells us, was overcome with admiration of Orseolo’s -achievements in Dalmatia, and filled with longing to see so great a -man, and the chronicler was despatched to Venice to arrange a meeting. -The Doge, while acknowledging the compliment of Otho’s message, could -not believe in its reality, and consequently kept his own counsel -about it--“tacitus sibi in corde servabat.” However, when Otho on his -travels had come down to Ravenna for Lent, John the Deacon was again -despatched, and this time from Doge to Emperor. - -It was ultimately arranged that after the Easter celebration Otho with -a handful of followers should repair, under pretext of a “spring-cure,” -to the abbey of Santa Maria in the isle of Pomposa at the mouth of the -Po. He pretended to be taking up his quarters here for several days, -but at nightfall he secretly embarked in a small boat prepared by John -the Deacon, and set sail with him and six followers for Venice. All -that night and all the following day the little boat battled with the -tempest, and the storm was still unabated the next evening, when it put -in at the island of San Servolo and found itself harboured at last in -the waters of St. Mark. Venice knew nothing of this arrival; her royal -guest had taken her unawares, and her waterways had prepared him no -welcome. We may picture the anxiety of Orseolo, alone with the secret -of his expected guest, on the island of San Servolo. The journey may -well have been perilous for so small a boat even within the sheltering -wall of the Lido, and we may imagine his relief when it could at last -be descried beating towards the island through the tempestuous waters -of the lagoon. In impenetrable night, concealed from one another’s eyes -by the thick darkness, Emperor and Doge embraced. Otho was invited to -rest for an hour or two at the convent of San Zaccaria, but he repaired -before dawn to the Ducal Palace and the lodging made ready for him in -the eastern tower. There is a fascination in attempting to imagine the -two sovereigns moving amid the shadows of Venetian night, in thinking -of the Emperor watching from the vantage of his tower for daybreak -over the city. There are wonders to be seen from this eastern aspect, -but after the discomfort of his voyage to Venice the royal captive -may well have felt a longing for a sight of the city from within. It -is all rather like a children’s game--Orseolo’s feigned first meeting -with an embassy from Otho, his inquiry as to the Emperor’s health and -whereabouts, and the public dinner with the ambassadors. Venice is -robbed of a pageant, and one most dear to her, the fêting of a royal -guest; the guest is deprived of all festivities beyond a christening -of the Doge’s daughter; yet the pleasurable excitement of John the -chronicler communicates itself and disarms our criticism; and it is not -till gifts have been offered and refused--“ne quis cupiditatis et non -Sancti Marci tuæque dilectionis causa me hac venisse asserat”--till -tears and kisses have been exchanged, and the Emperor, this time -preceding his companions by a day, has set sail once more for the -island of Pomposa, that we break from the spell of the chronicler and -begin to cavil at the strange conditions of the visit. - -Modern historians have laid a probing hand on the sentimentality of -John the Deacon’s tale; they do not doubt the kisses or the tears, but -the unparalleled eccentricity of secrecy seems to demand an urgent -motive. Why this strange coyness of the Emperor? Might he not have -thought more to honour Venice and her Doge by coming with imperial -pomp than by stealing in and out of the triumphant city like a thief -in the night? And why did the persons concerned make public boast -of the success of their freak immediately after its occurrence? -For John tells us that when three days had passed, the people were -assembled by the Doge at his palace to hear of his achievement, “and -praised no less the faith of the Emperor than the skill of their -leader.” The probable solution of the various enigmas rather rudely -shatters the romance. Gfrörer lays on Orseolo the responsibility of -the _incognito_, attributing it partly to a memory of the fate that -overtook the Candiani’s personal relations with an imperial house, -partly to his desire to treat with the Emperor unobserved. He recalls -point by point the precautions taken by Orseolo to preclude Otho from -contact with other Venetians, and comes to the conclusion that in those -private interviews in the tower the “eternal dreamer” was feasted -on the milk and honey of promises, food of which no third person -could have been allowed to partake. “What lies,” he exclaims, “were -invented, what assurances vouchsafed of the most unbounded devotion -to imperial projects in general and the longed-for reconstitution of -the Roman Empire in particular! Never was prince so shamefully abused -as Otho III at Venice.” It is not necessary to abandon our belief in -Otho’s personal feelings for the Doge, augmented by Orseolo’s recent -campaign, to realise that there must have been another side to the -picture. Gulled the royal guest in all probability was, but there -is little doubt that he had an axe of his own to be ground on this -visit to Venice--that the journey had for its aim something beyond -his delectation in a sight of the Doge and his obeisance to the Lion. -For the furtherance of his schemes of empire Otho needed a fleet. He -had, Gfrörer tells us, “an admiral already in view for it. Nothing was -wanted but cables, anchors, equipments; in short there were not even -ships, nor the necessary money, and above all, there were no sailors. -I believe that Otho III undertook the journey to Venice precisely -to procure for himself these necessary trifles. Who knows how many -times already he had urged the Doge to hasten his sending of the -long-promised fleet; but in place of ships nothing had yet come but -letters or embassies carrying specious excuses.” If the historian’s -motivisation is accurate, Otho must have found, like so many after him, -Venice more capable of exercising persuasion than of submitting to it. -For our uses, however, the original or the revised versions of the -tale serve the same purpose. As an act of spontaneous homage or an act -of practical policy, the visit of Otho, full as it is of speculative -possibilities, was an imperial tribute to the position Orseolo had -given to Venice, an imperial recognition of her progress towards -supremacy in the Adriatic. - -Orseolo’s achievement and the rite which symbolised it were confirmed -two centuries later when, in the spring and summer of 1177, Venice -was the meeting place of Pope Alexander III and the Emperor Frederick -Barbarossa. Tradition has woven a curious romance round the fact of -the Pope’s sojourn in Venice before the coming of the Emperor. By -a manipulation of various episodes, he is brought as a fugitive to -creep among the tortuous by-ways of the city, sleeping on the bare -ground, and going forward as chance might direct till he is received -as a chaplain--or, to enhance the thrill of agony, as a scullion--in -the convent of Santa Maria della Carità, and after some months have -elapsed is brought to the notice of the Doge, when a transformation -scene of the Cinderella type is effected. It is inevitable that -melodramatic touches should have been added to so important an -episode, and the accounts of the manner of Alexander’s arrival and -his bearing in Venice are many and varied. None the less, it is clear -that splendour and not secrecy, ceremony not intimacy, are the general -colouring of the event. Frederick had shown himself disposed to make -peace and to accept the mediation of Venice, and in the early days -of the Pope’s visit the Venetians had acted as counsellors, pending -the agreement as to a meeting place. Significant terms are used by -the chroniclers to account for the ultimate choice, and the note -which they strike is repeated again and again in the chorus of praise -that throughout the centuries was to wait upon Venice. “Pope and -Emperor sent forth their mandates to divers parts of the world, that -Archbishops, Bishops, Abbots, Ecclesiastics and secular Princes should -repair to Venice; for Venice is safe for all, fertile and abounding -in supplies, and the people quiet and peace-loving.” Secure among the -lagoons, Venice is aloof from the disturbances of the mainland cities, -and though her inhabitants are proved warriors they are peaceable -citizens. Many of the glories of Gentile Bellini’s _Procession of -the Cross_ would be present in the procession in which the Doge -and the magnates of Venice formally conducted Alexander III to the -city--patriarch, bishops, clergy, and finally the Pope himself, all in -their festival robes. Ecclesiastical and secular princes of Germany, -France, England, Spain, Hungary and the whole of Italy were crowding -to Venice. The occasion gave scope for her fascinations, and they were -exerted. No opportunity for display was neglected; ceremony was heaped -upon ceremony. - -For over a fortnight Venice was the centre of correspondence daily -renewed between Emperor and Pope, of embassies hastening to and fro, -of endless postponements and uncertainties. The Pope retires for a -few days to Ferrara; then he is back again to be received as before. -But Venice, the indomitable, is secure of her will, and preparations -for the coming of the Emperor are growing apace. In July the Doge’s -son is despatched to meet the royal guest at Ravenna and conduct him -to Venice by way of Chioggia. No tempests disturbed his arrival. He -was conducted in triumph up the lagoon by the galleys of “honest men” -and Cardinals who had gone forth to Chioggia to meet him. Slowly the -islands of the Lido would unfold themselves to his eyes, Pellestrina -in shining curves, Malamocco with its long reaches of bare shore -and reeds. The group clustered round Venice itself--San Servolo, La -Grazia, San Lazzaro, Poveglia--would be green and smiling then, living -islands, not desolated as now for the most part by magazine or asylum. -San Nicolo del Lido welcomed the guest, and he was borne thence on the -ducal boat to the city and landed at the Riva. Through the acclamations -of an “unheard-of multitude” his way was made to San Marco, where the -Pope in all his robes, amid a throng of gorgeous ecclesiastics and -laymen, was waiting on the threshold. As he passed out of the brilliant -and garish day into the solemn mosaiced glory of San Marco and moved to -the high altar between Pope and Doge singing a Te Deum, “while all gave -thanks to God, rejoicing and exulting and weeping,” even an emperor and -a Barbarossa may well have surrendered his pride. Even we, spectators -removed by time, find ourselves exalted on the tide of colour and of -sound, and crying to the Venetians, with the strangers who thronged in -their streets, “Blessed are ye, that so great a peace has been able -to be established in the midst of you! This shall be a memorial to -your name for ever.” Peace was secured and Venice had accomplished -her task. She had devoted the subtleties of her statecraft to its -performance, but perhaps the splendour of this hour in San Marco was -her crowning achievement. She asked the recognition of a Pope, and she -brought the temporal sovereign to his side in a church which is one of -the wonders of Christendom. She polished and gilded every detail of -her worldly magnificence, and poured it as an oblation at the altar. -Her reinforcements to the cause of Alexander III were drawn from far -back in the ages, from the inspiration of the men who had fashioned her -temple; and may there not be some deeper signification than merely that -of Frederick’s stubbornness in the “Not to thee, but to St. Peter,” -traditionally attributed to him as he prostrated himself at his enemy’s -feet? - -[Illustration: THE DOORWAY OF SAN MARCO.] - -To Venice there remained, beside the praise of all Christendom, many -tangible tokens of the events of the summer. Emperor and Pope vied -with each other in evincing their gratitude. Alexander formally -sanctioned and confirmed the title of Venice as sovereign and queen -of the Adriatic, and bestowed on the Doge a consecrated ring for use -at the Nuptials. And henceforth the ceremony at San Nicolo del Lido, -the place of arrival and departure for the high seas and for Dalmatia -and the East, was increased in magnificence. No trace now remains -of the church where the rites were performed; but the grassy squares -of San Nicolo and the wooded slopes of its canal, looking on one side -to the city, on the other to the sea, are beautiful still. The ocean -calls to the lagoon, and the calm waters of the lagoon sway themselves -in answer; while, outside the Lido, line beyond line of snowy-crested -waves, ever advancing, bear in to Venice, Bride of the Adriatic, the -will of the high sea. - - - - -Chapter Four - -VENICE IN FESTIVAL - - -The treaty signed in 1573 between Venice and Constantinople, though -it marked no real rise in her fortunes, gave her a respite from -the petty and fruitless warfare with the Turk, in which she had so -long been engaged. That conflict had drained the resources of the -Republic without affording compensating gains. The loss and horrors of -Famagosta might seem to have been revenged by the battle of Lepanto, -where the triumph of Venice and her allies was complete; but owing -to the dilatoriness and inaction of Don John of Austria, brother of -Philip of Spain, the opportunity of annihilating the Turkish forces -was allowed to escape, and victory was reduced to little more than -the name. So flagrant had been the character of Don John’s disloyalty -that the Venetians no longer could mistake his intentions. Spain was -an ally of Venice; but Tommaso Morosini was but voicing the general -conviction when he exclaimed, “We must face the fact that there will -be no profitable progress, seeing that the victory already gained by -the forces of the League against the Turk was great in the number of -ships captured, rare in the number of slaves set free, famous by reason -of the power it broke, formidable for the numbers killed by the sword, -glorious for the pride it laid low, terrible in the fame acquired -by it. And, none the less, no single foot of ground was gained. Oh, -incomparable ignominy and shame of the allies, that whatever honour -they obtained in consequence of the victory, they lost by not following -it up!” Though nominally in league with her against the Turk, Spain, -owing to her jealousy of Venice, was unwilling that the war should be -ended. The League of Cambray, formed in 1508 by the European powers -unfriendly to Venice, should have made it clear to the Republic that -she had over-reached her own interests by interference in the politics -of Europe. Moreover, a severe blow had been dealt to the commerce of -Venice by the discovery of the Cape route to the East. Yet, though her -decline had begun, she still formed a subject for envy, and there is -justice in Morosini’s conclusion as to the causes of the growing enmity -of Spain. “Ruling,” he says of the Spaniards, “a good part of Europe, -having passed into Africa, having discovered new territory, dominating -most of Italy, and seeing the Republic, the single part, the only -corner of Italy, to be free and without the least burden of slavery, -they envy it, envying it they hate it, and hating it they lay snares -for it.” - -Though the terms of the peace with Constantinople were humiliating -in the extreme (Venice relinquished the whole of Cyprus, a fortress -in Albania, and agreed within three years to pay an indemnity of one -hundred thousand ducats) it set her hands free for awhile and gave -her a breathing space in which to return to her pageants. And for the -next few years she laid herself out more completely than ever before -to impress the world by her splendour. It is not easy to determine the -beginnings of decadent luxury in Venetian history. Venice had always -been a pleasure-house, a place of entertainment for kings and emperors, -a temple of solemn festival. Perhaps the broad difference between the -splendours of the early and late Renaissance is that one achieved that -perfection of taste which robes luxury in apparent simplicity, while -the other was more obvious and expansive--the difference between the -Madonnas of Bellini and of Titian, between the interiors of Carpaccio -and Paul Veronese. There is a real and discernible difference in -aspect between Venice of the fifteenth and Venice of the sixteenth -century, but it is not the difference between asceticism and luxury. -Venice was never ascetic, no prophet ever drew her citizens round a -sacrificial bonfire on the Piazza. On the other hand it is said that -a Venetian merchant was burnt in effigy on Savonarola’s pile because -he had attempted to purchase some of the doomed Florentine treasures. -In the course of the fifteenth century isolated voices were indeed -raised in protest against the luxury of Venice, and the authorities -themselves, as the State coffers grew empty, tried by oratorical appeal -and detailed legislation to curb the extravagance of private citizens. -But their protests were, in the main, quite ineffectual. Venice could -not resist the influences that wove for her each day a magical dress; -she could not refuse the treasures of the East: it was her function to -be beautiful, to accept and love every wonder, to turn her face against -nothing that could glorify. She had always appeared as a miracle to -men, she had always lavished her treasures on her guests; the vital -difference between the period of her decline and that of her greatness -lies in the gradual relaxation of the ties binding her to the sources -of her wealth. With the ebbing of her trade her citizens begin to -barter their landed estates and their treasures. Morosini’s acute and -interesting prophecy as to the private banks into which Venetian money -began to be diverted provides us with a background to some of the -almost fabulous expenditure of the Cinquecento--“The banker,” he says, -“with a chance of obliging many friends in their need, and acquiring -others by such a service, and with power to do so without spending -money, simply by making a brief entry, is easily persuaded to satisfy -many. When the opportunity arises of buying some valuable piece of -furniture or decoration, clothes, jewels and similar things of great -price, he is easily persuaded to please himself, simply ordering a line -or two to be written in his books--reassuring, or rather, deceiving -himself with the thought that one year being passed in this way, he can -carry time forward, and pass many years in the same manner, scheming -that such an affair or such an investment as he has in hand, when it -has come to perfection, ought to prove most useful, and that through -its means he may be able to remedy other disorders; which hope proving -fallacious shows with how little security walks one who places his -thoughts and hopes in the uncertain and inconstant issues of events.” - -The fabric of sixteenth-century Venice was too largely founded on the -“uncertain and inconstant issues of events,” but none the less it was -as radiant a fabric as any that man has yet fashioned. Something -at least of its nature may be learned from the details of the -entertainment of Henry III in Venice, and his lodging and reception -in the then fashionable suburb of Murano. Henry came to Venice in -the early summer of 1574, on his way from Poland to take possession -of the throne of France vacated by the death of his brother Charles -IX. He came at a moment when Venice was rich in artists to do him -honour--Tintoretto, Paolo Veronese, Palladio and Claudio Merulo: he was -crowned with the laurels of war; while the Republic was able to clothe -herself in the glory of Lepanto and the respite of her newly concluded -peace with the Turk and, superficially at least, appeared peculiarly -fitted to welcome him. The young King was gracious, and greedy to drink -his fill of life, and Venice was unique in her celebration. The visit -was one of the most spontaneous, the most joyful to host and guest, of -any that are recorded in her annals. All the territory of Venice was -prepared to honour him, and his journey was a triumphal progress. There -is something joyous still about the little inland cities of his route, -echoes of festival still linger in their streets, romance still dwells -in their hearts. At Treviso, where the young King was welcomed with -peculiar pomp, the Lion of St. Mark, portrayed by three successive -ages, rules still, his majesty sustained by the sturdiness of life that -moves in the city. The winding cobbled streets are full of bustle and -interchange, the arcades are full of people, vital and busily employed. -Treviso is not a museum. Its ancient palace of the Cavallieri is still -in use, though its loggia with traces of rich fresco is filled with -lumber. But we are not critical of small details at Treviso; we thank -it for its winding streets and for its leaping azure river; we thank -it for its countless ancient roofs and painted rafters; for its houses -high and low, harmonious though endless in variation, for the remnants -of fresco, shadows no doubt of what once they were, but companionable -shadows--horses with still distinguishable motions, graceful maidens -both of land and sea. These glories are fading but they have substance -still, and on a day of mid-autumn we are well able to imagine a kingly -procession on the road from Treviso to Mestre. It seems a pageant, -a progress of pomp and colour, as we pass between the vineyards and -maize fields and the great gardens and pastures of the villas, down -the avenue of plane trees set like gold banners on silvery flagstaffs -with carpets of fallen leaves at their feet. Behind them are ranked -dark cypresses, pale groups of willow, or companies of poplar. And -these are often garlanded to their very summits by crimson creepers, -and interspersed with statues, not perhaps great in workmanship, but -tempered and harmonised into beauty by the seasons. Here and there is -a lawn flanked by dark shrubbery, or a terrace ablaze with dahlias and -salvia. And, among them, Baron Franchetti of the Cà d’Oro has a home -even more worthy of the golden title than is his palace on the shores -of the Grand Canal--a place where the sun reveals miraculous hangings -in the shrubberies, sumptuously furnished with scarlet and crimson and -gold. - -[Illustration: VIEW FROM CÀ D’ORO.] - -Some such festival of colour, in banners and trappings, would be -Henry’s preparation for the pageant of the lagoons. For he was met at -Marghera, half way between Mestre and Venice, by a troop of senators -and noblemen and ambassadors, and escorted to the palace of Bartolomeo -Capello at Murano. Of the young King’s lodging at Murano we have spoken -elsewhere--of the hall hung with gold brocade, with golden baldaquin, -green velvet and silk, its entrance guarded by sixty halberdiers armed -for the occasion with gilt spears borrowed from the chambers of the -Council of Ten. Forty noble youths, in glorious attire, had been told -off to wait on the King. But, “although a most sumptuous supper was -prepared, none the less His Majesty, when the senators were gone, -showed himself a short while at the windows dressed in cloth of gold -and silk; after which he went to supper, and the princes arrived, so -that it was most glorious with abundant supply of exquisite viands -and most delicate foods.” The hearts of the Venetians were won by the -King’s beauty and youth, by his delicate person and grave aspect, by -his majestic bearing and his eagerness to please and be pleased. He was -in mourning for his brother, but his mourning did not shadow Venice by -its gloom. “His Majesty appeared in public dressed all in purple (which -is his mourning) with a Flemish cloak, a cap on his head in the Italian -mode, with long veil and mantle reaching to his feet, slashed jerkin, -stockings and leather collar, and a large shirt-frill most becomingly -worn, with perfumed gloves in his hand, and wearing on his feet shoes -with heels _à la mode française_.” - -It would be tedious to relate the details of the splendid -entertainments that each day were provided for his delectation; of -salutes that made the earth and water tremble, of fireworks glowing -all night beneath the windows of the Cà Foscari, of the blaze of light -from the candles set in every window and cornice and angle of the -buildings along the Grand Canal, of the gilded lilies and pyramids and -wheels reflected in the water, “so that the canal seemed like another -starry sky.” It was a veritable gala for Henry; he paid a private -visit to the Doge to the great satisfaction of that prince and his -senate, he went about _incognito_ in a gondola alone with the Duke of -Ferrara, “so that when they thought he was in his room, he was in some -other part of the city, returning home at an exceedingly late hour -accompanied by many torches, and immensely enjoying the liberty of this -town; and on account of his charm and courtesy, the whole place gave -vent to the lasting joy and satisfaction it felt in continually seeing -him.” He spent three hours in the Arsenal, engrossed in viewing the -vast preparation for war and the spoils won from the Turk “in the sea -battle on the day of the great victory”; and then in the chamber of the -Council of Ten, within the Arsenal, he was provided with a Sugar Feast, -with sugar dishes, knives and forks, so admirably counterfeit that His -Majesty only realised their nature when his sugar napkin crumbled and -a piece of it fell to the ground. Is there not something contributive -to our picture of Venice the entertainer, in this feast of sugar given -by the terrible Council of Ten within the walls of the Arsenal itself? -There is naturally much vague repetition in the chronicles of the time, -but here and there are vital touches which bring the young King to life -before our eyes. At the banquet given in his honour in the Sala del -Gran Consiglio, having eaten sufficiently himself, he brought the meal -to an end before half of the courses had appeared, by adroitly causing -the Dukes of Savoy and Ferrara to rise in their places at his side, and -calling for water for his hands during the disturbance caused by the -lords and ambassadors as they followed the example of the dukes. He -told Giovanni Michele that of all the entertainments he had witnessed -in Venice none had pleased him more than the “Guerra dei Ponti,” and -that if he had known of it earlier he would have prayed to have had -the spectacle repeated several times, for he “could have asked nothing -better than this.” The Guerra dei Ponti were wrestling matches that -took place on certain bridges over the canals, and pages of description -might not have told us as much of the nature of the man who lived -behind the scented gloves and purple mantle, as this single expression -of preference. - -Two episodes in the visit of Henry that seem worthy of fuller record -stand out from the rest: his reception at the Lido and the Ball in -the Ducal Palace; and they represent the achievements in his honour -of two departments of Venetian activity, the City Guilds and the -Court. While he was still in his lodging at Murano barges of immense -splendour, vying with each other in symbolism and ingenuity of design, -and each representing one of the trades of Venice, had arrived to -accompany him to the Lido. If we imagine the Lord Mayor’s Procession, -with splendour a thousandfold enhanced and with drapery and design of -artistic excellence, removed from the streets to the glittering surface -of the lagoon, we may have some idea of the spectacle. Among the most -splendid of the barges was that of the Druggists, with an ensign of the -Saviour riding on the world. “The outer coverings themselves were of -cloth of gold, and below them and below the oars were painted canvases. -The poop was hung within with most beautiful carpets, and on the four -sides four pyramids were erected of sky blue with fireworks inside -them, at the feet of which were four stucco figures representing four -nymphs, and there were set two arquebuses and a musket and two flags -white and red and a flag of battle. And on the outside were divers -sorts of arms, spears and shields and six arquebuses. On the prow was -a pyramid with fireworks, on the top of which was an angel--for this -and the Golden Head were the badges of the two honoured druggists who -had decked the said vessel--and in the midst of it was a design of a -pelican with a motto round it in letters of gold, _Respice Domino_, -representing the pelican as wounding its breast to draw blood from it -to nourish its offspring, just as they, the druggists, faithful and -devoted to their prince and master, gave and offered to him, not only -their faculties but their blood itself, which is their own life in his -service; and at the foot of the pyramid was a little boy beating a -drum.” The Looking-Glass Makers also had prepared a magnificent barge -glittering with symbols of their profession. But perhaps the device of -the Glass-Workers of Murano out-rivalled all others in ingenuity and -pomp. “On two great barges, chained together and covered with painted -canvases, they had erected a furnace in the form of a sea-monster; -and following the train of vessels, flames were seen issuing from its -mouths, and, the masters having given their consent, the Glass-Workers -made most beautiful vases of crystal, which were cause of great -pleasure to the King.” - -The Convent of Sant’ Elena was the vantage point chosen for looking on -Venice, and at the moment the army of barges and brigantines reached -it, they spread out in front of His Majesty, and a salute broke from -them all; “to which the galleys in the train of the King replied -in such ordered unity that His Majesty rose to his feet with great -curiosity to see them, praising exceedingly so wonderful a sight, -admiring to his right the fair and famous city marvellously built upon -the salt waters, and on the left a forest of so many ships and vessels -with so great noise of artillery and arquebuses, and of trumpets and -drums, that he remained astounded; while he openly showed himself not -less merry than content, seeing so rare a thing as was never before -seen of him.” Henry’s arrival at the Lido is portrayed in the Sala -delle Quattro Porte in the Ducal Palace. He is seen advancing with -sprightly step, between two dignitaries of the Church, up a temporary -wooden bridge towards the Triumphal Arch and Temple of Palladio. This -arch was decorated with paintings by Paolo and Tintoretto, and in -connexion with it Ridolfi tells a delightful story of the painting of -Henry’s portrait. “Tintoretto,” says Ridolfi, “was longing to paint the -King’s portrait, and in consequence begged Paolo to finish the arch by -himself; and, taking off his toga, Tintoretto dressed himself as one -of the Doge’s equerries, and took his place among them in the Bucintoro -as it moved to meet the King, thus furtively procuring a chalk sketch -of the proposed portrait, which he was afterwards to enlarge to life -size; and having made friends with M. Bellagarda, the King’s treasurer, -he was introduced with much difficulty, owing to the frequent visits -of the Doge, into the royal apartments to retouch the portrait from -life. Now whilst he stood painting, and the King with great courtesy -admiring, there entered presumptuously into the apartments at smith of -the Arsenal, presenting an ill-done portrait by himself, and saying -that, while His Majesty was dining in the Arsenal, he had done the -likeness of him. His presumption was humbled by a courtier who snatched -it from his hand, and ripping it up with his dagger threw it into the -neighbouring Grand Canal: which incident, on account of the whispering -it produced, made it difficult for the painter to carry out his -intention. Tintoretto had also observed on that occasion that from time -to time certain persons were introduced to the King, whom he touched -lightly on the shoulder with his rapier, adding other ceremonies. And -pretending not to understand the meaning, he asked it of Bellagarda, -who said that they were created knights by His Majesty, and that he, -Tintoretto, might prepare himself to receive that degree; for he had -discussed the matter with the King, to whom Tintoretto’s conditions -were known and who had shown himself disposed, in attestation of his -powers, to create him also a knight; but our painter, not being willing -to subject himself to any title, modestly rejected the offer.” When the -portrait was finished and presented to the King, it was acclaimed by -him as a marvellous likeness, and we may safely conclude from this that -it was fair to look on. The King presented it to the Doge. Perhaps the -picture from the first had been intended as a present for Mocenigo, and -this was the explanation of the secrecy observed in regard to it. - -[Illustration: COURTYARD OF PALAZZO DUCALE.] - -The climax of entertainment was reached in the festa at the Ducal -Palace on the second Sunday after Henry’s arrival (his visit lasted -ten days). The glories of Venice were gathered in that marvellous hall -still hung with the paintings of Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini, and -the exquisite Paradise of Guariento; for it was yet a year previous to -the great fire which was to give scope to the contemporary giants. The -later victories of Venice were as yet unchronicled except in the hearts -of living men. There was no thought of sumptuary laws on this day at -least of the great festival. Ladies were there clothed all in ormesine, -adorned with jewels and pearls of great size, not only in strings on -their necks, but covering their head-dresses and the cloaks on their -shoulders. “And in their whiteness, their beauty and magnificence, -they formed a choir not so much of nymphs as of very goddesses. They -were set one behind the other in fair order upon carpeted benches -stretching round the whole hall, leaving an ample space in the centre, -at the head of which was set a royal seat with a covering of gold and -entirely covered with a baldaquin from top to bottom, and round it -yellow and blue satin.” All the splendours of Venetian and Oriental -cloths were lavished on the Hall of the Great Council and the Sala del -Scrutinio adjoining. The King as usual entered whole-heartedly into the -festivity. His seat was raised that he might look over the company, -“but he chose nevertheless to go round and salute all the ladies with -much grace and courtesy, raising his cap as he went along.” After a -time musical instruments were heard, the ladies were carried off by the -gentlemen, and forming into line they began to dance a slow measure, -passing before the King and bowing as they passed. “And he stood the -whole while cap in hand.” The French courtiers were permitted by their -master to lay aside their mourning for the time, and they danced with -great merriment, vying with the most famous dancers of Venice. But the -great feature of the evening was the tragedy by Cornelio Frangipani--a -mythological masque in honour of the most Christian King and of Venice -herself--with Proteus, Iris, Mars, Amazons, Pallas and Mercury as -protagonists. To the first printed edition of his masque Frangipani -prefixed an apology for his title of tragedy, with the usual appeal to -classic precedent. “This tragedy of mine,” he says, “was recited in -such a way as most nearly to approach to the form of the ancients; all -the players sang in sweetest harmony, now accompanied, now alone; and -finally the chorus of Mercury was composed of players who had so many -various instruments as were never heard before. The trumpets introduced -the gods on to the appointed scene with the machinery of tragedy, but -this could not be used to effect on account of the great concourse of -people; and the ancients could not have been initiated into the musical -compositions in which Claudio Merulo had reached a height certainly -never attained by the ancients.” The masque is in reality a mere masque -of occasion, comparable to countless English productions in the -Elizabethan age, though lacking in the lyrical grace they generally -possess. Henry is addressed as the slayer of monsters, the harbinger of -peace, the herald of the age of gold-- - - Pregamo questo domator de’ mostri - Ch’eterno al mondo viva, - Perchè in pregiata oliva - Ha da cangiar d’ alloro - E apportar l’ antica età del’ oro. - -The masque is without literary merit, but we need not regard it in -the cold light of an after day, caged and with clipped wings. To that -glorious assembly, illumined by the great deeds fresh in men’s minds -and the presence of a royal hero, Frangipani’s words may well have been -kindled into flame. For if time and place were ever in conspiracy to -wing pedestrian thoughts and words, it must have been at this fêting of -the most Christian King of France in the City of the Sea. - -Pens were busy in Venice during the days of Henry’s stay. Unsalaried -artists, independent of everything except a means of livelihood, -exacted toll from the royal guest. From the 16,000 scudi of largess -distributed by the King, payments are enumerated “to writers and poets -who presented to His Majesty Latin works and poems made in praise of -his greatness and splendour.” Gifts, as well as compliments were -exchanged on all hands. The Duke of Savoy presented the Doge’s wife -with a girdle studded with thirty gold rosettes each containing four -pearls and a precious jewel in the centre, worth 1,800 scudi. And -Henry’s final token of gratitude to his entertainers was to send after -the Doge, who had accompanied him to Fusina, a magnificent diamond -ring, begging that Mocenigo should wear it continually in token of -their love. Most of these offerings and acknowledgments, without doubt, -would be merely ceremonial. Yet the young King’s delight in his visit -had been genuine, and his frank enjoyment of all Venice offered had won -him her sympathy and even her affection. Memories of the freedom of -his stay went with him to the routine of his kingship, and he looked -backwards with delight to her winged pleasures. She had spread gifts -out before him, as she does before all, but in his own hands he had -carried the key of her inmost treasures; for his spirit was joyful and -joy is the key to the unlocking of her heart. - - - - -Chapter Five - -A MERCHANT OF VENICE - - -“Siamo noi calcolatori” was the confession of a modern Venetian, quoted -lately as expressive of the spirit that governs Venice to-day and has -lain at the root of her policy in the past. The confession is striking; -for most men, however calculating in practice, acknowledge an ideal -of spontaneous generosity which causes them to shun the admission of -self-interested motives. The charge, if charge it can be termed, is an -old one. Again and again it has been brought against Venice by those -to whom her greatness has been a stumbling-block--“sono calcolatori.” -But perhaps if the indictment be rightly understood it will be found -to need, not so much a denial as an extension, a fuller statement of -meaning. And this Professor Molmenti has supplied in his _Venice in the -Middle Ages_.[1] “The Venetians,” he says, in commenting on the support -they lent to the Crusades, “never forgot their commercial and political -interests in their zeal for the faith; they intended to secure for -themselves a market in every corner of the globe. But their so-called -egoism displayed itself in a profound attachment to their country and -their race; and these greedy hucksters, these selfish adventurers, as -they are sometimes unjustly called, had at bottom a genuine belief -in objects high and serious; the merchant not seldom became a hero. -These lords of the sea knew how to wed the passion of Christianity to -commercial enterprise, and welded the aspirations of the faith with the -interests of their country, proving by their action not only how vain -and sterile is an idealism which consumes itself in morbid dreams, but -also that the mere production of riches will lead to ruin unless it be -tempered, legalised, almost, we would say, sanctified, by the serene -and lifegiving breath of the ideal.” But because she was supremely -successful in her undertakings, Venice won for herself much perplexed -and hostile comment from those who were jealous of a mastery sustained -with such apparently effortless self-possession--of an organisation so -complete, so silent, so pervasive. She has been accused of perfidy, of -cruelty, in short, of shameless egoism. A nation, a state, is pledged -to the preservation of its identity, its conceptions must be bounded -and constantly measured by the power of other states. The neighbours of -Venice in the days of her glory were selfish and calculating also; her -prominence was due not so much to special weapons as to her skill in -wielding weapons everywhere in use. - - [1] Translated by Mr. Horatio Browne. - -And what can we say of the ends to which she directed her success, the -scope of her arts, the nature of her pleasures? It must be admitted by -all that the soul of Venice was capacious, unique in its harmony of -imagination and political acumen; unique in its power of commanding -and retaining respect. A great soul was in the men of Venice; it was -present in all their activities, in their commerce as in their art. -The two were most intimately allied. Again and again the chroniclers -of Venice crown their catalogue of her glories with the reminder that -their foundation is in commerce, that the Venetians are a nation of -shopkeepers, and “you have only come to such estate by reason of the -trade done by your shipping in various parts of the world.” Even in -the fifteenth century it was deemed complimentary to say to a newly -elected Doge, “You have been a great trader in your young days.” The -greatness of Venice was coincident with the greatness of her trade. -She was lit, it is true, with the ancient stars of her splendour after -the mortal blow had been struck at her commerce by the discovery of -the Cape route to the East, but the old unity of her strength had been -lost--the firm foundations of the days when the nobles of Venice had -been the directors of her enterprise. And at the end of the fifteenth -century they no longer sat, in their togas, behind the counters in -Rialto, or made the basements of their houses into stores. They had -ceased to apprentice their sons to the merchants on the sea-going -galleys. They still acted as commanders of the ships in times of war, -but in intervals of peace the gulf between noble and merchant was -constantly being enlarged. The commercial traveller was no longer -considered one of the most distinguished of citizens. The corner stone -had been taken from the building of Rialto; it had begun to crumble to -the dissolution lamented by Grevembroch in his strange book on Venetian -costumes. In the great days of Venice her commerce was great, and she -knew how to robe it in glory, how to attract to it the noblest, and not -the meanest, of her sons. Her shops were the objects of her proudest -solicitude, and the well-being of her merchants the first of her cares. -The hostels provided for foreign traders ranked with the most sumptuous -of her palaces, and the rules framed for their guidance were amongst -the most liberal in her legislature. - -The calculations of Venice, growing with her growth, impressed on her -national consciousness the importance of her position midway between -the East and the West--her geographical qualification for becoming the -mart of the world. With steady and concentrated purpose she devoted her -energy to opening up fresh channels of communication. Sometimes by the -marriage of a son or daughter of the Doge with the heir of a kingdom or -a prince of Constantinople, sometimes by the subjugation of a common -foe, Venice wove new threads of intercourse with the East. She always -took payment for benefits she conferred in wider trading advantages. -Her merchant vessels were not private adventures, they represented -state enterprise and were under the control of the central government, -travelling with the fleet and capable of reinforcing it at need. Seven -merchant convoys left Venice annually for Roumania, Azof, Trebizond, -Cyprus, Armenia, France, England, Flanders, Spain, Portugal and Egypt. -By means of these vessels the glories of the Orient found their way to -the lands of the West; Venice was mistress of the treasures of Arabia, -and became their dispenser to Europe. And she was not merely a mart, -a counter of interchange; she tested the goods at their source; she -was not at the mercy of valuers, her citizen travellers came into -touch with the goods on the soil that produced them. The East, to -which the art of Venice owes much of its material--its gold, its gems, -its colours--was not an unfathomed mine but, in a certain sense, a -pleasure-ground for her citizens; they passed to and fro familiarly, -guests of its greatest potentates. They stood face to face with Cublay -Kaan, the monarch of mystery. - -The journeys of the famous Poli are among the most thrilling and -significant records of Venetian history. Through them we are able to -realise something of the Republic’s debt to the lands of the East--a -debt not to be summed up in enumeration of embroidery and jewels and -perfumes and secrets of colour. In part at least it consisted of -legends and traditions that filtered into Venice through the hearing -and speech of her travellers--age-old lessons in wisdom, which must -have invested some of the common things of Venetian life with new -meaning and done something to break down the barriers which ignorance -erects between man and man, knowledge and knowledge. In the beautiful -Persian rendering of the story of _The Three Magi_, as told by Marco -Polo, she came into touch with comparative theology, the familiar -Christian tale drawn from an earlier source. Marco Polo tells how -he first found at Sara the beautiful tombs of Jaspar, Melchior and -Balthasar, with their bodies completely preserved; how the people of -that place knew nothing of their history save that they were the bodies -of kings; but three days’ journey onward he had come to the city of -the fire-worshippers and been informed of the three who had set out -to worship a newly born Prophet, carrying with them gifts to test -the extent of his powers--gold for the earthly King, myrrh for the -physician, incense for the God. “And when they were come there where -the Child was born, the youngest of these three Kings went all alone -to see the Child, and there he found that it was like himself, for -it seemed of his age and form. Then he went out much marvelling, and -after him went in the second of the Kings, who was near in age to the -first, and the Child seemed to him, as to the first, of his own form -and age, and he also went out much perplexed. Then went in the third, -who was of great age, and it happened to him as to the other two, and -he also went out very pensive. And when all the Kings were together, -they told one another what they had seen; and they marvelled much and -said they would go in all three together. Then they went together into -the Child’s presence, and they found Him of the likeness and age that -He really was, for He was only three days old. Then they adored Him -and offered Him their gold and incense and myrrh. The Child took all -their offerings and gave them a closed box, and then the three Kings -departed and returned to their country.” Marco Polo goes on to relate -how the Kings, finding the box heavy to bear, sat down by a well to -open it, and, when they had opened it, they found only stones inside. -These, in their disappointment, they threw into the well and lo! from -the stones fire ascended which they gathered up and took home with -them to worship. With it they burned all their sacrifices, renewing it -from one altar to another. Other tales he told them from the wisdom of -the East--of the idealist who found no joy in earthly existence, and -the chagrin of his father the King, who surrounded him with luxury and -with beautiful maidens, but could not persuade him. One day he rode -out on his horse and saw a dead man by the way. And he was filled with -horror at a sight which he had never seen before, and he asked those -who were with him the meaning of the sight, and they told him it was a -dead man. “What,” said the son of a King, “then do all men die?” Yes, -truly, they say. Then the youth asked no more, but rode on in front -in deep thought. And after he had ridden some way he met a very old -man who could not walk, and who had no teeth, for he had lost them all -by reason of his great age. And when the King’s son saw the old man he -asked what he was and why he could not walk, and his companions told -him that he could not walk from age, and that from age he had lost his -teeth. And when the King’s son understood about the dead man and the -old man, he returned to his palace, and said to himself that he would -live no longer in so evil a world, but that he would go “in search of -Him who never dies, of Him who made him. And so he departed from his -father and from the palace, and went to the mountains, that are very -high and impassable, and there he lived all his life, most purely and -chastely, and made great abstinence, for certainly if he had been a -Christian, he would be a great saint with our Lord Jesus Christ.” Did -he find his answer in the mountains? Perhaps in some dawn or sunset he -learned of the nature of “Him who made him, of Him who never dies”; -perhaps among the wild creatures he learned before he was old to sing -the lauds of our sister Death. But Polo’s comment on the story is -interesting, for the Venetians would have little natural sympathy -with its hero. They would prefer Carpaccio’s fairy prince who forsook -his kingdom to follow Ursula and her virgins. The tale of one who dared -not look on life in company with his kind, would strike a chill across -the full-blooded natures of Venice, so eager to grasp at all that -ministered to enjoyment and vitality. - -[Illustration: SAN GIORGIO.] - -But Marco’s pack held stories of a more tangible kind--tales of the -Palace of Cublay Kaan, with its hall that held six thousand men, the -inside walls covered with gold and silver and pictures of great beasts, -and the outside rainbow-coloured, shining like crystal in the sun, and -a landmark far and wide. And within the circuit of the palace walls -was a green pleasure mound covered with trees from all parts and with -a green palace on its summit. “And I tell you that the mound and the -trees and the palace are so fair to see that all who see them have joy -and gladness, and therefore has the great Sire had them made, to have -that beautiful view and to receive from it joy and solace.” He tells of -the wonderful Zecca where coins of the Great Kaan are stamped--not made -of metal, but of black paper--which may be refused nowhere throughout -the Kaan’s dominions on pain of death. All who are possessed of gold -and treasure are obliged to bring goods several times in the year, and -receive coins of bark in exchange; and therefore, Marco explains, “is -Cublay richer than all else in the world.” He describes the posting -system, the rich palaces built for the housing of messengers, the trees -planted along the merchant routes to act as signposts on the road; -“for,” he says, “you will find these trees along the desert way, and -they are a great comfort to merchant and messenger.” Visitors to the -chapel of San Giorgio dei Schiavoni will recall the use that Carpaccio -has made of these palm-tree signposts in the _Death of St. Jerome_ and -the _Victory of St. George_. Marco tells of magnificent feasts made by -the Great Kaan on his birthday and on New Year’s Day. He delights in -stories of the chase within the domain of Cublay’s palace of Chandu -(perhaps the Xanadu of Coleridge) the walls of which enclosed a -sixteen-mile circuit, with fountains and rivers and lawns and beasts -of every kind. He describes in detail, as of special interest to his -hearers, the size and construction of the rods of which the Palace of -Canes was built and the two hundred silken cords with which it was -secured during the summer months of its existence. He speaks of the -“weather magic” by which rain and fog are warded off from this palace; -and of the Great Kaan’s fancy that the blood of a royal line should -not be spilt upon the ground to be seen of sun and air, and of his -consequent device for the murder of his uncle Nayan, whom he tossed to -death in a carpet. Baudas (Baghdad), he says, is the chief city of the -Saracens. A great river flows through it to the Indian Ocean, which -may be reached in eighteen days. The city is full of merchants and of -traffic; it produces _nasich_ and _nac_ and _cramoisy_, and gold and -silver brocades richly embroidered with design of birds and of beasts; -and the woods of Bastra, between Baudas and the sea, produce the finest -dates in the world. He recounts the taking of this Baudas in the year -1255 by Alaü, the Great Kaan’s brother, who, when he had taken it, -discovered therein a tower belonging to the Caliph full of gold and -silver and other treasure, so that there never was so much seen at -one time in one place. When Alaü beheld the great heap of treasure, -he was amazed and sent for the Caliph into his presence and asked him -why he had amassed so great a treasure and what he had intended to do -with it. “Did you not know that I was your enemy and coming to lay you -waste?” he demanded. “Why, therefore, did you not take your treasure -and give it to knights and soldiers to defend you and your city?” The -caliph replied nothing, for he did not know what to answer. So Alaü -continued, “Caliph, I see you love your treasure so much, I will give -you this treasure of yours to eat.” So he had the Caliph shut up in the -tower and commanded that nothing should be given him to eat or drink, -saying, “Caliph, eat now as much treasure as you will, for you shall -never eat or drink anything else.” And he left the Caliph in the tower, -where, at the end of four days, he died. Marco must have opened up to -his listeners in Venice horizons of lands almost comparable in extent -to the sea-spaces familiar to their thoughts from infancy. He spoke of -deserts of many days’ journey, of the port of Hormos at the edge of -one of the most beautiful of the plains--a city whence precious stones -and spices and cloths of silver and gold brought by the merchants from -India were shipped to all parts of the world. - -But the Poli brought more tangible trophies than the most -circumstantial of tales in their pack. Foolish artists might have held -themselves rich with these, but the honour of their family would demand -better credentials before welcoming fantastically arrayed strangers -into its bosom. The courtyard of the house behind the Malibran, at -which on their return from their travels they demanded admission, -is known still as the Corte del Milione, and its walls are still -enriched with Byzantine cornice and moulding, and with sculptured -beasts as strange as any to be met with in Cublay’s preserves. The -three travellers had the appearance of Tartars, and from long disuse of -their language they spoke in broken Italian. Tradition tells of the way -in which they heaped exploit upon exploit in the attempt to convince -their incredulous relatives of their identity; and at last, according -to Ramusio, they invited a number of their relations to a superb -banquet, at which they themselves appeared in long robes of crimson -satin. When the guests were set down, these robes were torn into strips -and distributed amongst the servants. Through various metamorphoses of -damask and velvet they came at last to the common dresses in which they -had arrived. And when the tables were moved and the servants had gone, -Marco, as being the youngest, began to rip up the seams and welts of -these costumes and take out from them handfuls of rubies and sapphires, -carbuncles, diamonds and emeralds. There was no longer any doubt or -delay; the shaggy tartar beards had lost all their terrors. These men, -who had suddenly displayed “infinite riches in a little room,” must -undoubtedly be what they claimed to be; happy the family to which the -magicians belonged; the Doge’s Palace need not be afraid to welcome -them; they must be set high in the State. - -Yet the accumulation of treasure was by no means the most noteworthy -act of their drama. The Poli had been more than mere traders; from the -first they had been diplomatists of a high order. Their career seems -to give us the key to some of the wonderful faces that appear in the -crowds pictured by Venetian painters, especially those of Carpaccio. -They are the faces of men who have met the crisis of life unalarmed, -by virtue of a combination of daring and wisdom which is no common -possession. They are not cold; if they are severe they are full of -feeling--sensitive to the pathos and humour as well as the sternness -of reality. The Poli had been obliged to furnish themselves with -patience in lands where the transit of a plain is measured in weeks; -three years’ residence in a city of Persia is mentioned as a matter -of detail. We are not told the reason of delay, only that they could -not go before or behind. They had travelled in the true spirit of -adventure. On that first journey, when Marco was not of the company, -the Great Kaan’s messengers, who came to request an interview for -their master, who had never set eyes on a Latin, had found the two -brothers open-minded and trustful. They had acquitted themselves -well in Cublay’s presence, answering all his questions wisely and in -order. He had inquired as to the manners and customs of Europe, and -particularly as to Western methods of government and the Christian -Church and its Head. He had been “glad beyond measure” at what he had -heard of the deeds of the Latins, and decided to send a request to the -Christian Apostle for one hundred men learned in the Christian law and -the Seven Arts and capable of teaching his people that their household -gods were works of the devil and why the faith of the West was better -than theirs. The thought of the lamp burning before the sepulchre of -God in Jerusalem had stirred his imagination, and he craved some of its -oil for the light of his temple, or, maybe, his pleasure dome. So the -two Venetians had set out for Europe on his strange embassy. They were -provided with a golden tablet on which the Kaan had inscribed orders -for the supplying of their needs, food, horses, escorts in all the -countries through which they should pass. At the end of three years, -after long delays on account of the snows, they arrived at the port -of Layas in Armenia, and from Layas they had come to Acre in April of -the year 1269. At Acre they had found that Pope Clement IV was dead, -and no new election had as yet been made. Venetian history teems with -dramatic situations, but it would be difficult to find any stranger -than that in which the Polo brothers now found themselves placed. -Merchants of Venice, they came as ambassadors from the Lord of All -the Tartars to demand missionaries from the Father of Christendom, -who was not able to supply them because he was not in existence. In -their dilemma at Acre they consulted Theobald of Piacenza, Legate -of Egypt, who advised them to await the new Pope’s election and -meanwhile to return to their homes. His advice was accepted, and the -two brothers made their way onwards to Venice, where one of them, -Nicolas, discovered his son, young Marco, a lad of fifteen years old. -They remained in Venice for two years, but when, at the end of that -time, no Pope had yet been elected, the brothers felt their return to -the Kaan could be deferred no longer. There is something touching in -their fidelity to the pledge they had given and the constancy of their -merchant faith. They prepared to set out again. This time little Marco -went with them on an absence that lasted for seventeen years, and was -to gather a greater treasure for the world than any diamonds and rubies -and velvets to be prodigally scattered on the floor of the Corte del -Milione. At Acre they obtained Theobald’s permission to fetch some -of the holy oil desired by the Kaan from Jerusalem. The journey to -Jerusalem performed, they returned once more to Acre, and finally set -forth on their return journey to the Kaan with a letter from Theobald -testifying that they had done all in their power, “but since there was -no Apostle, they could not carry the embassy.” But when they had gone -as far on their journey as Layas, they were followed by letters from -Theobald, who was now Pope Gregory of Piacenza, begging their return. -They complied with great joy and set sail for Acre in a galley provided -for their use by the King of Armenia. This was the hour of their -triumph, for they were received by the Pope with great honour, given -costly presents for the Kaan, and provided with two friars of very -great learning. The names of these two are possibly better withheld, -for they were more learned than courageous. When they had come as far -on their journey as Layas, their incipient fears of the land of the -Tartars were wrought to a pitch by the sight of the Saracen Army which -was being brought against Armenia by the Sultan of Babylon, and they -insisted on handing their credentials over to the Poli and returning -at once to Italy. And the brothers were forced to go on their way -with worse than no preachers of their faith, with tidings of their -defection. - -For three and a half years they journeyed on, detained often by floods -and bad weather. The news of their coming travelled before them to the -Kaan, and he sent his servants forty days’ journey to meet them. The -Kaan received them with joy, was graciously pleased with the letters -and credentials sent by the Pope, and accepted young Marco as his -liegeman and responsible messenger. Marco sped well in learning the -language, customs and writing of the Tartars, but it is clear he must -have acquired other than scholastic accomplishments. He was endowed -with tact and power of observation, and returned from his first embassy -full of news of the men and customs he had encountered; “for he had -seen on several occasions that when the messengers the Great Kaan had -sent into various parts of the world returned and told him the results -of the embassy on which they had gone, and could tell him no other -news of the countries where they had been, the Kaan said they were -ignorant fools.” For seventeen years young Messer Marco was employed in -continual coming and going. He was learned in many strange and hidden -things, and was placed in honour high above the barons--the darling of -Cublay’s heart. Again and again the three Venetians asked for leave of -absence to visit their country, but so great was the love Cublay -bore to them that he could not bear to be parted from them; until at -last an embassy arrived from Argon, King of Levant, asking for a new -wife of the lineage of his dead wife Bolgana, and the Kaan is persuaded -by Argon’s messengers to allow Marco and his two uncles to depart with -them in charge of the lady. They set out by sea, and after some twenty -months’ sailing and many disasters arrived at their destination. King -Argon was dead, and the lady Cocachin was bestowed on his son. Of the -six hundred followers who had set out with them on their journey only -eighteen had survived it. Their mission accomplished, the Poli made -their way to Trebizond, from Trebizond to Constantinople and from -Constantinople to Venice. This was in the year 1295. - -[Illustration: THE DOGANA.] - -And how would Venice, the place of his birth, reveal herself to Marco, -now he had seen so many wonders and glories in distant lands? We may -imagine the sun to have been setting as the travellers turned into the -Lido port, dropping a globe of molten fire vast and mysterious through -the haze, while the last dim rays gleamed golden on the windows of the -Riva degli Schiavoni. Venice lay among her waters, blue and glittering, -interspersed with jewelled marsh. The last gulls of those that so -gallantly had dipped and sailed all day upon the water were flying -home, their breasts and wings radiant in the level sunlight round the -home-coming ship. Many citizens of Venice must have been at the Lido -port, thronging to meet the merchant vessels, to greet their friends -or to have news of them from others. But none came to meet these three -travellers; alone they embarked in a gondola bearing their cargo -with them. Venice had clothed herself in all her beauty to give them -welcome. Which of Cublay’s glories could rival this splendour of the -lagoon with its countless treasures of light? The marsh lay in unequal -patches, each outlined with a luminous silver rim--a magic carpet of -dusky olive, threaded with strands of radiant azure and sprinkled with -ruby and amethyst. As their gondola moved slowly down towards the city, -the boats of the night fishers passed with the silence of shadows -between them and the glow. And when here and there a fisher alighted on -the marsh or moved across it like a spirit stepping on the waters, he -must have seemed to Marco the very memory and renewal of those strange -Eastern stories of which his mind was full. So, under the mystic glow -of the desert, he had seen figures of the caravan rise and move against -the tinted haze of the oasis. Onwards glided the boat towards the -Basin of San Marco--westward the luminous wonder of lagoon and marsh, -and a cold, clear intensity of stirring water to the east. And as they -drew nearer and ever nearer, our travellers’ hearts beat high with the -wonders of the city of their birth. The stars were piercing the night -sky in countless numbers: the yellow lights of the city quivered along -the Riva: the masts of the fishing-fleet swung clear against the pale -western glow in the waterway of the Giudecca: the flowing tide wound -silver coils about the black shadows of their hulls. Past the Dogana, -keystone of Venice to the Eastern traveller, their little boat moved -down the quiet waters of the Grand Canal, deep into the heart of that -great shadowy city, apparent Queen over all the glories of the Cities -of the East. - - - - -Chapter Six - -VENICE OF CRUSADE AND PILGRIMAGE - - -The story of Venice and the Crusades forms one of the most interesting -pages of her history in relation to the East. The gradual awakening of -her consciousness to the fact that the pilgrimages to the Holy Land -might be of close significance to herself culminates in her attitude -towards the great Fourth Crusade at the opening of the thirteenth -century. The Crusades were, in fact, a commercial speculation for -Venice, but a speculation into which she infused all the vitality and -fulness of her nature. And she became, not merely a place of passage -for the East, but a superb depository of relics to detain pilgrims -on their outward way; a hostel so royally fitted with food for their -senses, their religious cravings and their mystic imaginings, that one -and another may well have been beguiled into delaying their departure -for more strenuous sanctities. The narratives of the pilgrims, -with their enthusiasms, their details of relics, their records of -Venetian ceremonies, religious, commercial or domestic, coloured by -their quaintly intimate personal impressions, form one of the most -picturesque pages of Venetian chronicle. - -Pietro Casola, a Milanese pilgrim of the late fifteenth century, gives -us a picture of a city that is sumptuous and rich in all its dealings, -yet pervaded by a harmony and decorum that has stamped itself on the -face of each individual citizen. We feel that Pietro Casola has really -had a vision of the meaning of Venice, when, among the inventory of -wonders of the Mass for the pilgrims on Corpus Christi day, of the -velvets, crimson and damask and scarlet, the cloth of gold and togas -sweeping the ground, each finer than the last, he pauses to add, “There -was great silence, greater than is ever observed at such festivals, -even in the gathering of so many Venetian gentlemen, so that you could -hear everything. And it seemed to me that everything was ruled by one -alone, who was obeyed by each man without resistance. And at this I -wondered greatly, for never had I seen so great obedience at such -spectacles.” In the record of this arresting impression, more even than -in the description of many coloured drapery and white cloths spread -on the piazza, of the groves of oak-trees bordering the route of the -procession and the candles lit among them, we seem to see before us -the rhythmic solemnity of that unique _Procession_ on the Piazza of -Gentile Bellini. We need only Casola’s other observant characterisation -of the Venetian gentleman to complete the picture. “I have considered,” -he says, “the quality of these Venetian gentlemen, who for the most -part are fair men and tall, astute and most subtle in their dealings; -and you must needs, if you would treat with them, keep your eyes and -ears open. They are proud; I think it is on account of their great -rule. And when a son is born to a Venetian, they say among themselves, -‘A Signor is born into the world.’ In their way of living at home -they are sparing and very modest; outside they are very liberal. The -city of Venice retains its old manner of dress, and they never change -it; that is to say, they wear a long garment of whatever colour they -choose. No one ever goes out by day without his toga, and for the most -part a black one, and they have carried this custom to such a point -that all nations of the world who are lodging here in Venice, from -the greatest to the least, observe this style, beginning from the -gentlemen to the mariners and galleymen; a dress certainly full of -confidence and gravity. They look like doctors of law, and if any were -to appear outside his house without his toga he would be thought a -fool.” Without doors the women also belonged to this sober company, -or at least the marriageable maidens and those who were no longer of -the number of the “belle giovani”; so sombrely were they covered when -outside their houses, and especially in church, that Casola says he at -first mistook them all for widows, or nuns of the Benedictine Order. -But for the “belle giovani” it is another matter; they give relief to -the week-day sobriety of these Venetians, so decorous and black when -off duty, though revelling in such richness of velvet and brocade when -the trumpet of a public function stirs their blood. - -[Illustration: THE SHADOW OF THE CAMPANILE.] - -We are indebted to Casola for a picture of a Venetian domestic festival -at the birth of a child to the Delfini family. He realised fully that -he was admitted, together with the orator of the King of France, in -order that he might act as reporter of Venetian magnificence. It was -in a room “whose chimney-piece was all of Carrara marble shining as -gold, so subtly worked with figures and leaves, that Praxiteles and -Pheidias could not have exceeded it. The ceiling of the room was so -finely decorated with gold and ultramarine, and the walls so richly -worked, that I cannot make report of it. One desk alone was valued -at five hundred ducats, and the fixtures of the room were in the -Venetian style, such beautiful and natural figures, so much gold -everywhere, that I know not if in the time of Solomon, who was King of -the Jews, when silver was reputed more vile than carrion, there was -such abundance as was here seen. Of the ornaments of the bed and of the -lady ... I have thought best rather to keep silence than to speak for -fear I should not be believed. Another thing I will speak the truth -about, and perhaps I shall not be believed--a matter in which the ducal -orator would not let me lie. There were in the said room twenty-five -Venetian damsels, each one fairer than the last, who were come to -visit the lady who had borne a child. Their dress was most discreet, -as I said above, _alla veneziana_: they showed no more than four to -six finger breadths of bare neck below their shoulders back and front. -These damsels had so many jewels on their heads and round their necks -and on their hands--namely, gold, precious stones and pearls--that it -was the opinion of those who were there that they were worth a hundred -thousand ducats. Their faces were superbly painted, and so also the -rest of them that was bare.” The account of this sumptuous interior is -peculiarly valuable when we realise the date to which it belongs, the -period of the first greatness of Venetian Art, a period which has been -sometimes regarded as one of almost naïve simplicity. Casola, with his -customary exactitude, dwells on the frugality of Venetian gentlemen in -the matter of food--a frugality that caused the guest to reflect that -the Venetians cared more to feed the eye than the palate. It was not -yet the period of the sumptuous living deplored by Calmo only half a -century later. - -Casola was a more secularly minded pilgrim than the priest of Florence, -Ser Michele, who paid five visits to the bones of the Holy Innocents at -Murano, and only at the fifth visit was counted worthy, as he humbly -deemed, to see the relics: Providence, in the form of the sacristan, -having till then failed him. The more festive Casola--who paid -repeated visits to Rialto, “which seemed to be the source of all the -gardens in the world,” who spent one day in vain attempts to count the -multitudinous boats in and about the city, and who was so frivolous, -for all his long white beard, as to buy a false front on the piazza--in -the midst of his expatiations on the Venetian maidens, pulls himself -suddenly together with a sense of incongruity between his diversions -and his goal, and shakes himself free from the allurements of Venice, -crying: “But I am a priest, in the way of the saints; I did not try -to look into their lives any further. To me it seemed better, as I -have said above, to go in search of the churches and monasteries and -to see the relics of which there are so many. And this seemed to me a -good work for a pilgrim who was awaiting the departure of the vessel -to go to the Holy Sepulchre, bringing the time to an end as well as he -could.” In the Accademia at Venice there is a curious little painting, -attributed to Carpaccio, of the assembly of the martyrs of Mount -Ararat in the Church of Sant’ Antonio di Castello, which stood once on -the site of the Public Gardens. It was a familiar sight for Venice, -the dedication of pilgrims that is represented here; and there is a -strange pathos in the slim, small figures as they move in two lines -half-wavering up the aisle, each wearing a crown of thorns, perhaps -in prophecy of coming martyrdom. They are not marching confidently to -victory like an army; their crosses are held at all angles, forming -errant patterns among themselves. Some are girt for their journey -in short vestments under their long robes. It is curiously unlike a -procession native to the city; there is a dreamlike, mystic quality -about it and a lack of body in its motion which is enhanced, perhaps, -by the extreme detail with which the interior of the church is -transcribed--the models of vessels in the rafters; the votive limbs -and bones hung on the wooden screen, offerings of the diseased cured -by miracle, as they may be seen in San Giovanni e Paolo to-day; the -coiled rope of the lamp-pulley; the board with a church notice printed -on it; and everywhere, winding in and out of the picture, seen through -the portal of entrance, disappearing behind the sanctuary screen, the -interminable procession of the ten thousand little pilgrims. - -In 1198 the lords of France flocked with enthusiasm to a crusade -preached by Foulques de Nuilly under the authority of Innocent III. -After much discussion of practical ways and means, with which they -were less amply provided than with spiritual enthusiasm, they made -choice of six ambassadors who should procure the necessities of the -enterprise, Jofroi de Villeharduin, Mareschal of Champagne, Miles li -Brabant, Coëns de Bethune, Alars Magnarians, Jean de Friaise, and -Gautiers de Gaudonville. Venice was decided on by them as the State -most likely to provide what they stood in need of--ships for the -journey--and they departed to sound the mind of the Republic, arriving -in the first week of Lent in the year 1201. Venice, in the person of -the Doge, Henry Dandolo, opened the negotiations; the messengers were -made to feel it was no light thing they asked. They were received and -lodged with highest honour, but they were made to wait for a Council -to assemble, which should consider the matter of their request. After -some days they were admitted to the Ducal Palace to deliver their -message; and its purport was this: “Sir, we are come to you from the -high barons of France who have taken the sign of the Cross to avenge -the shame of Jesus Christ, and to conquer Jerusalem if God will grant -it them; and because they know that no people have such power as you -and your people, they pray you for God’s sake to have pity on the land -over seas and the avenging of the shame of Jesus Christ, so that they -may have ships and the other things necessary.” The spiritual and -sentimental appeal is left unanswered by the Doge. He asks simply, “In -what way?” “In all ways,” say the messengers, “that you recommend or -advise, which they would be able to fulfil.” Again the Doge expresses -wonder at the magnitude of what they ask, bidding them not marvel -if another eight days’ waiting is required of them before the final -answer can be given. At the date fixed by the Doge they returned to the -Palace. Villeharduin excuses himself from telling all the words that -were said and unsaid, but the gist of the Doge’s offer was this, that -it depended on the consent of the Great Council and the rest of the -Republic. Venice should provide vessels of transport for four thousand -five hundred horses and squires and twenty thousand foot soldiers, and -viands to last the whole company nine months. The agreement was to -hold good for a year from the time of starting, and the sum total of -the provision was to be eighty-five thousand marks. But Venice would -go further, for the love of God, and launch fifty galleys at her own -expense on condition of receiving the half of all the conquests that -were made by land and sea. Nothing remained but to win the consent of -the Great Council and ask a formal ratification from the people. Full -ten thousand persons assemble in “the chapel of San Marco, the fairest -that ever was,” and the Doge recommends them to hear the Mass, and to -pray God’s counsel concerning the request of the envoys. It will be -seen that all is practically accomplished before the question is put -to the people or God’s grace asked on the undertaking, but no item of -the formality is omitted. The envoys are sent for by the Doge that they -may themselves repeat their request humbly before the people, and they -came into the church “much stared at by the crowd who had never seen -them.” Again the appeal is made, Jofroi de Villeharduin taking up the -word by the agreement and desire of the other envoys. We can picture -the strange thrill that ran through the great multitude as that single -voice broke the silence of St. Mark’s with its burden of passionate -tribute to the greatness of Venice: “‘Therefore have they chosen you -because they know that no people accustomed to going on the seas have -such power as you and your people; and they commanded us to throw -ourselves at your feet and not to rise until you had consented to have -pity on the Holy Land beyond the seas.’ Now the six messengers knelt, -weeping bitterly, and the Doge and all the others cried out with one -voice and raised their hands on high and said, ‘We grant it, we grant -it.’ And the noise and tumult and lament of it were so great that never -had any man known a greater.” Then the Doge himself mounted the lectern -and put before the people the meaning of the alliance that had been -sought with them in preference to all other peoples by “the best men of -the world.” “I cannot tell you,” says Villeharduin, “all the good and -fair words that the Doge spoke. At last the matter was ended, and the -following day the charters were drawn up and made and sealed.” - -[Illustration: THE CLOCK TOWER FROM GALLERY OF SAN MARCO.] - -The time of gathering for the pilgrims was fixed for the following -year 1202, at the feast of St. John, and amid many tears of piety and -devotion the Doge and deputies swore to abide by their charters, and -the envoys of both parties set out for Rome to receive the confirmation -of their covenant from Innocent III. But the drama which had begun -amid such moving demonstrations of good will and Christian sentiment -necessarily had its dilemmas and its complications. It was essential -to the fulfilling of the pact that all the crusaders should assemble -at Venice to pay their toll, and embark on the ships; otherwise the -crusaders could not hope to provide the money due to the Venetians. -The Republic, for its part, had amply fulfilled its compact. All who -arrived were received with joy and lodged most honourably at San Nicolo -del Lido. The chronicle can find no parallel for the richness of the -provision made for the would-be crusaders. But there were, alas, three -times as many vessels as there were men and horses to fill them.--“Ha! -it was a great shame,” bursts out Villeharduin, “that the rest who -went to the other ports did not come here.” The dilemma was a serious -one. Even of those who were there, some declared themselves unable to -pay their passage, and the money could in no way be made up. Some were -for sacrificing their whole estate that the Venetians should not lose -by the defection of the others, but the counsel found small support -among those who now wished to be rid of their bargain. But the small -party who felt themselves, in a sense, the conscience of the Crusade -carried the day. “Rather will we give all we possess and go poor among -the host, than that it should disperse and come to naught; for God -will render it to us at His good pleasure.” So the Counts of Flanders, -Loys, Hues de St. Pol and their party began to collect together all -their goods and all they could borrow. “Then you might have seen a -vast quantity of gold and silver borne to the palace of the Doge to -make payment. And when they had paid, there still was lacking from -the covenant thirty-four thousand marks of silver. And those who had -kept back what they possessed and would give nothing were very glad at -this, for by this means they thought the expedition would have failed. -But God who counsels the disconsolate would not so suffer it.” The -Doge put before his people that not only would their just claim remain -unsatisfied though they should exact from the crusaders the utmost -they could collect, but they would bring discredit on themselves by -acting as strict justice would permit. He suggested the combining of -two advantages, a material and moral. Let them, he suggests, demand the -reconquest of Zara as substitute for the debt, that they may not only -have the fame of possessing the city but the praise of generosity. -And Dandolo, the old wise doughty Doge, has yet another suggestion -to propose. There was a great festival one Sunday in San Marco, and -the citizens and barons and pilgrims were assembled before High Mass -began. Then amid the silent expectation of the great gathering the -Doge mounted the lectern and made the famous offer of his own person -as leader of the host. “‘I am an old man,’ he said, ‘and feeble, and -should be feeling need of repose, for I am infirm in body. But I see -there is none who could so well rule and lead you as I who am your -lord. If you will consent that I take the sign of the Cross to preserve -and guide you, and that my son remain in my stead and keep the city, -I would gladly go to live and die with you and with the pilgrims.’ -And when they heard, they cried all with one voice: ‘We pray you for -God’s sake to grant us this, and to do so and to come with us.’ And the -people of the city and the pilgrims, felt deep compassion at this, and -they wept many tears, thinking how that valiant man had so much need -to stay behind, for he was an old man, and though his eyes were still -fair to look on he could not see with them on account of a wound which -he had received in his head. Nevertheless he had a great heart. Ha! how -little they resembled him who had gone to other ports to avoid danger! -So he came from the pulpit and went to the altar and knelt down, -weeping bitterly, and they sewed the cross for him on a great cotton -cap because he desired that the people might see it. And the Venetians -began to take the cross in great numbers, and many on that very day, -and still the number of crusaders was few enough.” It was no wonder -that the pilgrims had great joy in the crusaders for the good will and -valour they felt to be in them. Whatever aim may previously have been -uppermost as an incentive to enthusiasm and self-oblation, there was no -doubt that Venice now was giving of her best. This retiring of the old -Doge from his ducal throne to embark on a more arduous leadership is -one of the most moving episodes in the annals San Marco. - -But at this moment an event occurred that changed, or rather diverted -into a new channel the current of the Crusade, providing in fact, -as our chronicler Villeharduin remarks, the true occasion of his -book. Into the midst of the pilgrims assembled at Verona on their -way to Venice there came Alexius, son of Isaac the deposed Emperor -of Constantinople, in quest of help against his usurping uncle. What -more opportune than the neighbouring host of “the most valiant men -on earth” for aiding in the recovery of his lost kingdom and the -reinstatement of his tortured father. To the crusaders, and especially -we may believe, to the Venetians, this new motive did not come amiss. -It is startlingly like life, this Fourth Crusade, with its original -aim thus gradually becoming but a secondary purpose in a far more -complicated scheme, a middle distance in an increasingly extended -horizon. The relief of the Holy Sepulchre, the avenging of the shame of -Christ, assume in fact a rather shadowy outline in a prospect dominated -by Zara and Constantinople. - -The departure from Venice did not mark the term of the obstructions -to which the Crusade was fated. The disgraceful contest between the -French and the Venetians within the streets of Zara, the defection of -a number of the pilgrims, the death of others at the hands of the wild -inland inhabitants of Dalmatia--all these causes reduced the already -meagre company before it had well started on its way. The Pope was -placed in the dilemma of strongly disapproving the secular turn given -to the Crusade, while realising that the Venetian fleet was the only -means for accomplishing his ends in Palestine. His solution was to -absolve the barons for the siege of Zara, permitting them still to use -the fleet--though the devil’s instrument--while Venice, the provider, -remained under interdict. We here come into contact with an element -of singular interest in the relations of Venice and the East--her -attitude towards the Papacy. The independence of San Marco was one of -the essential articles of the Venetian creed. In spiritual matters -none could more devoutly bow to the Apostle of Christendom; but the -spiritual supremacy was an inland sea to Venice: it must be stable, -fixed, defined; it must not flow with a tide upon the temporal shores -where her heart and treasure lay. The authority of San Marco was a -political principle. All state ceremonies were bound up with San Marco; -the Ducal Palace itself was subsidiary to the Palace of St. Mark. How -should a State that had sheltered, traditionally at least, a Pope -“stando occulto propter timorem” that had acted as mediator between -Pope and Emperor and seen the Emperor’s head bowed to the ground on the -pavement of San Marco--how should such a State be subordinate to any -rule but its own complete self-consciousness? Venice always followed -the eminently practical rule of allowing much freedom in non-essentials -in order to preserve more closely her control over the really material -issues. The attitude always maintained by her with regard to the -Inquisition is so closely parallel to her relations with the East and -the pagans of the East, constantly deprecated by the Pope, that we may -fitly quote here Paolo Sarpi’s admirable reply to the papal protests -against conferring the doctorate in Padua on Protestants; the principle -is the same, though limited in that instance to a particular and -seemingly divergent issue. “If anyone openly declared his intention -of conferring the doctorate on heretics, or admitted anyone to it who -openly and with scandal professed himself to be such, it might be said -that he had failed to persecute heresy; but, it being the opinion of -the most Serene Republic that heretics and those who are known for -such should not be admitted to the doctorate, and it being our duty -to consider Catholic anyone who does not profess the contrary, no -smallest scandal can accrue to the religion even though it should -chance that one not known for such were to receive the doctorate. The -doctorate in philosophy and medicine is a testimonial that the scholar -is a good philosopher and physician and that he may be admitted to the -practise of that art, and to say that a heretic is a good doctor does -not prejudice the Catholic faith; certainly it would prejudice it if -anyone were to say that such a man was a good theologian.” This was the -position of Venice with regard to her pagan allies, the meaning of her -superbly fitted lodges for Turk, infidel and heretic. The Saracen, the -Turk and the Infidel might not be a good theologian, but he was a good -trader, a channel for the glories with which Venice loved to clothe -and crown herself. He was a part of her life more essentially and more -irrevocably than the prelates of holy Church; his ban would have been -more terrible to Venice than papal thunders. It was not primarily as -hot sons of the Church, consumed with fire for the shame of the Holy -Sepulchre that the Venetians with such generous provision prepared -their ships for the Crusade: it was as men of business with no small -strain of fire in their blood and a high sense of the glorious worth -and destiny of their city. - -[Illustration: THE HORSES OF SAN MARCO, LOOKING SOUTH.] - -There were moments of inspiration for the Crusaders amid all their -toils and internal strife, and not least was the first view of -Constantinople which had been for so long the emporium of Venice. The -fleet had harboured at the abbey of St. Etienne, three miles from -Constantinople, and Villeharduin describes the wonder and enthusiasm -of those who saw then for the first time the marvellous city “that -was sovereign over all others,” with its rich towers and palaces and -churches and high encircling walls. “And you must know there was no -heart there so daring but trembled.” We are reminded of this picture -of Constantinople when we stand face to face with Carpaccio’s city in -the _Combat of St. George_. It so successfully combines solidity and -strength with the airy joy of watch-towers and towers of pleasure, that -at first we have only the impression of fantastic play of architecture; -but by degrees we come to feel the seacoast country of Carpaccio, that -at first seemed so wild and unmanned, to be in fact bristling with -defence and preparation. It is immensely strong in fortifications, no -dream or fairy citadel. It is begirt with towers and walls along the -water; strongholds lurk among the loftiest crags; towers of defence and -battlements peer over the steep hillside; and, if we look closer, we -see the towers are thronged with men. We remember Villeharduin’s note, -“There were so many men on the walls and on the towers that it seemed -as if they were made of nothing but people.” It is a sumptuous city, -too, that we see in glimpses through the gateway, the city of a great -oriental potentate. - -We cannot follow Villeharduin through the vicissitudes of the siege -and counter-siege. He himself confesses in the relation of one point -alone that sixty books would not be able to recount all the words -that were spoken, and the counsels that were given and taken. In the -simple, terse and trenchant style that Frenchmen, and especially the -Frenchmen of the old chronicles, know how to wield so perfectly, he -tells us of the Doge’s wise counsel that the city should be approached -by way of the surrounding islands whence they might gather stores; of -the lords’ neglect of this counsel, “just as if no one of them had -ever heard of it”; of their investment of the palace of Alexius in -the place named Chalcedony, that was “furnished with all the delights -of the human body that could be imagined befitting the dwelling of a -prince”; of the capture of the city and the ravishing of its treasures -that were so great “that no man could come to an end of counting the -silver and the gold and plate and precious stones and samite and silken -cloth and dresses _vaire_ and grey, and ermines and all precious -things that were ever found on earth. And Jofroi de Villeharduin, the -Marshall of Champagne, will bear good witness that to his knowledge -since the centuries began there was never so great gain in a single -city.” The division of the booty necessarily occasioned heart-burning -and revealed certain vices of “covetoise” undreamed before. And as time -went on and still the passage to Palestine was delayed the sanctuaries -of the Greek Church were treated with barbarous irreverence and -despoiled of their treasure and sacred vessels. Then with the retaking -of Constantinople from Marzuflo there followed a time of abandonment -of men and leaders to their fiercest passions and the almost total -destruction of the city. Here again Venice stepped in, as the merchant -had stepped in to rescue treasure from the pile of Savonarola, to -enrich herself from the ruins of Constantinople. - -The taking of Constantinople opened another door into the Eastern -garden from which Venice had already begun to gather so rich an -harvest. Picture the freights that Venetian vessels were bearing home -in these years of crusade and conquest, to be gathered finally into -the garner of St. Mark’s! It is strangely thrilling to imagine the -first welcome of the four bronze horses, travel-dimmed no doubt, who -only found their way to their present station on the forefront of St. -Mark’s after standing many times in peril of being melted down in the -Arsenal where they first were stored. But at last, says Sansovino, -their beauty was recognised and they were placed on the church. It -is only by degrees that we come to accost and know the exiles one by -one. The more outstanding spoils, the Pala d’Oro, the great pillars -of Acri, the bronze doors, the horses, the four embracing kings, -these are among the first letters of St. Mark’s oriental alphabet; but -there are many lesser exiles which have found a shelter in the port of -Venice, which as we wander among the glorious precincts of San Marco -impress themselves upon us one by one; such is the grave-browed, noble -head of porphyry that keeps solitary watch towards the waters from -the south corner of the outer gallery of San Marco, as if it had been -set down a moment by its sculptor and forgotten on the white, marble -balustrade. The whole being of San Marco is bound up with the East, -and it is another token of the magic of Venice that she has been able -to embrace and furnish with a life-giving soil those plants that had -been ruthlessly uprooted and had made so long and perilous a journey. -The official records, that tell of the arrival from one expedition and -another of Eastern vestures for the clothing of San Marco, are not mere -inventories to us who have walked upon the variegated pavement between -the solemn pillars and seen the sunlight illumine one by one the -marbles of the walls, with their imbedded sculpture and mosaic, or gild -the depths of the storied cupolas and the luxuriant harmonies of colour -and design on the recesses of the windows. They are significant, these -records, like the entry in a parish register of the birth of some one -whom we love; for the church of San Marco, though in fact a museum of -many treasures, is not a museum of foreign treasures. Her spoils are -not hung up in her as aliens like the spoils that conquerors bore to -ancient temples; they found her a foster-mother of their own blood and -kin. She herself is sprung from a plant whose first flowering was not -among the floating marshes of the lagoon. - -[Illustration: - - _By permission of the Hon. John Collier._ - -THE HORSES OF SAN MARCO, LOOKING NORTH.] - -Turn, on a sunny day, from the Molo towards San Marco, passing below -the portico of the Ducal Palace adjoining the Piazzetta. Framed by the -pointed arch at the end is a portion of the wall which once formed -the west tower of the Ducal Palace. This delicate harmony of coloured -marbles and sculptured stone seems a rare and beautiful creation, not -of stone but of something more plastic, more mobile, so responsive is -it to the light, so luminous, so full of feeling. As we draw nearer and -it becomes more clearly defined, we see great slabs of marble sawn and -spread open like the pages of a book, corresponding in pattern as the -veining of a leaf. They are linked by marble rope-work, and between -them are inserted smaller slabs of delicately sculptured stone and a -wonderful coil of mosaic. It is a veritable patchwork wall, but no -less beautiful in its effect of harmony than in its details--the four -porphyry figures of embracing kings its corner-stone. This wall is -truly a key to the fabric of the church itself; it is like a window -into St. Mark’s, that treasury of Eastern spoil; the East is in every -vein, in every heart-beat of it. The spoil of the temples of ancient -gods furnished forth the Church of San Marco as it furnished the saint -himself. In this one angle we have cipollino and porphyry, serpentine -and verd-antico, marmo greco and eastern mosaic, pillars of granite -profound and glittering, breccia africana and paonazetto. The weight -of centuries is upon it all; ages of lives have gone to its making, -and it came to Venice only when generations had passed over its head. -For the human race it has never been but old; the mind loses itself in -speculation on that stupendous past that lies between us and the time -when stone was not. And yet how strangely through that long, enchanted -silence, when the centuries were endowing it with an immensity of -strength and hardness and endurance for which we have no word of -parallel but in its own nature, it has kept the similitude and mobility -of life, at once withholding and revealing the riches of its beauty. -How can we wonder that da Contarini, the strange and learned dreamer -of the Cinquecento, burst out into a rapture of mystic joy in the -presence of San Marco, “that golden church, built by the eternal gods, -of our protector, Messer San Marco”? He celebrates the pinnacles and -shining columns, the throng of glittering figures that burn like golden -spirits in the sunlight, the sculptured marbles polished with soft -Ethiopian sand. “It might be said that it has been gathered together -from all parts of the world.” He then proceeds to seek among the -marbles of San Marco those mysterious correspondences which the wonder -of men has always felt to exist between human nature and the nature of -the stone; he loses himself in contemplation of one after another of -the precious marbles that in wide surface or minute mosaic form the -priceless garment of St. Mark’s temple: diaspro, which must be seen in -broad extent to realise its strange radiance, like flocks of cloudlets -fleeting before the wind in the full illumination of the setting sun, -dazzling our eyes with light; or that other adamantine marble of -Africa, the breccia adriana di Tegoli, a harmony of greens before which -serpentine and verd-antico must bow; or the most precious porpora of -deep and glowing red; or that queen of all the stones, imperial in its -beauty, a magnetic stone indeed, drawing the spirit into its luminous -depths, weaving round it an enchanted web of secrecy, of divine -inter-relations, till the human soul seems to commune with the very -soul of colour--_diaspro sanguinoso_. What would not Sir Thomas Browne -have read in those eloquent and secret pages where wave follows wave of -colour, deep ocean green, pure carmine, translucent amethyst. Diaspro -sanguinoso! in the setting of a ring, in the mosaic of a pavement, it -is seen a dense green stone spotted with crimson--bloodstone. It is -as if you saw the human eye in one of those weird, symbolic paintings -of old time, isolated in its socket without the illumination of the -human countenance about it. This sanguinary jasper is too subtle, too -delicate, too mystical to belong to that titanic family of the stones -of Africa. The dreaming soil of Egypt might have given it birth; it -might own kinship with the myth of Aurora’s kiss; but to us it seems -fraught with the magic of a more distant East. - -There have been many vindicators of the freedom of Venice; many -assertors that, though in appearance subject some time to Byzantium, -she has always been politically independent. To us it seems a matter -of lesser moment; but whether, in fact or in form, Venice were or -were not ever politically dependent on Byzantium, the fact of her -artistic dependence is one which she cannot deny without perjuring -herself before a thousand witnesses. Document after document more -durable than parchment--though many have already perished and many -perish daily--attests the debt of Venice to the East. Till she perish -altogether at the hands of a relentless, unregarding tyrant--a bastard -child of Time misnamed Progress--she must continue to bear witness to -her debt. So long as she breathes, each breath confesses it and the -East will lay her tribute on the tomb of Venice dead--lamenting as for -one of her own children. - - - - -Chapter Seven - -TWO VENETIAN STATUES - - -In two of the public squares of Venice the statues, in bronze, of two -of her heroes are set up, the one of a man of war, the other of a -comedian: in the Campo di SS. Giovanni e Paolo the statue of Bartolomeo -Colleoni, in the Campo di San Bartolomeo that of Carlo Goldoni. The -first is a warrior on horseback in full armour, uplifted high above -the square, disdaining the companionship of the puny mortals who -saunter without a purpose to and fro under his feet. Horse and rider -stand self-sufficient and alone; one spirit breathes in both: in the -contour of the stern face of the warrior, with its massive chin and -proudly disdainful lip, in his throat with the muscles standing out -like ropes upon it, and in the sweep of his capacious brow, under which -the keenly penetrating eyes hold their object in a grip of iron; and, -for the horse, in every line of his superbly curving neck, in the acute -serenity of his down-looking eye, and in each curling lock of his mane -that seem as if moved together by one controlling impulse. How clear -the outline of his skull, everywhere visible beneath its fine covering -of flesh and muscle! and his body, like the body of his master, how -perfectly responsive an instrument it is! There is nothing here of -that wild disorder of the beast untamed, which is mistaken sometimes -for strength. The hand of Colleoni is light upon the bridle, the horse -glories in a subjection that is itself a triumph: he and his master are -one. Do but compare this for a moment with the prodigious mass, the -plunging man and beast, that overlook the Riva degli Schiavoni--Victor -Emanuel on horseback. It is not altogether an arbitrary contrast; the -two great monuments seem to represent Venice before the fall and Venice -after. What unity of purpose, what hope of conquest is there in those -monstrous figures on the Riva? Beneath this redundancy of flesh and -armour how shall they prevail against the world? They are not only -different in degree, they are of a different species from Verocchio’s -horse and rider. The spirit of the first Renaissance is in every line -of his great statue--its strength, agility and decorative skill. How -studied is the symmetry, the static perfection of the whole! how -strongly and yet how delicately he emphasises the rectangular framework -of the design! The rod of Colleoni, the trappings of his horse, the -tail and legs and body-line--each is made contributive, while the -backward poise of the rider balances the forward motion of the horse, -and all is thus drawn into the scheme. It is all willed, but with that -spontaneity of will which men call inspiration. - -This statue, which so marvellously sums up in sculpture the central aim -of Venice as a state in the fifteenth century, offers an instructive -contrast to that in the Campo di San Bartolomeo, where the comedian -Goldoni, though raised above the level of the square, still seems a -companionable part of the life that passes around him, moving in its -midst as he moved amid the life of the eighteenth century in Venice, -meditating upon it, observing, loving it, faithfully and fearlessly -recording it. Marked by a realistic fidelity and insight worthy of a -greater age, Dal Zotto’s statue of Goldoni is in its own way itself a -masterpiece and one of the noblest works of modern art in Venice, full -of sympathy and understanding and admirable in execution. The sculptor -might seem to have lived as an intimate with Goldoni, and the realism -of his treatment suits the subject singularly well. The comedian is not -aloft upon a pedestal, remote from men, in glorious aloofness; he is -raised but slightly above our heads, not much observed of the crowd, -but observing all. Briskly he steps along, in buckled shoes, frilled -shirt and neckerchief, his coat flying open, and a book or manuscript -bulging from the pocket of it, his waistcoat slackly buttoned, his -cocked hat tipped jauntily upon his forehead over his powdered periwig. -As he goes he crushes his gloves with one hand at his back and with the -other marks progress with his cane. It is a strong, taut little figure, -tending to roundness, with a world of suggestiveness in every motion, -an admirable mingling of thought and humour in the face that laughs -down on this strange, grotesque, conventional, lovable Venice. What -a strange contrast is this, of the slippered sage of the eighteenth -century, who houses the swallows in the loose folds of his slouch hat, -and the armed hero of the fifteenth, whose every muscle is alert, -responsive to the stern controlling will! Goldoni is a sage upon a -different platform, meditating upon a different world. His Venice is -the Venice of Longhi; she has become pedestrian; she has become a -theme for comedy. Comedy might have found plentiful food, no doubt, -in the Venice that employed Colleoni, the Venice of the first great -painters. There is a fund of humour and whimsicality in the strangely -fascinating faces of Carpaccio’s citizens. Yet try to picture them held -up to ridicule by one of themselves upon the stage, and the imagination -faints; the thing is inconceivable. In Goldoni’s age the interest of -life was shifted to another field, and he stands as the central figure, -the leader in a new campaign, representative not of its vices or its -vanities or its follies, but of the solid virtues of which these are -the shady side. He is one of those happy spirits which the reactionary -age of small things produced, not only in Italy but everywhere in -the eighteenth century; a spirit of clear, calm insight and capable -judgment, neither enamoured of the life of his small circle nor -embittered against it, content to live in the midst of it in serenity -and truth. - -Goldoni, Colleoni, each is representative of a period in the history -of the Republic, periods widely separated in temper and in time, and -yet related intimately; so intimately indeed that the period of which -Goldoni is the master-spirit is actually foreshadowed in the very -presence of the superb warrior of the other public square. To study the -process of the growth and the decadence of the Republic is to find that -there is no convenient preconceived theory with which it will fit in; -it rebels against such manipulation, as everything individual rebels -against the ready-made. We need rather to look upon Venice as upon a -plant that springs and comes to its perfection and fades slowly away, -changing and developing in indefinable gradations, showing at every -stage some surprising revival from the past, some strange anticipation -of the future. In the fifteenth century itself, while the earliest -artists were at work for Venice at Murano, and Carpaccio was as yet -unborn, Venice already bore about with her the seeds of her decay. -In fact, the growth of her art coincides with the slow relaxation of -her hold upon the bulwarks of her policy both at home and abroad. -The election of Foscari as Doge in 1423 marks a moment of change in -Venetian life and government, indicated by the substitution of the -title Signoria for that of Commune Venetiarum, and by the abolition of -the _arengo_--yet Carpaccio has still his grave citizens to portray, -and Ursula sleeping the sleep of infancy. Among the exhortations which -tradition has handed down to us as addressed from time to time to the -Venetians by Doge or by ambassador is that supposed to have been spoken -on his death-bed by Foscari’s precursor, the Doge Tommaso Mocenigo. It -might have been spoken for our instruction, instead of as a reminder -to his own subjects of what they knew so well, so vivid an impression -is to be derived from it of the inner life of Venice during the first -thirty years of the fifteenth century. Whether legendary or not, these -exhortations have something significant and individual about them -which really illuminates; it is as if a light were suddenly flashed -into a vast room, pressing our vision upon one point, providing a -nucleus of knowledge about which scattered ideas and impressions may -group themselves intelligibly. Whatever they are, they are not the -fabrication of a later time which has lost understanding of the spirit -that animated the past. If the portrait they give is imaginary, they -have seized upon the salient features and endowed them with a vitality -which the photograph, however literal, too often lacks. Mocenigo’s -farewell address is an impressive portico opening upon a new period -in the career of Venice, a strange trumpet-note of ill omen on the -threshold of her greatest glory. Behold, he says, the fulness of the -life you have achieved, of the riches you have stored; turn now and -preserve it; there is peril in the path beyond; there is twilight and -decay and death. Your eyes, full of the light, have no knowledge of the -shadow; but mine, dim now with age, have known it, and its grip is -upon my limbs. Venice heard but might not heed his warnings. The sun -himself must rise and fulfil his day and set. Decay is in each breath -that the plant draws in; it cannot crystallise the moment; inexorably -it is drawn onwards to maturity and death. It was inevitable for Venice -that as her strength increased her responsibilities should increase -with it; perforce she must turn her face to land as well as sea. She -could not remain alone, intent only on nourishing and developing her -individual life. In proportion to her greatness she must attract others -to her, and the circle of her influence must widen till it passed -beyond her own control. The dying words of Mocenigo came too late. -A temporary delay there might have been; there was no turning back. -Venice had been drawn already into the vortex of European mainland -politics, and she could not stand aside. In our own colonial policy we -are continually confronted with the problem of aggression and defence. -In reality there is no boundary between the two, or the boundary, if -it exists, is so fine that the events of a moment may obliterate it. -St. Theodore carries his shield in his right hand and his spear in the -left; and an old chronicler of Venetian glory interprets the action as -symbolising the predominance of defence in his warrior’s ideal. Doge -Tommaso Mocenigo would have approved the interpretation. But spear and -shield cannot exchange their functions. Until the spear is laid aside, -it will insist on leading; and Venice had not laid aside the spear, she -had furnished herself anew. - -“In my time,” says Mocenigo, after a pathetic preliminary avowal of -his obligations to Venice and of the humble efforts he had made to -discharge them, “in my time, our loan has been reduced by four millions -of ducats, but six millions still are lacking for the debt incurred in -the war with Padua, Vicenza, Verona.... This city of ours sends out at -present ten million ducats every year for its trade in different parts -of the world, with ships and galleys and the necessary appointments to -the value of not less than two million ducats. In this city are three -thousand vessels of from one to two hundred anforas burden, carrying -sixteen thousand mariners: there are three hundred vessels which -alone carry eight thousand mariners more. Every year sail forty-five -galleys, counting small and great craft, and these take eleven thousand -mariners, three thousand captains and three thousand calkers. There -are three thousand weavers of silk garments and sixteen thousand of -fustian.... There are one thousand gentlemen with incomes ranging from -seven hundred to four thousand ducats. If you go on in this way, you -will increase from good to better, you will be lords of riches and of -Christendom. But beware, as of fire, of taking what belongs to others -and making unjust war, for these are errors that God cannot tolerate -in princes. It is known to all that the war with the Turk has made you -brave and valorous by sea, ... and in these years you have so acted -that the world has judged you the leaders of Christendom. You have -many men experienced in embassies and government, men who are perfect -orators. You have many doctors in diverse sciences, lawyers above all, -and for this reason many foreigners come to you for judgement in their -differences and abide by your decisions. Take heed, therefore, how you -govern such a state as this, and be careful to give it your counsel -and your warning, lest ever by negligence it suffer loss of power. And -it behoves you earnestly to advise whoever succeeds me in this place, -because through him the Republic may receive much good and much harm. -Many of you incline to Messer Marino Caravello; he is a worthy man and -for his worthy qualities deserves that rank. Messer Francesco Bembo -is an honest man, and so is Messer Giacomo Trevisan. Messer Antonio -Contarini, Messer Faustin Michiel, Messer Alban Badoer, all these -are wise and merit it. Many incline to Messer Francesco Foscari, not -knowing that he is an ambitious man and a liar, without a basis to his -actions. His intellect is flighty; he embraces much and holds little. -If he is Doge, you will always be at war. The possessor of ten thousand -ducats will be master but of one. You will spend gold and silver. You -will be robbed of your reputation and your honour. You will be vassals -of infantry and captains and men-at-arms. I could not restrain myself -from giving you my opinion. God help you to choose the best, and rule -and keep you in peace.” - -Mocenigo’s warning was disregarded. But although Foscari was made Doge, -Venice did not rush into war. In spite of repeated efforts on the part -of the Florentines to secure an alliance, the traditions of the old -peace policy were tenaciously adhered to during the first years of the -new reign. It was the temptation to secure Carmagnola as leader of -her forces which finally overcame her scruples. Foscari’s discourse -on this occasion, as reported by Romanin, is a curiously specious -mingling of philanthropy and self-interest. Reading between the lines, -we understand from it something of Mocenigo’s fears at the prospect -of his election. The passion of empire is in his heart. Venice, whom -eulogists loved to represent as the bulwark of Europe against the -infidel, is now to be the champion of down-trodden Florence. It is the -sword of justice that she is to wield. We are reminded of Veronese’s -allegory--Venice seated upon the world, robed in ermine and scarlet, -her silver and her gold about her, her breast clasped with a jewelled -buckler, round her neck the rich pearls of her own island fabric, on -her head the royal crown. Her face is in the shadow of her gilded -throne and of the folds of the stiff rose satin curtain, as she looks -out over the world, over the universe, from her lofty seat on the dark -azure globe. The lion, the sword and the olive branch are at her feet. -What is she dreaming of, this Venice of the soft, round, shadowed face? -Is it of peace, or of new empire? Is it to the olive bough or to the -sword of justice that she inclines? In a neighbouring fresco, Neptune, -brooding in profound abstraction beside his trident, deputes to the -lion his watch; but Mars of the mainland is alert, on foot, and his -charger’s head from above him breathes fire upon his brow. - -“You will be the vassals of captains and men-at-arms.” There was a note -of prophecy in Mocenigo’s closing words, and it is indeed a question, -in face of Verocchio’s superb warrior--who was the prince and who -the vassal, who the servant and who the master. Colleoni’s triumph -at his grand reception in Venice can scarcely have been the triumph -of a mere man-at-arms. Studying the magnificent reserve of strength -in his grandly moulded face and neck, we feel Venice must rather -have acknowledged that an Emperor had descended in her midst. Little -wonder that such a man dared ask a place on the Piazza of St. Mark -itself! The period of his command embraced some of the most brilliant -successes of the Venetian arms on land. Difficulties and perils that -seemed insurmountable were yet surmounted by a mind possessed of -supreme qualities of judgment, daring and nobility. Singularly akin, -indeed, to Venice herself was this man who had a key to the minds of -his antagonists, who read their secrets and forestalled their actions: -it is not strange that he was dear to her. Though a professional -soldier and no Venetian born, he could act as a worthy representative -of Venice, and there might seem small fear of ruin for a Republic that -could so choose her servants. But Colleoni had fought against the Lion -and set his foot upon its neck, and the Lion had been constrained to -turn and ask his service of him, the highest tribute it could offer, -the completest confession of its defeat. And Colleoni could respect -and be faithful to such a paymaster: for twenty years he led the -Republic on land, and was never called to render an account before her -judgment-seat. Magnanimously at his death he absolves her of all her -debts to him, makes her two grand donations, then, by his own wish, -towers over Venice, a paid alien, her virtual master, yet such a master -as she was proud to serve. We wonder if this thought came ever to the -mind of Verocchio, the Florentine, as he moulded the great figure of -the hero: did the imagination please him of Venice the vassal, Venice -subjected beneath the horse and his rider? - -There was a fête given in honour of Colleoni at Venice in 1455, on -the occasion of the bestowing on him the staff of supreme command. -To Spino, Colleoni’s enthusiastic biographer and fellow citizen, the -episode was portentous, as to one unfamiliar with Venetian traditions -in this respect. It had, indeed, a significance he did not dream of; -it was the reception not of a victorious fleet, not of an admiring -monarch or fugitive pope, but of an army of mercenaries and their -leader. Spino tells how Colleoni was accompanied by an escort of the -chief citizens of Bergamo, Brescia and other cities of the kingdom that -had been committed to his charge; how barges over a thousand were sent -from Venice to fetch him and his party from Marghera; how the Venetians -came out in flocks to meet him in gondolas and sandolos to the sound -of trumpets and other instruments of music, preceded by _three_ ships -called _bucintori_, “of marvellous workmanship and grandeur,” in which -were the Doge and Signoria, the senate and other magistrates; and -how ambassadors of kings and princes and subject states came to do -homage to the new Serenissimo Pasqual Malipiero. He tells, as all the -chroniclers of festivals at Venice tell, of the throngs, not only on -windows and upon the fondamentas, but upon the house roofs along the -Grand Canal; of Colleoni’s reception at San Marco and the display of -the sacred treasures at the high altar; and how, as he knelt before -the Doge, the staff of his office was bestowed upon him with these -words, “By the authority and decree of the most excellent city of -Venice, of us the Doge and of the Senate, ruler and captain-general of -all our men and arms on land shalt thou be. Take from our hands this -military staff, with good presage and fortune, as emblem of thy power, -to maintain and defend the majesty, the faith and the judgments of -this State with dignity and with decorum by thy care and charge.” For -ten days the festivals continued with jousts and tournaments and feats -of arms. But all was not fêting and merriment. Colleoni held grave -discourses also with the Padri, and “their spirits were confirmed by -him,” says Spino, “in safety and great confidence.” - -[Illustration: IN THE PIAZZA.] - -The Venice who could thus do honour to Colleoni her general was a -superb Venice, superb as Colleoni himself who in his castle of Malpaga -received not only embassies from kings but kings themselves; who, at -the visit of Cristierino, King of Dacia, came out to meet him “on -a great courser, caparisoned and equipped for war, and he, all but -his head, imperially clad in complete armour, attended only by two -standard-bearers carrying his helm and lance, while a little further -behind followed his whole company of six hundred horse in battle array, -with his condottieri and his squadrons, all gloriously and most nobly -armed and mounted, with flags flying and the sound of trumpets”; who, -besides making rich provision for all his children, built churches, -endowed monasteries and left to the Venetians, after cancelling all -their debts to him, one hundred thousand ducats of gold. The Venice -that employed Colleoni was superb--we have a record of her living -features in Gentile Bellini’s marvellous presentment of the procession -in St. Mark’s square--the brain as flexible, the jaws as rigid as -those of the mighty warrior Verocchio conceived. Yet Spino’s comment -on the last tribute paid by the Venetians to their general gives us -pause--“confessing to have lost the defender of their liberty.” It was -a confession which could still clothe itself triumphantly in the great -bronze statue, but there is an omen in the words. In this confession of -1496 is foreshadowed the fall of 1796. - -Much has been written of the social life of this Venice of the Fall; -there are countless sources for its history in the letters, diaries -and memoirs of its citizens and of its visitors, reputable and -disreputable; richest sources of all, there are the pictures of Longhi, -the comedies of Goldoni. But of the Venice that lay behind this small -round of conventions and refinements, laxity and tyranny, perhaps -less has been said. Of many avenues by which it might be approached -we shall choose one, and since the praise of Colleoni has drawn our -attention to the foundations of Venetian power on land, nothing will -better serve our purpose than the foundation of her power by sea, that -Arsenal which Sansovino described as “the basis and groundwork of the -greatness of this Republic, as well as the honour of all Italy.” The -Arsenal was, next to San Marco, perhaps the sanctuary of Venetian -faith. It was far more than a mere manufactory of arms and battleships. -In the celebration of the Sensa its workmen held the post of honour, -the rowing of the Bucintoro. Its officers were among the most reputed -in the State. The Council of Ten had a room within its precincts. It -was entered by a superb triumphal arch, a sight which none who visited -Venice must miss. The condition of the Arsenal may well be taken as an -index to the condition of Venice herself. - -We may set side by side two pictures of the Arsenal, one drawn from -a curious little work of early seventeenth century, a time at which, -though Venice was moving down the path of her decay, the glorious -traditions of the past still found renewal in her present life, and the -Venetian fleet was still a triumphant symbol of Venetian greatness; the -other from the reports of her officials in the last years before her -death. Luca Assarino was one of many guests who had to say to Venice, -or to the Doge her representative, “My intellect staggers under the -weight of a memory laden with surpassing favours. You received me into -your house, did me honour, assisted me, protected me. You clothed -yourself in my desires, and promoted them on every occasion; and this -not only without having had of me any cause to honour me so highly, -but even without having ever seen me.” He feels he cannot better -discharge the burden of his gratitude than by shaping some of the -emotions inspired in him by his visit to the Arsenal. There is a touch -of sympathy and sometimes even a touch of truth and insight under the -extravagantly symbolic garb of his appreciation. “Admiring first of all -an immense number of porticoes, where as in vast maternal wombs I saw -in embryo the galleys whose bodies were being framed, I realised that -I was in the country of vessels, the fatherland of galleons, and that -those masses were so formidable as to show themselves warriors even in -their birth, fortifying themselves with countless nails and arming thus -their very vitals with iron. I considered them as wandering islands, -which, united, compose the continent of Venetian glory, the mainland -of the rule of Christendom. I admired with joy the height of their -masts and the size of their sailyards, and I called them forests under -whose shade the Empire of the sea reposed and the hopes of the Catholic -religion were fortified. And who, I said to myself, can deny that this -Republic has subjugated the element of water, when none of her citizens -can walk abroad, but that the water, as if vanquished, kisses his feet -at every step?” Like all recorders of the glories of Venice, he is -struck dumb at certain points by fear of the charge of fabling, but, -collecting himself, he proceeds to speak of the trophies and relics, -the rows of cuirasses, helmets and swords that remained as “iron -memorials to arm the years against oblivion of Venetian greatness. What -revolutions of the world, what accidents, what mutations of state, what -lakes of tears and blood did not the dim lightnings of those fierce -habiliments present to the eye of the observer?... I saw the remains of -the Venetian fleet, vessels, that, as old men, weighted no less with -years than glory, reposed under the magnificence of the arches which -might well be called triumphal arches. I saw part of those galleons to -which Christianity confesses the debt of her preservation.... And last, -I saw below the water so great a quantity of the planks from which -vessels afterwards are made, that one might truly call it a treasury -hidden in the entrails of a lake. I perceived that these, as novices -in swimming, remained first a century below the surface, to float -after for an eternity of centuries; and I remarked that they began -by acquiring citizenship in that lake, to end by showing themselves -patricians throughout the seas, and that there was good reason they -should plant their roots well under water, for they were the trees -on which the liberty of Venice was to flower.” In his peroration the -eulogist strikes a deeper note. “May it please Almighty God to preserve -you to a longest eternity; and as of old the nations surrounding you -had so high an opinion of your integrity and justice that they came to -you for judgment of their weightiest and most important cases, so may -heaven grant that the whole of Christendom may resort always to your -threshold to learn the laws of good government.” - -We think sadly of his prayer among the records of abuse and corruption -in the Arsenal of two centuries later; the Venetian lawyers were still -renowned among the lawyers of the world, but the State was no longer -capable of teaching the laws of good government to Christendom. The -theatre, the coffee-house, the _ridotto_, the gay _villeggiatura_ were -now the main channels of her activity; the tide of life had flowed -back from the Arsenal and left it a sluggish marsh. In the arts of -shipbuilding no advance had been made, and the cause lay chiefly in -an extraordinary slackness of discipline by which workmen were first -allowed to serve in alternation and in the end were asked for only -one day’s service in the month. Many youths who had not even seen the -Arsenal were in receipt of a stipend as apprentices, in virtue of -hereditary right. Martinelli tells of porters, valets, novices and even -of a pantaloon in a troop of comic actors who were thus pleasantly -provided for. There was a scarcity of tools, and even the men in daily -attendance at the Arsenal spent their time in idle lounging and often -in still more mischievous occupations for lack of anything better to -do; disobedience and disloyalty were rife. The Arsenal was used by many -as a place of winter resort, as workhouses by the tramps of to-day, -and the wood stored for shipbuilding was consumed in fires for warming -these unbidden guests, or made up into articles of furniture for sale -in the open market. The report of the Inquisitors of the Arsenal, -dated March 1, 1874, which Martinelli quotes, is indeed a terrible -confession: “One sad experience clearly shows that the smallest -concession ... becomes rapidly transformed into unbridled licence. -Not to mention the immense piles of shavings, from sixty to seventy -thousand vast bundles of wood disappear annually. The wastage of so -great a mass of wood, more than the equivalent of the complete outfit -of ten or twelve entire ships of the line, is not to be accounted for -under legitimate refuse of normal work, but points plainly to the -voluntary destruction of undamaged and precious material.” It is -scarcely surprising that with so little care for the preservation of -discipline in the Arsenal and for the efficiency of its workmen Venice -fell behind. The Arsenal had indeed become, as Martinelli says, “a -monument of the generous conceptions of the past--a monument, like the -church and campanile of San Marco, beautiful, admirable, glorious, but -as completely incapable as they of offering any service to the State.” -Similar abuses existed also in the manning of the ships. The officers -were for the most part idle and incompetent, and the despatches of the -Provveditori are a tissue of lamentable statements as to the depression -of that which had been, and while Venice was to retain her supremacy, -must ever be, the mainstay of her power. There is desertion among the -crews and operatives; the outfit provided for them is unsuitable and -inadequate. Nicolò Erizzo, Provveditor Extraordinary to the Islands of -the Levant, concludes a despatch, dated October 30, 1764, as follows: -“Thus it comes about that your Excellencies have no efficient and -capable officers of marine, and if an occasion were ever to arise -when it were necessary to send them to some distant part, let me not -be deemed presumptuous if I venture frankly to assure you that they -would be in great straits. I had a proof of the truth of this when I -launched the galley recently built; for the officers themselves begged -me to put a ship’s captain on board, since at a little distance from -land they did not trust themselves, nor did they blush to confess it in -making this request.” - -It was ten years earlier, in 1744, that the Ridotto, or great public -gaming-house, was closed in Venice by order of the Great Council, and -the Venetians, their chief occupation gone, were reduced to melancholy -peregrination of the Piazza. “They have all become hypochondriacs,” -writes Madame Sara Gondar. “The Jews are as yellow as melons; the -mask-sellers are dying of starvation; and wrinkles are growing on the -hands of many a poor old nobleman who has been in the habit of dealing -cards ten hours a day. Vice is absolutely necessary to the activity of -a state.” This then is the Venice against which Goldoni stands out; -and after all, the essential difference between the world reflected -in his comedies and that world of Gentile Bellini and Carpaccio, -which was Colleoni’s world, is a difference of horizon. There is an -epic grandeur about Carpaccio’s world: heroes stride across it, with -lesser men and lesser interests in their train. The small affairs of -life are not neglected. There is the Company of the Stocking, who -discuss their peculiar device and the articles of their order with the -grave elaboration of State councillors. Venice was always interested -in matters of detail. But in Colleoni’s day the same seriousness of -purpose was available when larger issues were discerned: in Goldoni’s -the power to discern larger issues has disappeared. The Venetians, -lords once of the sea, can still take interest in their stockings, -but they can take interest in nothing else. The Lilliputians are -in possession. Goldoni does not quarrel with his age for not being -monumental, and we shall do well to follow his example and make our -peace with it. He looks upon the clubs of freemasons, the pedantic -literary reformers, the false romanticists, the bourgeois tyrants and -masquerading ladies, with a serene and indulgent smile. In his famous -literary dispute with Gozzi he maintains before his fiery opponent the -calm and level countenance of truth. The battles rage around him, but -he stands firm and unassailable, as Colleoni himself may once have -stood in the midst of battles how different, waged in how different a -world! - - - - -Chapter Eight - -VENETIAN WATERWAYS - -(PART I) - - -In Venice it is difficult to make choice of one route rather than -another, when the means of transit is indeed an end in itself, and -in some degree the same delight awaits us on every way we choose. We -may pass hours on the Grand Canal merely combining enjoyment of its -changefulness with a welcome monotony of rest; every moment the water -is expressive, every moment it lives under some new impulse and reveals -itself afresh. Carpaccio’s picture, _The Miracle of the Holy Cross_, is -a marvellous rendering of the life of the Grand Canal; we are reminded -of it again and again as we turn into the noble sweep of the waters at -the angle of the Cà Foscari. The spirit and motion of Venice seem to be -concentrated in the picture--the dark water alive with many gondolas, -the fascination of the rhythmic movements of the rowers, at rest or -sharply turning or slowly propelling. It has caught and embodied the -genius of the canal--that ceaseless change and variation of angle -which keeps it springing and full of life; that flowing spirit which -unifies the palaces and waters of Venice in a conspiracy of beauty. -Our gondola in some mysterious way enrols us in this conspiracy; -through its motion we consent to the spirit of the place. We are not -onlookers merely; the gondola pulses with the life of Venice; it is an -instrument of her being. We feel as we move along that we are needed -in the spectacle of Venice, that we have a share in the equilibrium -which is of the essence of her power. There is no means of city transit -that we can imagine to rival the gondola in its freedom from noise -and jostling, in its realisation of comfort. But there are other -reasons why it must remain the essential means of passage in Venice. -From the gondola alone can we hope to realise how the city stands -amid its waters, how living the relation between land and water is. -These are not canals in the common sense of the word; they are living -streams flowing among islands, each of which is individual, irregular, -unique. Venice is not a tract of land cut into sections, large or -small, by water, as is an inland city by its streets. A most vigilant -watch was kept over the building of the houses that they should not -transgress the law of the waters nor interfere with the relation of -their currents to the islands. And this vigilance, perhaps, combined -with the desire of each owner of land to make use of it to the last -fragment, is responsible for the irregularities and varieties of angle -which make the houses of Venice more individual than those of any other -city. Usually a wall when it has once displayed to us its surface has -finished its confidences; it has no reserves, no allurements; it is -rigid and uncompromising. But one that breaks from the level, inclining -its proud profile in response to the tide of the waterway below it, -is a wall of far greater and more individual resources. It is only -by gondola that we can appreciate this strong element of personality -in the houses, and only by journeying in a gondola that we can learn -to appreciate the individuality of the different quarters of Venice. -It is not merely that one is peopled by the rich, another by the -poor; that one region abounds in ancient palaces, another in modern -buildings; nor that peculiar treasures of art are associated with -each. Their characters are divergent. From the canals we realise that -Venice is built upon separate islands and we see their diversity. The -parochial divisions of the sestieri do not exactly follow the shape of -the islands, but roughly speaking we shall find the waterways in the -district covered by each sestiere distinctive in character. Castello -and Cannaregio, San Polo and Dorsoduro, each has its own recognisable -method of curve, broad or narrow, wayward or orderly. - -[Illustration: VIEW ON GRAND CANAL FROM SAN ANGELO.] - -The last joy of one who has lived long in Venice, as well as the -first of the new-comer, will be a gondola journey. It is impossible -to exhaust the certain beauties of even a side canal, not to speak -of its casual surprises. If we are in haste and time is precious, we -do better to make our way over bridge and calle with what dexterity -and speed we can; for it is an insult to ask haste of the gondola. -Yet, if we accept in the right spirit the extraordinary delays and -dilemmas of traffic--immense, interminable barges suddenly blocking -the entire canal, or a flock of gondolas and sandolos in seemingly -inextricable confusion--we shall always have our reward; not only the -pleasure of watching the riddle of passage solve itself, thanks to -the seeming elasticity of the rio, but a glint of sun-jewels on a new -angle of the waters, some richness of ornament on house or bridge, some -relic of ancient Venice, some name of calle or rio will break upon -us with a fresh revelation. We cannot come to the end of Venice; she -is inexhaustible: stealing about among the sudden shadows and broken -lights of her waterways, sweeping in full, swift tide round unexpected -corners and under diminished bridges, some new idea breaks upon us -unawares with irresistible persuasion. We cannot define its meaning; -we cannot say why details in Venice have so great a significance. A -window opened suddenly in one of the palaces at night--why does it -seem so portentous? It is another of the manifold gifts of the waters -to Venice, this gift of distinction. Venice is not like other cities -in which a thousand acts pass unnoted. She has the distinction of a -unique individual whose smallest action is fraught with a strange -immaterial fragrance that is unmistakably its own. We cannot analyse -the fragrance; we only recognise that it is a spiritual gift; it -emanates only from subtle and penetrating natures; it is the aroma of -life itself. To it we owe the strange excitement that invades us in -Venetian waters, and makes a gondola tour far more than a novel mode of -traversing a city. As we watch the citizens of Venice from the water, -see them crossing a bridge, pausing to lean over, or carried in the -stream of passengers, they too seem endowed with a singular vitality; -their passing and their standing still appear alike purposeful and -portentous. What history might not be written by questioning the -windows that look out on the side canals, or the tides that have ebbed -and flowed in their channels? It would be a work of many volumes; for -the private records of Venice are not lacking in fulness. The Piazza -of Bellini’s _Procession of the Cross_ represents one side of Venetian -life, its solemnity, its assurance, its pomp and colour; but the narrow -waters know another side, the domestic festivities, the courtings, -weddings and banquetings, and private hates. For she was strong in -deeds of darkness as in deeds of light, and echoes of them still wash -against the basements of her houses. Water is a safer confidant of -blood than earth, and the waters of Venice have received their full -share of such confidences. Ebbing tides washed out to sea the stains -of violence and flowed in to pave the city anew, yet the atmosphere of -the dark waterways is more enduring than material stains, and there is -no dark deed of ancient Venice to which they may not still supply a -realistic setting. - -[Illustration: THE LIBRARY, PIAZZETTA.] - -The gondolier’s stock of knowledge will carry us but a small way on the -lesser rios. His catalogue is ready for the Grand Canal; he can carry -the reader to the obvious points of interest the guide-book enumerates, -but his information does not usually comprise even the most beautiful -of the palaces of the side canals, and on the more familiar routes -there is much to discover for oneself. Moreover there are aspects of -a gondola tour which the guide-book cannot include, but which are none -the less important for those who really wish to know the physiognomy of -Venice. And one is the time of day at which it is to be taken. Venice -is the city of light--more luminous than any other city; and if it is -true that new light or shadow everywhere alters the aspect of familiar -objects, it is infinitely truer in Venice where each moment witnesses -the birth of some new and wonderful offspring of the light. If one, -who has known the statue of Colleoni against the intense blue of the -midday sky, comes on him suddenly when the Campo is in shadow and the -Scuola di San Marco alone still receives the light upon the rare marble -of its upper façade, he will find that, as the definition of the stern -features is lost, a note of tenderness steals into the proud assertion -of the face. It seems a fresh revelation of character, this change -wrought by a new light in the known and familiar, and it is one of the -peculiar creative gifts of Venice. - -In considering some of the most noteworthy subjects in the city as -she now is, we may imagine a gondola tour on a day of the high tides -in December, when the water washes in long smooth waves almost up to -the feet of the Lion and St. Theodore, and gives to the Molo the -exhilarating effect of a sea-shore. The spring tide spurts and bubbles -through the gratings in the Piazza and Piazzetta, to unite in a lake -which covers the whole pavement till it deepens in the atrium of San -Marco and the heavy outer doors are closed. As the waters rise, the -dominion of light is extended; the chequered marbles of the Ducal -Palace take on a new brilliance, and the agate eyes of the Lion glow -and sparkle as he looks across the sun-paths to the sea. We will -imagine ourselves embarking at the Piazzetta and turning into Venice -from the Basin of San Marco, under the Ponte della Paglia and the -Bridge of Sighs. The entrance into the Rio del Palazzo is flanked on -one side by what was formerly the eastern tower of the Ducal Palace. -Relics of a Byzantine frieze are all that now remain of it; the rest -is lost in the grand eastern wall of the palace--a superb monument -of the first Renaissance. This wall would provide material for many -hours of study in the rich variety of its sculptures. Not a capital or -column is left unadorned, and each is particularised with an apparently -inexhaustible variety of design. The two massive, projecting balconies -of the Anti Sala dei Pregadi, overhanging the rio, which presented to -the sculptor some at least of the problems of ceiling decoration, are -richly carved beneath with deep circular roses. The remotest corners -are worked with the same conscientious detail as the more conspicuous, -and each with a view to its position above the rio. As our eyes grow -accustomed to the comparative darkness of the canal, we see that lions -look down on us from the arches of the topmost windows, and that some -of the upper columns are surrounded by a band of sculpture similar to -that on the pillars of the façade of the Scuola di San Rocco. Amid -the wealth of sculptured stone there is an impressive severity in the -discs of porphyry set at intervals along the wall; but perhaps its -greatest beauty is the ducal shield bearing the Barbarigo arms. This -shield, placed over a low water-door, is upheld by two winged pages -with lighted torches in their hands, who are themselves like songs of -light in their graceful and spirited beauty. Massiveness and grace are -magnificently combined in this east wall of the Ducal Palace; it is at -once solemn and brilliant; and as we look back to its angle with the -Riva, the rose and snowy marbles gleam as if they were transparent. - -A little further and the waters have us in their power. The Ponte -di Canonica denies us passage; the tide is too high for us to pass -beneath it, and we are forced to return to the Riva degli Schiavoni. -But before we turn we may see one of the most beautiful of Renaissance -palaces rising in clear whiteness against the blue of the sky. The -Greek marble of its surface is inlaid with circles of serpentine and -porphyry; on either side of the central building two scrolls, inlaid -with palm leaves, bear the words, _Honor et gloria Deo solo_, and -higher in the wall are marble slabs most delicately designed with -animals, birds and foliage. A mitre, crown, and crosier, and various -other articles of head-dress are represented in the stone, but the -Capello family had many branches in Venice, and of the owners of this -particular palace even Tassini has no record. The most beautiful of its -features is set high up, almost too high to be comfortably seen from -the water--two young companion figures of the first Renaissance, full -of grace and imagination and strength, each with spear, and scales, and -casque surmounted by three heads. These twin warrior angels look out -with serene strength into the day; they are lightly armed, but poised -and ready for battle. The duplication of their winged figures, and the -height at which they are placed, makes us think of them primarily as -decorative sculptures; they cannot possess the intimate charm of the -young warrior of the Palazzo Civran, but they endow the harmonious -marbles of this palace front with a distinction and character which -give it rank among the first houses of the greatest period in Venice. -After the rains, these precious marbles shine with a peculiar lustre, -and the Palazzo Capello as it appears to-day is worthy of comparison -with the Palazzo Dario, which glows with serpentine and porphyry beside -the Grand Canal, fresh and fine and delicate as on the day of its -completion. - -[Illustration: CORNER OF THE PALAZZO DARIO.] - -As the water is still rising and the Ponte di Canonica will not allow -room to pass, we must move along the shining waters of San Marco till -we find a more hospitable waterway. With difficulty we get under the -Ponte del Sepolcro and thence down the Rio della Pietà in which, -at the distance of a few strokes, we may land if we will at a low -sotto-portico leading to San Giovanni in Bragora, where Cima’s noble -picture, _The Baptism of Christ_, is imprisoned behind a stifling -modern altar which makes it impossible to study the composition as a -whole. A little farther, passing a fine ogival palace on our right, -we halt before a plastered barocco house with remnants of Byzantine -window-posts on an upper story. But our chief interest lies this time -in the basement, in a low, narrow arch, the crowns of whose pillars, -richly worked in marmo greco with griffins and lions, are, even in -time of normal tides, little above the level of the water, though -probably the arch once rested on pillars not less than ten feet high. -This buried arch is eloquent of the rising of the waters on Venice. -It arrests us by the beauty of its workmanship; but it is one of many -that we must pass on each canal, though not all have placidly accepted -submergence; many have kept above the water by accepting the addition -of a capital or crown. Elsewhere there are notable examples of this -patchwork of which Venice never is ashamed and which has produced -much in her of the greatest interest. In the Salizzada di San Lio, in -the sestiere of San Giustina, is a pillar, supporting one side of a -sotto-portico, in which a whole page of Venetian history is comprised. -Looking into it, we see that it is composed of two distinct portions, -that it has in fact two capitals--a capital of the early Renaissance -superimposed on a Byzantine column which retains its own. They stand -happily united, these children of two ages, but we naturally ask -ourselves the reason of their juncture, and the answer is that the -Byzantine pillar was once sufficient to itself; it had no need of a -crown to complete its dignity or service. No weight of years has shrunk -it to these dwarfed proportions. It is the rising of earth from below, -not pressure from above, which has reduced it. The soil of Venice has -been raised, inch by inch and foot by foot, in defence against her -submergence. Many basements have become uninhabitable, and Galliccioli -records that in the church of SS. Vito e Modesta an ancient pavement -was discovered eight feet below the existing one, while in SS. Simone -e Giuda three levels were found one above another. In San Marco a -confessional similar to that still at Torcello, after having been lost -sight of for several centuries, was found three feet below the soil and -one and a half feet below the ordinary level of the water. Our pillar, -therefore, which at one time planted its foot firmly on the ground, has -been gradually buried alive, and to preserve the serviceableness, as -well as the dignity of the portico--in fact, to secure its existence -as a sotto-portico at all--a new head had to be added to the Byzantine -pillar to supply the theft at its foot. The incident is rich in -suggestion of the achievement of the Venetian builders, of the delicate -counterpoise and equilibrium, the ceaseless give-and-take required in -this city of the sea. Venice was crowned queen, but her dominion could -only be maintained by understanding and reverence of the element she -ruled. To be glorious she had to be most humble; for the element she -constrained is one no human power can subdue; it would kiss her feet, -it would endow her with glory, but it would not surrender its life. -A thousand times more glorious should be her dominion, but a thousand -times more subtle must be her insight and her sway. Her finger must -be ever on the pulse of this living force, she must hold the key of -its temperament in her hand, she must know when to submit. The wedding -of Venice and the sea was not the submersion of one personality in -another, it was a union involving infinite tact, infinite insight and -acceptance. - -We move forward again under the Ponte di Sant’ Antonin beside the -Fondamenta dei Furlani or Friulani, to the little building at its -further end, a sombre little building with heavily barred windows, -but with a sculptured façade. Its outer door is never more than half -open; it appears to admit visitors reluctantly, and, however bright -the sunshine in the world outside, our first impression of San Giorgio -dei Schiavoni is always gloomy. Only for two short hours, from ten -to twelve in the morning, the chapel is open--short, because the -sacristan keeps jealous watch upon the clock and, as if it were with -the booming of the great gun from the royal palace that his true day -began, hurries to close the remaining wing of the outer door, and -bar the chapel into solitude and darkness. Carpaccio’s pictures were -painted for the light. Their original home was not the Schiavoni -chapel, but the School which, till 1451, the Confraternity of St. -George and St. Triphonius owned in the convent of San Catterina in the -northern extremity of Venice near the Fondamenta Nuova. The chapel of -the Schiavoni needs more daylight, and even such as is obtainable is -not freely enough admitted; but Carpaccio is a magician whose spell -can release us from all consciousness of discomfort. The chapel is -an intimate revelation of one of the most fascinating characters -in Venetian history. It is the completest record of Carpaccio that -exists, the series of paintings in which his imagination has the -fullest range. It is not as a portrait painter of Venice and the -Venetians that Carpaccio is here employed, his scope is wider and the -whole spirit of his treatment is different. The _St. Ursula_ series -is not lacking in subtle personal touches; but it is not intimate in -the same degree as the _St. George_, and it does not touch the level -of personal intensity of the _St. Jerome_. There are psychological -touches in this chapel of the Schiavoni which it would be hard to rival -in modern art; we are companioned here by one of the most humorous, -tender, profound and understanding of natures, one who reflects upon -life in the spirit of joy and whose painful experiences never prevailed -against his assurance of beauty. As is always the case with Carpaccio, -each picture, though one of a series, is complete in itself. Except -with St. Jerome, the painter shows even a certain carelessness of the -preservation of identity in his hero: St. George becomes steadily -younger from the time of his combat with the dragon, till, in the third -of the series, a mere boy is represented as presiding at the baptism of -the king and princess. The figure of St. George in the fight with the -dragon is magnificent. No comparisons are necessary to convince us of -its greatness of conception; but if we consider for a moment Basaiti’s -treatment of this subject, we shall understand better the material of -which Carpaccio is made. Basaiti’s St. George is a sentimentalist even -in this moment of stress; his sword-thrust and the spirit expressed in -his face are disconnected. With Carpaccio the source of St. George’s -action is his will. The spirit of the sword-thrust is revealed in the -thrilling purpose of his armoured limbs, which no metal can obscure. He -is not thinking of graces, but the purpose with which he is instinct -creates its own harmony; he is one who must prevail. When the stress -of the action is past, his face hardly seems striking, but here it is -so pierced with light, as it gleams in paleness against the aureole -of hair, that it has become a living flame. Rarely has such glory of -purpose and burning intensity of will been conveyed in a human face -upon canvas. And all the details of this picture are invested with -an accordant beauty. Even the grotesque fancy that seems to riot in -the horrors of material death has had to give way before it. The face -of the maiden, who lies, half-eaten, close to the dragon’s feet, is -as exquisite in her death-sleep as that of St. Ursula in her royal -chamber; and the mutilated youth under the body of the horse is not -less lovely. The horse’s face is wonderful; his large eyes drink in the -purpose of his master; his tongue lolls; his mane streams wildly as he -rushes against the wind. Like Colleoni’s horse he triumphs under his -rider, not so much ridden as a sharer in his progress; but he, like -his master, moves in another and more romantic world than Colleoni. -Never was horse more gloriously or more worthily caparisoned; his -trappings are of scarlet, stamped with classic heads and chased with -bronze; his bridle of the richest gilded leather set with gems. And the -dragon too is beautiful. If we compare this trampling, vivid creature -of the luminous eyes with the crawling worm against which St. George -raises his sword in the succeeding picture, we shall feel something of -the meaning of the breath of life. The very colour of his skin seems -to have flowed through him with his blood; he is abjectly grey when -dragged on to the Piazza. This transformation of the dragon is a great -feat, the greater when we remember that even when he first appears, the -virtue is beginning to go out of him, his claws are already beating -the air with growing impotence. This first picture of the St. George -series is the most complete lyric of Carpaccio’s that we possess; it -is an episode of high romance, and its landscape is conceived in the -spirit of romantic fantasy. We have noted elsewhere the treatment -of the buildings, the way the city, which at first sight seems of a -dreamlike quality, like the port whence St. Ursula’s prince sets out, -defines itself gradually as a solid, fortified citadel, half hidden -behind oriental watch-towers. But we have still to note the inspiration -with which Carpaccio has unified these defences with the grand sweep -of the coast-line. The huge cliffs which enclose the bay on the left, -stretching out to the yellow light, are worthy to rank with those in -Turner’s _Ulysses and Polyphemus_. The landscape to the right of the -bay is freer and more fanciful. A cupolaed duomo crowns the cliff -behind the princess. Men and horses move on the huge projecting rock, -joined to the main cliff only by a natural arch and by a high-swung -delicate bridge. The houses among the trees and the horsemen moving -over the dizzy bridge enhance the romantic strangeness of effect. The -framing by this rugged arch of a full-rigged vessel upon the open sea -is one of Carpaccio’s happiest fancies. The devastated shore, the -sea flowing into the city, the yellow of the sky above the horizon -passing into a troubled paleness of cloud-flecked blue, the wind-driven -vessel on the high sea, the suggestion of vast ocean spaces--all these -combine in the imaginative grandeur of effect. The second picture of -the series, _St. George’s Return_, is very different in atmosphere. -It is filled with sunlight, the trampling of victory and the sound of -music. Its keynote is victorious joy and pomp of festival, sounded -in the spacious sunniness of the Piazza and the horizon of slope and -mountains beyond; sustained in the buildings that surround the square -and the airy pinnacles and balconies crowded with onlookers, and in -the flags that fly round the octagonal building winging it with air. -The radiant flowered brocades compete with the trappings of the horses -to perfect the scene; and through it, and round it, sounds the music -of drum and trumpet from the turbaned band which forms a background -to the royal party, drawing them, as it were, into the sweep of the -central square where St. George officiates. All moves to the measure -of glad yet solemn music; here is no lightning stroke, no sudden -motion; the muscles of action are relaxed, in slow measure the horses -paw the ground. The third picture, _The Baptism of King and Princess_, -is still pervaded with music. The musicians lead in the scene; the -three foreground trumpeters, conspicuous on the carpeted dais, seem -to be trumpeting for their lives. The golden, cavernous trumpet-mouth -pointing directly at us has a strangely inspiring effect, seeming to -invade us with sound breaking on the heavy roll of the meditative -drummer. The music connects itself with the background and helps to -widen the horizon. There is not one of these pictures which is not -enlarged by the suggestion, at least, of some wide background of -nature. Sometimes, as in these jubilant scenes, it enhances and extends -the gladness of the festival, sometimes it wings our spirits amid -conditions that burden and confine. In the first of the _St. Jerome_ -series, for instance, where the lion arrives, the first point that -strikes us is the obvious humour of the scene, the effect of the entry -of this gentlest and most companionable of beasts on the Brethren -of the cloister. They do not wait to determine its intentions: it -is a lion. It is wounded and asking sympathy, but the Brothers have -attention for nothing but their fears. But below the humour there is -tragedy. It is not the quaintness of the lion, or the scattering monks, -or the beasts on the grassy square, or all the varied monotony of that -beautiful frescoed cloister, that claim our attention as the heart of -the picture. It is the bent and aged figure of St. Jerome. His features -are the same as in the study scene, but his mature youth has given -place to snowy age. And another change has come over his face; the -radiance of the study scene is replaced by bewildered sorrow slightly -touched with contempt. A loneliness is now in his face. In his study -he was at peace communing with other minds or with the mind of God. -But here with the monks he is bewildered--bewildered and oppressed. -We seem to see him ageing as he eyes his foolish companions. Is this, -he seems to question, the fruit of his long sojourn? He has asked the -sympathy of the Brothers, and they are beside themselves with fear. -There is deep pathos in this aged figure making his appeal in vain, and -if the cloister filled the horizon, the effect on our spirits would -be stifling. But there is a great sky overhead, there is an orange -tree, “that busy plant,” there is a winding way amidst the vista of -palm trees and blue hills, there is the great desert whence the lion -has come. _The Death of St. Jerome_ affords a still more impressive -example of this kind of relief. Here we are not walled in, the desert -is around us; we see it through the gateway by the well and through -the porticoes of the buildings, and above it in purple outline rise -the snow-capped mountains. And this wide horizon is peculiarly welcome -as an escape from the confinement of spirit expressed in the funeral -procession. The gladness of the open country, the hills and mountains, -the palm-tree signposts along the desert way, are a relief to the -lion’s agony. For the lion is the keynote of the picture, though it -is struck so quietly that at first we may even be unconscious of its -sounding. In the foreground on a narrow strip of pavement lies the -body of St. Jerome. His head rests upon a stone and his long beard -lies straight and smooth upon his breast. It is quite lifeless, this -body, but the kneeling Brothers think their master is before them. -There are wonderful character studies among these Brothers, sensual and -simple and devout. Those Carpaccio has chosen to read the Office for -the Dead are the most lifeless. The skull on the blasted tree trunk, -which his love of the grotesque has inserted in the angle of the wall, -seems a fit symbol of the sovereignty they acknowledge. But we have -already noted the existence of another actor in the scene. In front -of a little group of buildings under a broad rustic portico lies the -lion, not inert like his master or like the monks who perform the rites -of the dead, not now a suppliant, deprecating lion. His paw tears the -ground, his head is raised; he roars in the agony of his bereavement. -He is no longer feared, it seems; custom has staled the terrors of him. -To the Brothers he is merely another animal of the menagerie, one of -the last whims of Brother Jerome. Yet he understands that his master is -not here in this square of the convent. He has long been content; but -now the desert calls to him and he answers with the voice of the desert -that he had unlearned for a while. We have mentioned only a few of the -series of paintings in this wonderful chapel, and even of them the -greater part has been left unsaid. Each picture requires the whole of -the two hours, the Scuola allows, for study of them all; but, in coming -to them from time to time for a few moments only, we may constantly -discover some new token of their artist’s insight and understanding, -some richness of composition, some delicacy of colour, some intimate -detail of workmanship which makes us feel Carpaccio’s presence. The -beauties of St. Jerome’s study are almost inexhaustible; the details of -this exquisite room will reveal to us much of Carpaccio and of Venice. -Nothing is in it by chance or because space has to be filled. The gold -and rose of the apse, the marble of its pillars, the painted ceiling -and richly bound manuscripts, the delicate bronzes, the colouring of -the walls, the tiny white dog (forerunner of the lion), the crosier and -crimson cushion, all are expressive. And there is one touch--for which -we give thanks to the artist--unobtrusive but surely significant; the -candles on either wall are held in the bronze fore-paws of a lion. This -Chapel of the Schiavoni has not gone unscathed; during a fire that two -years ago destroyed a warehouse on the opposite bank of the canal, the -water from the engines poured through the roof of the chapel, injuring -the pictures on the wall nearest the rio--the _Combat of St. George_ -and his _Return with the Dragon_. - -Leaving the sestiere of Santa Giustina, with its relics of ancient -Venice and its famous Palace of the Contarini, on our right, and also -on our right, the Church of San Francesco della Vigna, where in the -darkness of the Giustiniani Chapel are preserved some of the most -beautiful sculptures of the Lombardi, we turn sharply to the left into -the Rio del Pestrin, and again to the left into the Rio San Lorenzo. -This Rio San Lorenzo is the scene of one of Gentile Bellini’s most -famous pictures. We are parallel here with the Rio di Sant’ Antonin, by -which we came from the basin of St. Mark. The miracle represented by -Bellini as taking place here is one of those connected with a fragment -of the true Cross belonging to the School of San Giovanni Evangelista. -Some of the finest artistic power of Venice was lavished in honouring -the virtues of this relic, and we owe to it inestimably precious -records of the city in the days of her splendour. We understand -in watching Bellini’s procession something of the nature of those -ever-recurring ceremonies which made Casola feel that the Venetians -must needs be specially beloved of God. The three-arched bridge of San -Lorenzo, which is the structural centre of the composition, is thronged -with a white-robed confraternity bearing splendid candles which glint -among the trees that are tied upon the bridge, and that we see receding -into the campo of the church which is hidden from us. In the centre -of the bridge is fixed the banner of the Confraternity, waving in the -wind. The throng upon the bridge is by no means idle; there is the -effect of that incessant movement of which one is conscious in the -densest crowd, and those at its edge are eagerly watching the doings -in the water. It is indeed the water that excites our chief interest; -Bellini has contrived to perpetuate numberless familiar graces and -dignities in the rowers whom we see framed by the central arch of -the bridge, or holding up their boats alongside of it. But it is the -novel element of the swimmers in the canal which gives the picture a -unique place in our regard. In the space of water between the bridge -and the temporary platform in the immediate foreground, where kneels -a monumental little company of Venetian gentlemen--tradition says the -family of the Bellini--is an aquatic display of the most delicate -order. Four of the Brothers swim in the clear green water, upheld by -their flowing robes like a water-lily by its leaves, and one, the -Grand Guardian--as he treads water with admirable equilibrium and an -easy grace that is beyond all praise--holds up on high the precious -Cross. No words can describe the delight that these swimmers afford -us. Their whole heart is in the quest; two of them, an old man and a -young, who have been pursuing the elusive trophy in vain, have seen -the discovery and slackened their strokes; but one, who has evidently -just dived off the fondamenta, is striking boldly out and trying with -down-turned face to penetrate the depths of the green water. The negro, -stripped, and ready for a plunge, who stands quaking on the lowest -step of a wooden landing-stage opposite, affords a delightful foil to -the Brothers who swim with such careless proficiency despite their -encumbering robes. If he would but look up, he would see that his -courage need not be put to the test--that the lost treasure is already -sailing triumphantly ashore. - -[Illustration: A VENETIAN BRIDGE.] - -To identify the exact scene of the picture, we shall do well to -pass into the Rio San Lorenzo from the Rio del Pestrin and take up -our stand a little beyond the Ponte San Lorenzo at about the point -of Bellini’s wooden bridge. Looking back we have now in front of -us the present Ponte San Lorenzo in place of Bellini’s beautiful -three-arched bridge, spanning the canal between the long fondamenta -on our left, and the campo and Church of San Lorenzo, which are -still--as in the picture--wedged between the buildings on our right. -The minute private fondamenta also, where in the picture kneel two of -the foremost of the procession, is still in existence. On our left is -the fondamenta in front of Bellini’s beautiful frescoed house, and -beyond it several houses of irregular heights, as in the picture, -while the horizon on this side is still filled by the main features -of Bellini’s background--another Palazzo Capello bounded on three -sides by water, the Rio Pestrin, the Rio San Lorenzo, and the Rio -San Giovanni Laterano. The palace retains some of its grandeur; it -is easily recognisable by its shape, though to-day it is one storey -higher. The Capello arms are still to be seen on it, but it has been -robbed of most of its glories of marble and colour. There is a certain -melancholy as well as a fascination in attempting to reconstruct the -scene of the picture. In the Gallery, when we are face to face with the -frescoed houses that we may only see foreshortened, we long to join the -spectators across the rio and complete those tantalising fragments of -centaurs and figures on horseback that combine with more conventional -ornaments to decorate the palace on the fondamenta. But now we are face -to face with reality, the frescoes are no more. With the exception of -the Palazzo Capello it is only the shape and relative position of the -houses that assures to us their identity. - -In Bellini’s time this corner by San Lorenzo was splendid indeed. The -Capello family, which, according to the chroniclers, was numbered -among the patricians in 1297, played a prominent part in all Venetian -activities, but chiefly in war. It is a member of this family--Vittore -Capello, generalissimo of Venice in the Turkish campaign of 1462 -and 1465, who is represented as kneeling before Sant’ Elena in -the beautiful relief above the façade of Sant’ Aponal. Another -Capello--Vincenzo--in the succeeding century filled five times the -office of Admiral, and in 1541 erected the façade of Santa Maria -Formosa. Notoriety of a different kind was brought to the family by -Bianca, who married for love and freedom, and was cheated of both, but -who died Grand Duchess of Tuscany. This palace of the Capello family -at San Giovanni Laterano was worthy of their fame. The superb side -wall that faces us in Bellini’s picture is like a tapestry in diamonds -of dusky crimson and gold. It is bordered by a design of gold below -the bands of colour, which are most effectively placed immediately -under the projecting roof. A beautiful design in red and green, like -rich embroidery, forms a kind of flag, enclosing the Capello symbols -on a shield painted in different shades of blue. Everything that -conventional ornament could do to beautify the house has been done. -Ornamental borders and squares are set among the bricks, and the smooth -marble facings of the ogival windows are inlaid with coloured discs and -knobs. The lower square house at the end of the fondamenta, divided -from the Capello palace by the rio, has the same beauties of ornamental -band and stripes of alternating colours beneath the roof. The single -window in the wall that faces us is magnificent, grated and enclosed -by gilt rope-work; the capitals of its pillars and its ogival arch are -richly gilded, and in the surface of the stone above are set discs of -porphyry with centre and rim of gold. Over the massive wooden entrance -door is a painted frieze of green leaves, and discs with Byzantine -birds are inserted in the wall above. A grand surface of wall is still -left for the fresco painter, and Tintoretto was yet to come. Perhaps -the most notable feature in this lower house is the carving of its -chimneys; each has an individual form. The fondamenta in the picture is -thronged with citizens, and the conspicuous row of stalwart ladies, who -kneel on its extreme edge above the water, tradition calls Catterina -Cornaro and her train. Certainly this representation of the Queen of -Cyprus and her train is different from that which Bembo has given us in -his delightful letters to Lucrezia Borgia from Asolo. Catherine, it is -true, was no longer a girl when she went to her captivity at Asolo; but -there is a lightness and freedom in Bembo’s picture of the party who -told tales of love and philosophy and idled among the gardens, which -leaves us unprepared for the solidity and uncomeliness of this uniform -row of figures. We know little of this Queen of Cyprus, but we expect -more grace of her than is possible to these matrons. They have studied -so little how to please in the wearing of their sumptuous robes, that -despite their jewels they produce an effect of almost conventual -dulness. It is difficult to imagine anything more magnificent than -the dresses of these ladies; they are literally covered with jewels. -Excessively virtuous they may be, but they are also excessively lavish; -they might well give ground for the legislation as to women’s dress -quoted by Sanudo; but they have not taught their jewels to shine. The -matron who heads the row is robed in dark velvet: her sleeves and -the front of her bodice are of gold, slashed with white and trimmed -with pearls. An edging of solid gold, studded with jewels, passes -from her shoulders to her waist; rich lace completes the decoration -of her bodice. Strings of pearls cross on her breast, and a thickly -turned gold cord is round her neck and hangs in front. She wears a -gold coronet set with gems, and beneath it a broad ornamental band. A -transparent veil falls down her back, and is draped about her forehead -and neck, covering her long ear-rings. A jewelled cross hangs on her -breast, and a chain round her waist. Rings are the only possible -splendour she and her ladies are without. The Venetian ladies and -gentlemen standing behind this Queen of Cyprus and her train are -hardly less sumptuous than they, but their robes are less rigid and -uniform, and very much more gracefully worn. The men are dressed in a -splendour of brocade and cloth of gold that gives out a rich and sober -glow. - -We may well feel the inadequacy of words as We attempt to revive this -wonderful painting. Bellini faithfully recorded Venice, but we cannot -so faithfully record Bellini. We can only hope to call attention to the -detail of what is undoubtedly one of the most valuable portraits of the -Venice of the first Renaissance by one of the greatest of her citizens. -When we have paused long enough on the site of the picture and go down -the Rio San Giovanni Laterano, immediately in front of the Capello -Palace, the high water again denies us passage; but it gives more than -it withholds in compelling us to return to our former junction with -the Rio Pestrin and to pass out among the coal barges making the wider -circuit of the lagoon. It is a wonderful moment when we come suddenly -from the narrow water into the wide expanse of the lagoon; and on this -December morning a marvellous vision awaits us. The long brown line of -Sant’ Erasmo lies like a dark cloud on the water; Burano, San Francesco -and Torcello are isolated in a strange translucency of mist; whilst -from the low tones of the water one red sail rises like a column of -flame. Above Murano the smoke coils languidly; the cypresses over -the cemetery wall stand out in startling blackness. A flock of gulls -incessantly flickers and glitters on the surface of lucent aquamarine -that stretches away to the shore where the mountains lie like purple -shadows crowned with a radiancy of snow. The sunlight of the lagoon -in this wintry clearness seems other than that which falls on the -waterways of the city; this outer robe of Venice to-day is of so -immaterial a texture that we feel the material city slipping from our -grasp. We turn back into it, but by a way that can feed the visionary -sense, by the Rio dei Mendicanti. It might seem, indeed, that all -vision would die in the dreary, plastered uniformity of the building -that stretches along the fondamenta on our left. This building was -formerly the Scuola di San Marco; but the superb façade erected by the -Confraternity on the Campo di SS. Giovanni e Paolo has little in common -with these white-washed walls and dreary sunless corridors. For this -most famous School is now the Hospital of the Mendicanti, and it is as -a visitor to the wards that we are admitted. Yet amidst these chill -cloisters and corridors is kept one of the most luminous and visionary -treasures of Venice--Tintoretto’s _Procession of St. Ursula and The -Virgins_. It is the more precious as being, with _Bacchus and Ariadne_ -and _The Paradise_, almost the only work of Tintoretto that we can -make sure of fully seeing. There is abundant light in the cold, grey -church to illumine a picture which is in itself a song of light in the -daybreak. - -This stream of wonderful maidens moves all to one rhythm, winding with -sweeping trains down out of the misty dawn to end and centre in the -glorious figure of St. Ursula waiting the bishop’s consecration of her -mission. She is so entrancingly radiant that the young cross-bearing -bishop who stands beside her seems, as he gazes, to be illumined by -her fire and joy. The ships in which the company is to embark lie like -phantoms on the misty sea-line, and the long lights of dawn are above -the water--pale rose and gold and purple--while the curtain of night -is slowly withdrawn, leaving spaces of darker blue and glowing cloud. -The early morning mists still hang about the shadowy hulks of the huge -vessels and the figures near the shore, making as it were two spheres -of action. The grassy slope down which the travellers come, seems in -its undulations to yield itself to their motion, to reflect and echo -it, and is luminous as all the figures are. The faint rainbow raiments -of those distant companies that sweep forward nearer to the shore are -like wings lit from the dawn and half-folded, while the foremost ranks -of the procession are in the full golden light of day. Note with what -daring Tintoretto has placed the strong rose-robed angel with the palms -of martyrdom across the picture directly overhead. Her figure cuts -across the phantom ships; one arm hides part of the procession; yet far -from obscuring or diverting from the central theme, she leads the eye -more directly to St. Ursula. There are no spectators of this morning -procession, unless it be the marvellous group on the left. The central -figure is that of a woman, meditative, gathered into herself; she -scarcely seems to belong to the procession; she is dreaming apart with -downbent face, and is very close in feeling to Carpaccio’s sleeping -St. Ursula. Beside her is a radiant youth, his face one of Giorgione’s -faces, in a helm shaped like a shell and set with pearls. There are -many types of Venetian ladies in the procession, such as were idealised -by one and another of the painters; all are here, in marvellous -richness of raiment and jewelled headgear. We do not question whether -they are fitly robed for a great journey; we only share in their joy. -The wine of dawn seems to have entered into them, and to sing in -every motion, every colour of the superb lyric--the intoxication of -embarking on a mystic voyage in the pale radiance of dawn. - -We pass out again through the long corridors under the great sculptured -portal. On our left is the church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, a storehouse -of Renaissance art, and before us the friend of whom we never grow -weary--Colleoni astride of his war-horse in the centre of the square. -This paid servant, this adopted son of Venice, is not on the Piazza -where it was his wish to be; but he stands even more fitly here upon -this small campo beside the canal. Anywhere he would be monarch; but -we are admitted here into his private presence-chamber, while the -great stirring Piazza would seem but the crowded outer court. If, -before leaving the campo, we make a short journey on foot along the -Salizzada which passes on the south of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, we may -find a treasure buried in dirt and neglect. None would guess its -presence; but those who care for unfrequented paths may venture under -the unattractive sotto-portico which leads to the outer staircase of -a once beautiful Renaissance palace. It is given over to the poor, -but a sculptured doorway still surmounts the stair; its chief beauty -however is a series of delicately sculptured arches in the brickwork -below, and a fine well-head half imprisoned by the chimney of a -neighbouring bakery. The wall of the bakery is so near the staircase -of the palace that we can get no complete conception of the arches, -and the dirt and ill odours of this neglected corner are likely to -daunt all but the most enthusiastic seekers after treasure. Yet -these fragments, in elegance and beauty of design, may rank with the -worthiest remains of the Venetian Renaissance. - -[Illustration: PALAZZO SANUDO.] - -Returning to Colleoni’s square, we again embark and continue our way -down the Rio dei Mendicanti, past courtyards flooded by still rising -water, and turn soon to the right, into the Rio Santa Marina--a -picturesque canal, ever varying in width and angle. At the corner -of the Palazzo Pisano we are confronted again by the problem of the -high water. If we would include in our tour the Palazzo Sanudo, -with its riches of many ages, Byzantine, early Gothic and Ogival, -its two courtyards, its beautiful garden on the fondamenta and its -dolphin-shaped knocker, we must turn to the right along the Rio delle -Erbe. But it is useless to hope that this morning any gondola will -be able to pass under its low bridges, and in consequence we must -continue our way to the church of the Miracoli, by skirting the other -side of the lozenge-shaped island on which it stands. We soon turn at -right angles into the Rio dei Miracoli, and in a few moments we see -the sun shining on the cupola of the church, gilding the marbles of -the circular east tower and lighting the traceries of serpentine and -porphyry and cipollino on the west front. It is a joyous and radiant -aspect, this of the Miracoli, with its broad spaces of Greek marbles -and its bands of Verona, its plaques of verd-antique and porphyry, its -sculptured angels and grave apostles. It stands in quiet beauty on the -brink of the canal. From its little campo opens the beautiful inner -courtyard of the Sanudo Palace, while on another side it is bordered -by the spacious and noble Corte delle Muneghe, formerly known as the -Corte Cà Amadi, from the family whose arms are still to be seen on the -brickwork. Close to the well in this court stood originally the image -of the Madonna, thanks to whose miracles we now possess this most -beautiful church built in her honour. The chronicles relate that a -certain Francesco Amadi, an inhabitant of Santa Marina, had piously set -up an image of the Virgin close by his house. The fame of this image -as a worker of wonders grew so great that it was transferred by Angelo -Amadi, in 1480, to the Corte di Cà Amadi, and set up there for popular -veneration. In his Venetian Annals for 1480, Malipiero thus briefly -relates the occurrence: “This year began the cult of the Madonna of -Miracles which was at the door of Corte Nuova, opposite the door of -the Amai in the narrow calle, and because of the crowd of people it -became necessary to move the image, and carry it to the courtyard of -Cà Amai, and immense offerings have been made of wax, statues, money -and silver, insomuch that it has reached four hundred ducats in one -month. And in process of time it amounted to three thousand ducats of -alms, and with them we bought Corte Nova from the houses of the Bembo, -Querini and Baroci, and there was built a most beautiful temple and -convent, into which we put the nuns of Santa Chiara of Murano.” The -foundation-stone was laid on February 25, 1481, when the image was -moved with great pomp from the court to the little wooden shelter on -the site chosen for the church. An interesting account of the move -is contained in the _Memorie_ of Angelo Amadi. It affords a vivid -verbal picture of religious festivals in Venice at the time they were -finding their most splendid expression on canvas. “On the day of the -twenty-fifth of February,” begins Amadi, “in the name of Messer Jesus -Christ and of the glorious Virgin Mary, we removed the image from our -house to transfer it to the hut or house of wood where the chapel or -church is to be made; at which removal were present all the Schools -or Fraternities, the Battudi, that is, the School of Madonna Santa -Maria della Misericordia, to which I belong, and the School of the -Carità, and of San Marco, and that lately founded of San Rocco, whose -brothers go about in sackcloth, beating themselves continually with -scourges and iron chains.” All the Procurators of San Marco, he says, -were present, with countless cavaliers and doctors and a great part of -the Signoria, the Patriarch in his pontificals, and a host of vicars -and canons and other clerics, all richly and splendidly clothed. The -Amadi insisted on themselves carrying the portable stand that had been -made for the image, covered with cloth of gold, cremosine and cloth -of silver, and adorned with silver candelabra and oriental censers. -“Nor would we allow any other to carry it, that we might demonstrate -publicly that it belonged to us and had been made by our ancestor.” -Four citizens accompanied the image-bearers, carrying poles on which -to support the stage as it mounted bridges or stopped in the streets. -It was followed by the dignitaries already enumerated and almost the -whole Venetian populace. The procession left the house of the Amadi -to the sound of trumpet and pipe; it made a circuit of the bridges, -streets and squares of the city as far as Santa Maria Formosa, halting -in the parish church of the Amadi for many lauds to be sung. “And -along all the calli and in the squares of the churches all the people -kneeling on the ground prayed devoutly with tears and hands joined -on their breasts, calling aloud and raising a great outcry.” In this -manner the procession returned to the shelter, and the foundation-stone -was laid by the Patriarch amid the chanting of lauds. After a final -_Te Deum_ the image was left to the devotions of the people who, till -night fell, continued to pour out their offerings for the building. -There is something stirring in this ceremony with its popular outcry -and petitions for mercy. It reminds us of that strong element of piety -which in Venice went side by side with its strong commercial instincts. - -The church of the Miracoli seems to belong peculiarly to Venice in the -light of these stories of its birth. It is itself one of the miracles, -this little Roman temple; with its quadrangular-domed choir, raised -high above the nave, its marble ambones, its dark painted roof, and -walls lined with marbles, it impresses us with a sense of sublimity. -All here is perfectly proportioned and decorated with simple and -absolute fitness. It is impossible to mount the flight of marble -steps leading from nave to choir, past the wonderful little figures -of St. Clare and St. Francis with his profound contemplative smile, -past the Annunciation Angel and the Virgin draped like a Roman matron, -into the choir where the great cross of porphyry and serpentine hangs -in the apse, without feeling that we are mounting to sacrifice in a -temple full of the Deity. But what part has that marvellous little -company of sea youths and maidens in the tale of the Passion? They are -the offspring of some delicate fantasy careless of all save itself, -yet they seem to need no other passport than beauty to their place in -the temple. Work of the same imaginative quality is to be seen on a -pillar in the nave: not here a dream of mermaids with delicate breasts -and arms and glittering tails, but a purely naturalistic subject. -The artist has conspired with the stone to sing his delight in the -life of the fields, and he has achieved his purpose so that the very -spirit of the wild creatures lives again. A lizard with smooth scales -and lithe, restless tail, ears of corn, a serpent holding a bird by -its look as it rears itself for a spring, birds fighting and birds -preening their breasts,--all these delicate beings, that move amid a -design of admirable grace, are a field pilgrim’s scrip laid open for -all who will read. These old artists were not afraid. To them all -things of nature appeared symbols worthy to lay on the altar. And it is -because of this permeating imaginative vision that the Church of the -Miracoli is one of the jewels of Venice, instinct with life, from the -grave mystery of its marble-lined walls, slab alternating with slab, -Carrara cream and white, paonazetto, marmo greco, marbles of Verona red -and almond, to lizard and serpent, siren and infant, from the dusky -gold and colour of the ceiling to the eloquent figures that stand in -constant ministration on the ambones. - -Santa Maria dei Miracoli might well mark the limit of our tour; but -if we go a short distance further into the Rio San Canciano we shall -come on three examples of the earlier domestic architecture of Venice, -which we shall do well not to miss. The first is a house by the Ponte -Widmann, dating from the ninth century. It is exceedingly picturesque, -with its long, low portico, and a profusion of Byzantine ornaments of -most varied device on the walls--weird lions and birds and oriental -beasts. The capitals of the window columns also are Byzantine, though -the balconies are Renaissance. We can also distinguish, though it is -immured, the ancient solario, or sun-terrace, which, in this house of -old Venice, was evidently of considerable beauty and extent. Passing -under another bridge after the Ponte Widmann, we come to the Ponte -Pasqualigo, and landing at the calle on the left, we have on the right -of us, only a few steps down, one of the oldest houses in Venice. So -well cared for is it by its present owners that we seem not to be -examining a relic, but to move in a living page of the past. On the -morning we saw it, the sun was streaming into the court and falling -on the Signora, who, in scarlet shawl, and with a brilliant kerchief -round her head, was dozing in the sun. She rose and gave us a cordial -welcome, and we climbed the outer stair, under an immense projecting -roof, into the garden hanging above the court, full of sunshine and -flowers; higher still, on the altana, was a bright line of clothing -hung out to dry. The structure of the ancient roof overhanging -the stair is very remarkable, with its secondary beams that jut -horizontally under a long cross-beam running the whole length of the -gallery. The rooms, which open out of one another from the terrace, are -rich also in beams, though now for the most part covered with a foolish -uniformity of ceiling. The floor of the reception room is, as usual, -paved with small variegated stones, but it is remarkable for occasional -little islands of mosaic, one of which, a tiny square of deep blue -and gold set diamond-wise, is a veritable gem of colour. Worthy to rank -with this hospitable, ample house of ancient Venice, is a courtyard -opening on the water, into which we pass immediately from the Ponte -Pasqualigo. The wooden barbicans of the projecting roof adjoining the -portico rest on pillars of fine earliest Gothic, grave and strong and -simple in their build. The sense that they are individuals bearing -the burden of the beams is increased by the fact that it is not -geometrically adjusted to their shoulders. It rests there because they -are willing; there is an understanding, a _combinazione_ between beam -and pillar, but the two were not mechanically made to fit. - -[Illustration: A SIDE CANAL.] - -Returning to the Rio dei Miracoli we leave the church on our left, and -crossing the Rio Santa Marina and the Rio San Giovanni Grisostomo, -we pass directly into the Rio del Teatro, leaving the water-entrance -to Marco-Polo’s palace on our right. This corner is one of the most -beautiful in the canals of Venice. It is rich in palaces and fragments -of ancient ornament, and full of strange interplay of lights from the -many tortuous ways that converge here. There is a constant fascination -in the broad sweep of water at the crossways, in the problems of -traffic, in the warning cries that herald boat or barge passing -under the many bridges. There is perhaps no spot in Venice so full of -ancient mystery, of the gloom, the light, the sound and stillness of -her waterways. A little further on we pass into the Rio della Fava, -full also of delightful and unexpected corners; and looking back -from the Ponte di San’ Antonio we see the site of Mansueti’s picture -commemorating another miracle of the Holy Cross; or rather we see one -corner of the picture; for Mansueti has cut away the whole length of -a calle and all the houses between this bridge of San’ Antonio and -the Campo di San Lio, so that in his painting, for obvious artistic -reasons, the waters of the canal flow directly in front of the campo, -which he has narrowed to little more than a fondamenta. In a sketch -for this picture now in the Uffizi at Florence, Mansueti has more -faithfully transcribed the actual surroundings of the Campo di San -Lio. His picture illustrates a miracle of the Cross that would seem to -offer small scope for artistic treatment. A member of the Confraternity -of San Giovanni Evangelista, on being invited by another Brother to -attend the Cross in procession, impiously replied, “I will neither -accompany it, nor do I care whether it accompanies me.” Within a short -while, continues Flamino Corner, the perverse man died and the School -assembled for his burial; but when the procession reached the Ponte -di San Lio, the parish of the dead man, the Holy Cross became so heavy -that no force could avail to move it. While all stood appalled and -dismayed by such an occurrence, the friend of the dead man recalled the -impious words he had spoken, and made known the reason of the refusal -of the Cross. It was removed from the procession, and, the chronicler -informs us, withheld henceforth from any but public solemnities. In -Mansueti’s composition a number of Brothers are gathered on the bridge -attempting to drag the Cross, and the clergy of San Lio and a group -of citizens are waiting on the campo to receive it. There is much -quaintness in the rendering of this rather humorous incident, and -the picture is full of rich and homely detail, in the houses and in -the doings of their inhabitants, the chase of a cat, the hanging of -a clothes line, the stacking of the pliant rods on which the clothes -are hung. The windows, with closed or open gratings, are thronged -with onlookers, chiefly splendid ladies. In Bellini, the windows are -unpeopled, but here there is scarcely one uncarpeted, and without -its contingent of festive heads and shoulders; whilst in one of the -windows, in the house we can still identify, a fascinating infant -prances against the grating and pokes a fist through the bars. The -bridge in the picture is obviously too low for any gondola to pass -under it; it is merely a temporary private way thrown across the rio, -which it is easy to believe that Mansueti has substituted in order -that we may see above it the procession winding out of the Rio del -Piombo. As we look back from the Ponte San’ Antonio we may get, in -spite of Mansueti’s changes, a distinct impression of his scene; the -sun, shining through the small circular ogival window in the house -that still bounds our horizon, lights up a gay interior of green walls -draped in crimson and gold with singular richness of effect. - -[Illustration: THE GONDOLIERS’ SHRINE.] - -The name of the Rio della Fava, the Canal of the Bean, boasts a -traditional derivation that throws a curious light on Venetian pieties. -It appears that in 1480, the same year in which was initiated the cult -of the Madonna dei Miracoli at the Cà Amadi, another wonder-working -image, under the patronage of the same family, was thought worthy -of a chapel in San Lio. This chapel was named Santa Maria della -Consolazione, or della Fava, from its proximity to the Ponte della -Fava. “The ecclesiastical writers,” says Tassini, “recount that the -bridge was so named because a man living by it, who had hidden some -contraband salt under some sacks of beans, a vegetable he dealt -in, when warned that the police were approaching threw himself at -the feet of the said miraculous image for succour and obtained this -favour--that the Justices, despite their search, found nothing in the -house but simple beans.” This naïve faith in the willingness of the -Madonna to meet all contingencies survives among the humbler citizens -of Venice to-day. A proof is provided by the personal experience of -a friend who had bespoken overnight a gondola for the station in the -dark early hours of the next morning. The gondolier duly arrived and -set out with his fare from San Marco. But they had gone no further than -the church of the Salute when his lamp gave out and he halted and asked -leave to replenish it. No place for procuring oil was apparent, but the -gondolier knew one. He went to the shrine of the Madonna and addressed -the figure thus, “Blessed Madonna, thou thinkest harm of no man and -thou wouldst not that harm should come to any. I turn to thee for help -in my need. The police are not like thee. They will have no pity in -their fine if they see me at the station with my lamp unlit. I beg thy -lamp for this little while.” And, as there was-no sign of refusal, the -Madonna’s lamp was taken to the station and returned on the homeward -journey. - -Continuing our way down the Rio della Fava we pass almost immediately, -on the left, the Palazzo Gussoni, a palace the great beauty of which -cannot be overlooked. It is a building of the first Renaissance -combining extreme richness of detail with simplicity of general effect. -The basement is beautifully and variously sculptured and surmounted -by a band of Verona marble; above it rises a design of leaves and -ears of corn growing and spreading like a plant, and full of graceful -and delicate fancy. The unique feature of the palace is the richly -sculptured stone barbacan that supports the projecting portion of the -upper storey overhanging the Calle della Fava. There is in Venice an -abundance of fine wooden barbacans, but this is the only example we -remember of the sumptuous casing in stone. - -A little further and we pass below a palace of the Transition, from -whose graceful balcony keep watch a row of sculptured lions in -half-relief. As we come into the Rio della Guerra, the midday light -plays reflectively on the water, striking out of it a thousand fitful -diamonds, and the now ebbing tide washes with a soft caressing sound -against the houses. At the juncture of the Rio della Guerra with the -Rio del Palazzo is the Casa dell’ Angelo so named from the beautiful -sculptured angel on the wall that faces us. It stands erect, with -wings spread, holding in the left hand a globe signed with the Cross, -which it seems in the act of blessing. The lower part of its body is -covered with two shields bearing, according to Tassini, the arms of the -Narni family. It is sheltered by a pent-roof, supported on graceful -pillars, most delicately and nobly worked. In the lunette above the -angel, in the immediate shadow of the roof, is discernible a painting -of the Madonna and Child between two kneeling angels, which still -retain traces of soft and beautiful colouring. But the most precious -possessions of this palace front are the remnants of fresco under -the broad projecting roof at the further end of the building. The -beautiful figure of a woman, with head resting on her hand and braided -golden hair, is still intact. There is another fine figure between the -windows, and there are many fading fragments in the plaster below. -Tradition unanimously attributes these frescoes to Tintoretto, and it -is difficult to believe that the lovely woman could have come from any -other hand. - -The Ponte Canonica, which adjoins our first Capello Palace, now allows -us an easy passage, and we can take our way on the ebbing tide down -the Rio del Palazzo. Below the sombre weight of the Bridge of Sighs, -between the palace and the prison, we pass again into the aureole of -Venice. Within the brilliant bay formed by the Riva degli Schiavoni the -gulls are making festa, and away towards the city they whirl and drift -like shining snowflakes in the radiance of the Grand Canal. As we pass -the Piazzetta to land at the Molo, the golden sword of Justice gleams -superbly luminous in the blue above San Marco. Venice has put on her -glory. - - - - -Chapter Nine - -VENETIAN WATERWAYS - -(PART II) - - -The centre of our second tour is an ancient and comparatively -unfrequented region in the north of Venice--that part of Cannaregio -over which watches the Campanile of the Madonna dell’ Orto, with its -crowning image of snowy stone and four solemn apostles looking out -over city and lagoon. The beautiful figure of the Madonna, round whose -feet, between the tiles of her ruddy cupola, spring little plants -the birds have sown, rises day after day triumphant out of the duel -between sun and mist, a pledge of the victory of light; and through all -vicissitudes of weather she is seen, sometimes in dazzling outline upon -the deep blue, or against a canopy of grey, sometimes herself tempered -to shadowy greyness by the brilliance of the cumuli that out-rival even -her snowy purity. - -We will enter from the Grand Canal by the Rio San Marcuola, nearly -opposite the Correr Museum, and pass below the Ponte dell’ Anconetta -on the Strada Nuova, or more properly the Corso Vittorio Emanuele, -which in its broad and ungracious uniformity is one of the most -forbidding streets in Venice. It seems at first to have no reserves -into which by a little tact or sympathy we may ingratiate ourselves; -yet many activities generally to be encountered in other raiment -and under other auspices, lurk behind its mask. On this very Rio -San Marcuola is a workshop where antiquities are fabricated for the -show-rooms of the Grand Canal. We see them here in their early stages, -a rude stone well-head awaiting an ancient sculpture, a Renaissance -chimney-piece, a Byzantine lion in Verona marble; and the forger is no -villain but an honest, genial workman skilled to do better, but content -to supply what he is asked for. A little beyond the bridge we come -on one of the oldest squeri or boat-building yards of Venice. Black -sprites of boys pass to and fro, plunging their torches into cauldrons -of burning pitch, to draw them in the wake of flaming branches along -the upturned sides of the gondolas; and men, with something of the fire -and of the blackness in their eyes and faces, swink like the skilled -demons in Spenser’s cave of Mammon. It is outside, on the squero, -that this coarser work with pitch and cauldron goes on; in the inner -workshop are the frames of gondolas in making, exquisite skeletons with -subtle apportioning of oak, elm, nut and larch, and long unbroken sides -of beech. Opposite the squero, on our right, is the ugly new brick wall -of Paolo Sarpi’s convent. Above it may be seen a weed-grown fragment of -the ancient building with its relief above the door. Boni has suggested -that a more appropriate memorial to Sarpi’s memory than the erection -of a bronze statue might have been the preservation or renewal in its -original beauty of the old convent with which he was so closely and -intimately connected. - -[Illustration: ENTRANCE OF GRAND CANAL.] - -We strike almost immediately into the Rio della Misericordia, and as -we look down the long vista to right and left of us, under the low -bridges, we begin to realise the peculiar character of this district. -It is entirely different from that of our first tour; long parallel -canals run from east to west, cutting the land into narrow strips and -giving the strips a curious effect of isolation. These canals are -bounded on the west by the lagoon, and the effect of sunset light -flooding the long waterways is strikingly beautiful. If we were to -follow the Rio della Misericordia to the left, we should come to the -curious wedge-shaped island of the Ghetto Nuovo and the tall deserted -houses of the Ghetto Vecchio. But we will tend only slightly to the -left, and passing under a low bridge continue our former course into -the Rio della Sensa. This name has in it echoes of historic festivals; -it originated in the fact that the stalls for the great Ascension -fête on the Piazza were stored in the warehouses that stood on its -banks. As late as the last celebration of this famous offshoot of the -Sposalizio festival, in the year 1776, fifty-seven thousand ducats were -spent on erecting the enclosure in which the stalls were set up. The -Rio della Sensa has many links with the past. Above a door in a humble -wall on the fondamenta hangs a shield on which is sculptured an arm -cased in steel. This shield belonged to the Brazzo (Braccio) family, -of Tuscan origin, who had settled in Venice and acquired much land in -this district. The name is worthy of preservation; for one at least -of the family has left an enduring mark in the annals of the city. -“In 1437,” we read in Tassini’s _Curiosità Veneziane_, “a Geoffrey da -Brazzo, with some companions, founded, in the Campo di SS. Giovanni e -Paolo, the Scuola di San Marco of which he was the Grand Guardian.” -Within the unpaved court the house of the worthy Geoffrey is still -standing, and it preserves its early Gothic and Byzantine features -but little obscured by later additions. It is not altogether gloomy -though evidently inhabited by very poor people; little gardens still -blossom from the leads and window boxes, and tables and chairs are set -out under the vine in the yard below. In the seventeenth century the -family became extinct, its history being closed by a rather sordid -domestic tragedy; and it is pleasanter to revert to the earlier days -of this simple, dignified citizen’s dwelling when Geoffrey and his -associates discussed in it the hopes and fears of their School. Another -page of Venetian history lies open for us at the Campo dei Mori further -along the same rio to the right. Our attention is attracted at once -by a curious figure in oriental turban, with a pack upon its head, -at the corner of the square which strikes the fondamenta. Two more -figures in the same style of dress are stationed at other corners of -the square. The crowd of urchins who throng round us the instant we -alight will tell us that these are Sior Rioba and his brothers. The -key to these figures is to be found in a palace, the inner court of -which opens on our right hand as we turn inwards from the canal. It -belonged to three Greek brothers, by name Rioba, Sandi and Afani, of -the family Mastelli, who leaving the Morea in the twelfth century, on -account of disturbances there, came with great wealth to Venice and -built themselves this house by the campo which has preserved their -origin in its name. This family also has a noble record in Venetian -annals. It took part in the Crusade of 1202, and received citizenship -for its reward. Later it rested from its labours and set up a spice -shop in Cannaregio at the sign of the Camel. From these avocations -it passed to a more reposeful existence on the banks of the Brenta, -and, like the da Brazzo family, it became extinct in the seventeenth -century. The courtyard of the palace, known now as the Palazzo Camello, -possesses many fascinating reminders of its past, though some of its -old beauties have been taken from it even in recent years. The open -arches of the sotto-portico have been filled in, and a corkscrew stair -is now only recognisable by the pillars we see immured in a circular -tower. The pillars that once supported the arches of the entrance -portico, now half buried in the ground from the constant raising of -its level, are fine and uncommon examples of the transition from -Gothic to Renaissance. Above the portico are two striking projections -of carved stone, once serving perhaps to support a lantern or coat -of arms, and in the angle of this wall and the main building are the -relics of a Gothic pedestal on which, without doubt, some image has -stood. The low-beamed court to the water is still intact with its -finely-carved architraves and early Gothic pillars; but beyond the -point of its present habitation it has been allowed to fall into decay -from the invading damp. If we venture along this outer court to the -water’s edge, we shall find ourselves in the Rio della Madonna dell’ -Orto almost opposite the campo and church. By the help of a barge -which we may reasonably hope to find moored alongside the water-door -of the court, we obtained a view of the most characteristic aspect of -the Palazzo Camello. The passer-by on the fondamenta cannot fail to -be impressed by its beautiful decorative balcony and windows and the -Byzantine frieze in a lower storey, but above all by a camel and driver -sculptured in admirable relief on the wall. - -Returning to the Campo dei Mori, we make our way again to the -Fondamenta della Misericordia, where we disembarked. Almost immediately -on our left, backing the Palazzo Camello, and perhaps originally -forming a part of it, is the house of Tintoretto. It is still unspoiled -of its ancient decorations of small sculptured figures and formal -designs; and, above all, it is interesting architecturally for its -elaborate carved wooden cornice on the two upper storeys to which -time has given the appearance of stone. Howells, in his description of -Tintoretto’s house, conveys an impression of sordid desolation in the -building and its inmates. It may lately have fallen on better days; for -there is now nothing forbidding about it, and indeed it is a welcome -refuge from the swarms of dirty and discordant children whom the -presence of a stranger on this campo seems to have a peculiar power of -attracting. Its upper windows look out across the rio on a garden with -a majestic cypress tree, and down the long canal to the wide waters of -the lagoon. And some of the inmates of the house still have a share -in the ancient, though humbler, arts of Venice. There are beadmakers -working, as usual in almost total darkness, in an airless room in -the basement. After we have seen these rows of patient, crouching -workers, bending hour after hour over their gas jets, the beads of -the lamp-lit Merceria will call up irresistibly the low benches, the -glittering wires, the glazed and darkened windows. For there seems a -strange irony in the birth of these shining toys out of the gloom. Many -unacknowledged artists have worked upon these beads; much, no doubt, of -their workmanship is mechanical; but if we look into them we shall find -many little originalities in the gradation of line and colour, many -touches of taste and feeling in their graceful and various designs. The -house is much as it might have been in Tintoretto’s day, but the walls -seem empty and unresponsive and to have less part in him than those -palace fronts in which some faded fresco bears witness to the magic of -his hand. But there is a building near by that may rightly be called -the house of Tintoretto, where we may more faithfully commune with his -mind--the Church of the Madonna dell’ Orto, in which, Ridolfi tells us, -Tintoretto worked for his keep alone “because his fertile brain was -constantly boiling with new thoughts,” and thereby roused the wrath -of his fellow artists. It was here that Meissonier, coming in his old -age to Venice, set himself down at the feet of the master and copied -Tintoretto’s _Last Judgment_ in the choir. But it is not primarily for -the artist’s great works in the choir that we return again and again -to the Madonna dell’ Orto. It is for a painting no less the work of a -giant, but of a giant gifted with tenderness equal to his strength. -The _Presentation of the Virgin_ has been moved from its original -place on the organ to a side chapel in which both light and space are -inadequate, so that, coming on it first out of the daylight, we receive -only a vague impression of its greatness. It is only gradually that -it breaks on us in its combination of vigorous motion and life with -sublime repose, and that we come to distinguish the elements that make -up its power and to appreciate the singleness and intensity of vision -which, amid all its wealth of resource, never wavers in loyalty to the -central idea. In Titian’s _Presentation_, the mountain background, the -crowd of Venetian citizens, the old egg woman, the Virgin, the High -Priest, appear as separate interests; in Tintoretto’s _Presentation_ -all the elements are unified; there is but one moment, one point, to -which everything tends. The lovely women in the foreground, the mighty -figures reclining on the stair, the mysterious trio behind in the -shadow of the balustrade, all subserve the quiet, yet passionate drama -enacted above in the meeting of the High Priest and Virgin. At last, as -at first, these two figures fill our mind; their mutual contemplation -is compelling. The Virgin is set against the sky, near the top of -the stair she is ascending with blithe and childlike confidence, her -right hand over her heart. She has no eyes except for the High Priest. -She moves up to him without hesitation or drawing back. And he is -bent on her entirely. From the height of his great stature, with the -supreme majesty of his office about him, the High Priest, between his -robe-bearers, extends his hands above the ascending childish figure--a -world of thought, of awe, of worship, in that mysterious and lofty -benediction. - -We will go back again along the Rio della Sensa to the point where -we entered it, turning now to the right under the Ponte Rosso into -the Rio dei Trasti which soon Widens into a broad way of unbridged -water leading out to the lagoon and dividing the island of the Madonna -dell’ Orto from that of Sant’ Alvise. The rio into which we have -now come is the third long parallel waterway we have struck in our -journey through this district. It stretches on either side of us, -spanned by wooden bridges, between the west lagoon and the Sacca della -Misericordia. We will follow it for a short distance to the left to -the little campo of Sant’ Alvise from which it takes its name. Here, -in the church hangs that series of strange little canvases that Ruskin -did not hesitate to attribute to Carpaccio. They are hung on a wall -near the entrance door without order or precaution, signed in great -sprawling childish characters Vetor Carpacio. Perhaps our pleasure at -penetrating the by-ways of the city to this remote little island makes -us at first uncritically appreciative of the quaint square canvases. -Ruskin thought them the works of Carpaccio at eight or nine years -of age, but he was confessedly writing from memory, and face to face -with the reality might have reconsidered his verdict. The paintings -seem too sophisticated for a young Carpaccio, too feeble for an older -one. The architectural details belong in many respects to a period -of the Renaissance later than that which Carpaccio knew, and though, -behind their technical incompetence and absurd anachronisms, we seem -to catch glimpses of the masterful imaginativeness of Carpaccio, we -shall probably feel Molmenti’s verdict against their authenticity to -be more substantial than Ruskin’s reminiscence which was framed in the -enthusiasm of his discovery of one of the greatest of Venetian artists. -One of the paintings, _The Meeting of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba_, -has an interest apart from its quaint fancy. We may conjecture that -the artist was drawing on a memory of some work from the east; for the -wooden bridge and the figures wavering at each end of it, the winding -river, the little round Renaissance building to symbolise Jerusalem, -and, above all, the swans in the stream below, and the tall blue peaks -in the background, remind us of nothing so much as the willow pattern -plate familiar to our childhood. We will leave on one side the scenes -from Christ’s Passion by Tiepolo, which by some incongruous chance -also are preserved in this humble aisleless church, merely remarking -that it is necessary to arrive here early; for the sacristan, whose -duties extend to both the churches on the two neighbouring islands, -hurries off at half-past nine for the office at the Madonna dell’ Orto, -and Sant’ Alvise is shut. - -We will return along the rio, past the Madonna dell’ Orto and the -Palazzo Camello to the Sacca della Misericordia. We shall have occasion -elsewhere to speak at length of this unfrequented square of water. It -looks out to Murano and the mountains, and is bounded on the south -and west by the Abazia della Misericordia and the garden of the Casa -degli Spiriti. The Abazia della Misericordia is one of the most -beautiful ruins in all Venice. It has its roots far back in the past; -for the abbey church was built in 939 and handed over to hermits and, -later, to Augustinian Brothers, who added to it a convent. A school -was erected beside the church in 1308, and this was later enlarged -and extended by a hospital and chapel. In the sixteenth century the -old hospice was given over to the silk-weavers, and another, more -spacious and magnificent, was substituted. On the Fondamenta dell’ -Abazia, close beside the Scuola di Santa Maria della Misericordia, -is a wonderful relief, over the entrance to the hospice for poorer -members of the confraternity, bearing the date 1505. It represents the -Virgin with robes outspread to enclose and shelter a little company -of hooded Brothers who kneel around her; the relief is beautiful in -workmanship, and there are traces of lovely colour in the folds of the -Virgin’s garments. An exquisite square campanile rises in the part of -the abbey buildings that is still inhabited by Franciscan Brothers, -but the northern front which overlooks the Sacca is a long, roofless, -two-storeyed wall of brick with closed shutters--the façade of a -weed-grown ruin. This isolated northern wall is exquisite in colouring: -its pink plaster has been partly worn away to the red bricks, partly -tempered to soft coral where it still lies on the hoary stone. Sparse -weeds cover the top, outlined against the sky, and plants which no hand -of man has sown spring from the crevices in the brick. In the early -morning the Abazia is in shade, and its image in the smooth, shining -water is gifted with a new beauty and strength. Looking back upon the -east wall, part of which is in ruins, we see the broad Rio di Noale -branching in two smaller channels right and left of the garden wall of -the police station. This wall has a central window looking out to -the lagoon, and often towards evening two figures may be seen through -it, framed against the green and taking their pleasure in the garden as -in some old picture. - -[Illustration: VIEW ON GRAND CANAL.] - -The Sacca della Misericordia has a majestic corner-stone in the Casa -degli Spiriti, the long garden of which is joined to the island of -the Abazia by the Ponte della Sacca, a beautiful bridge of pale rose -stone bound and lined with white marble. To those who live overlooking -the Sacca, the House of the Spirits becomes an inseparable part of -the landscape of the lagoon. Modern incredulity has preferred to talk -of smugglers instead of spirits, or to find in the weird echoes which -inhabit the Sacca and the neighbouring waterways an explanation of -its name. Others maintain that it owes it to the companies of wit -and intellect that gathered there in the days of Titian and Aretino; -no proofs, however, have been offered in support of this alluring -suggestion. But if modernity has driven out the spirits, the house -itself has become a ghost. In the midst of the thunderstorms which from -time to time break over the lagoon the Casa degli Spiriti stands out -a ghostly landmark, framed suddenly by a sickle of gold or flashing -silver, or illuminated by a level flood of purple, a place of revel -for the spirits of the storm. In the calm moonlight it appears more -pallid than the moon herself; in the black starless night still the -huge corner-stone looms out on the edge of the lagoon. And there is no -watch-tower to equal the Casa degli Spiriti for the spectacle of dawn -upon the mountains. Those who wake within Venice under a glimmering -grey sky, with rifts of remote, transparent blue, hear talk of coming -rain. But the House of Spirits which kept watch all night upon the -north lagoon, has had its day already in one short hour of dawn. It -has seen the Alps rise blue and clear behind the low green line of the -mainland; it has seen the ruby fire drawn from them by the dawn; it has -seen the crystal path of the lagoon fade to the dove’s neck with its -waves of peacock green; it has seen the fishing-boats come pressing -with their many-coloured sails against the sunrise, each, as it turned -before the wind, sealed with a golden blessing from the god of day. - -But the House of the Spirits which dominates these, the immaterial -glories of the lagoon, rules over a domain of vivid colour and -activity. For from the early hours of the morning there is continual -traffic down the Sacca of fruit barges bound for Rialto from Sant’ -Erasmo, the garden of Venice, and of milk barges from the mainland. It -is not always an easy life, that of the feeders of the city--in which, -as Sansovino says, nothing grows, but everything is found. There are -many days when cold and rain and adverse winds mean real suffering to -the sellers of fruit and milk. Again and again one is reminded of T. E. -Brown’s wonderful description of the fishing-boat, with its dirt, its -noise, its foul-mouthed crew transformed beneath “the broad benediction -of the west” as one sees a milk barge toiling up the channel against -wind and tide, with its crowd of men and women. The men begin to hoist -the sail with loud excited cries; the women crouch low for shelter, -smoking or munching their crusts. They seem lumpish leaden combatants -in the lists against the elements, with small hope of conquest. Then, -suddenly, as it rounds the corner of the Casa degli Spiriti, the -ponderous boat with its dejected crew spreads its sails like a bird, a -thing of swift delight lifted into the strong hand of the wind. - -If we halt but for an hour in the shadow of the Abazia, we may have a -glimpse of many aspects of the city’s floating life; joy and mourning -follow in unplanned succession, strong passion and the merchandise of -every day jostle each other. Now there passes down the Sacca a gondola -bearing a coffin to San Michele, now a slow-creeping barge under a -mountain of planks, now a little company of lowing calves who can -have but one destination in this city without pasture, now a barge of -necklaces from Murano that lie coiled together like shining fish of -many colours. - -There is a moment of late August when all seasons seem to meet and -lavish their brightest colours on Rialto, and on the many fruit-stalls -of Venice and on the barges that creep leisurely up and down the -canals. If we turn again to the heart of the city in the wake of one of -those fruit barges, we may imagine ourselves sharing in ancient pomps -and festivals. For their tapestry is gorgeous; pyramids of peaches -bound about with green leaves, of tomatoes and brilliant pepper pods, -huge watermelons cut open to show the crisp, rosy pulp; piles of figs, -brown and green; pears, apples, grapes; and choicest of all, the -delicious red _fragola_ or strawberry-grape. All these and many more -make up the brilliant burden of the barges from Sant’ Erasmo. We may -follow them as they wind through the lesser waterways, now in sun, now -in shadow, till the pageant is welcomed in the full flowing day of the -Grand Canal and the barges empty themselves at Rialto. - - - - -Chapter Ten - -ARTISTS OF THE VENETIAN RENAISSANCE - - -It can be no matter for wonder that colour was the elected medium of -expression for Venice: endowed, by reason of her water, with a twofold -gift of light, she was also perhaps more splendid than any other city -in the details of her daily life. Colour was its substance. Everything -was pictorial and rich and festive. Even on a dark day the rooms of the -Accademia seem full of sunshine from the treasure they hold of ancient -Venice. If Bellini’s _Procession of the Cross_ on the Piazza of San -Marco were missing from its place, we should feel that a light had -been put out. The Venetians had always been decorators. The pictures -of the first masters--Vivarini, d’Alemagna, Jacobello del Fiore and -many others--seem literally spun out of the furnaces of Murano. They -are no primitives in their mastery of colour. Consider for a moment -the _Madonna and Saints_ of Vivarini and d’Alemagna in the Sala della -Presentazione. The natural life of the fields has been made to serve -a design of amazing richness. The Virgin’s golden throne is carved -With acorns and roses, and luxuriant oak foliage forms its decorative -fringe; the fruits of the garden in which she sits are lavished round -her; the grass is gemmed with countless tiny flowers, trefoil and -strawberry, milkwort and potentilla, and the infant Christ has burst -open a golden pomegranate, displaying its burden of rich crimson -seeds. There is scarcely a harmony of colour unattempted, scarcely a -jewel unset, from the rainbow of the angels’ wings, and the rim of -fluctuating colours on the Virgin’s green robe folded back over peacock -blue, to the mosaics in the burning gold of the angels’ haloes, in the -Virgin’s crown, and in the mitres of the Fathers. There too is the -very vermilion of Veronese, that wonderful salvia scarlet to which the -_Feast in Levi’s House_ owes so much of its decorative significance. -We shall be better equipped for understanding the early colour-masters -if we realise that their dowry came to them not only from the lagoon. -The marvellous rainbow of Venice the “Ambiguous One” was not their only -light nor the deep azure and emerald and gold, which she hung about -her, the only jewels they knew. The garment of Venetian art is inwoven -with threads of mountain glory, of rich harvests of grape and golden -grain: we must go up into the mainland of Venice to understand the art -of the first masters no less than that of Giorgione, Titian, Tintoretto -and Veronese, whose conceptions were penetrated with the very sunshine -of earth, a warmer-bodied, fuller sunshine than Venice of the waters -could know, full of secret throbbings of the hidden springing life for -light and ripening. Autumn is the loom on which was woven the robe -of Venetian art, autumn with its indomitable splendours of gold and -silver, green and cremoisin and the supreme scarlet of the salvia. -These colours are steeped in an impermeable dye: they seem saturated -with the light, burning out the more gloriously, the more intensely, as -their allotted span grows less. The passion of the spring is of another -kind; it needs the present magic of the sun to draw out its exquisite, -incipient radiance; it cannot lavish glory except when his countenance -is bent upon it. But in the radiance of autumn foliage there is a -daring that darkness is impotent to quell: it is like a shout of -triumph in the face of death, a procession of all the glory of earth -into the kingdom of the dead, not reluctant, not made fearful by the -rumours that have floated to it in the grey-mantled dawn, in the fierce -trumpeting of rain and wind; boldly, gloriously it marches, scattering -joyfully the gems it cannot hold, that nothing shall be saved. We sing -no dirge, but a triumph song, as the golden trophies fall--a gold more -refulgent than Bellini’s façade of San Marco, though this was gold of -the purest even Venice, the golden city, could win from her furnaces. -We may still see these mainland autumns where the colour-masters -gathered their treasures; on the borders of the mountains we may sit -in such a garden of the Madonna as Vivarini and his fellows record. In -the late autumn the sun is slow to win his way; but when he comes there -is no splendour to rival the fire of the salvia-beds, round cups of -concentrated light springing up into spires and tongues of flame among -the arrow-shaped green leaves. No words can describe the brilliance of -this leaping flame, devouring the sunshine like fuel, and scattering it -abroad in myriad gems of penetrating brightness. In the long luminous -grass of the lawn will be scattered here and there a rose-bush of the -Madonna’s crimson, and tall gold-edged lilies may be seen through the -close-hung flaps of the medusa leaves. This splendid tapestry is spread -upon a poplar background of flickering gold and green, the steadier -gold of low mulberries, and grey-bodied autumn apple-trees on which the -leaves glow blood-red, while behind all rise the grassy slopes of the -mountain outposts crossed by the shadow of some jutting rock. - -Often among the humbler Venetian painters, less versed in the deeper -significance of human life and religious symbol, we find a singular -mastery of perspective and many signs of familiarity with the interplay -of light and shade among the mountains. We are reminded again and again -of their apprenticeship to nature as we see one of the countless ruined -towers on the outposts of the Alps rising against the golden sunset -light within its threadbare rampart of dusky branches. The face of -the mountains was a vital and intimate fact to them, not an accepted -piety. We are, for instance, often tempted to consider the persons of -Cima’s sacred themes less as the essential interest than as a finely -designed harmony of colour in the foreground of a landscape. In his -native city of Conegliano he stored his mind with mountain wonders, -and in his wide and delicate horizons there are many touches inspired -by a living memory of the scene. We have known the joy of that limpid -atmosphere after days of mist and rain, those floating sunlit clouds -upon the transparent blue, that jewel-like gleam of a deep pool, -the delicacy of autumn trees passing into gold, the foretaste of an -untrodden stronghold in the winding paths that lose themselves and -come again to view as they coil up the castled heights. The landscape -is conventionalised of course, but its spirit is there--its rare -shades of colour, its marvellous varieties of depth; and ever behind, -there is the vision of the mountains cutting into the sky in a sharp, -clear, azure coldness, or with a luminous haze round their base in -the mellowness of an autumn day. As backgrounds we see them only, for -Venice had other needs than of mountains; but many of these painters -knew them as near realities; they had stept home in the glory of -an autumn sunset amid the revel of the vintage, their whole being -intoxicated with the wine and the splendour of life; they had drunk -that fresh-trodden, unfermented juice, the _vino mosto_, sufficient to -stir those whose senses are alert and in whom the passion of the world -runs high. It needed indeed a Titian to transform the vintage of Cadore -into the bacchic rout of his _Ariadne_, but it is there, in the wooded -mountain slopes, in the pageantry of evening, when the fancy soars to -Ariadne’s crown faintly dawning in the warm blue, and sweeps round some -mist-clad inland lake to float among the turreted heights. - -[Illustration: PALAZZO REZZONICO.] - -Or if we take our stand on the keep of the ruined Roman citadel -of Asolo, when the evening light streaming down into the shadowy -undulations of the valley, which tosses in ceaseless waves round the -mountain’s base, illuminates a land of rich and golden peace, we feel -again the painters of Venice at our side; the vague, rich spirit of -the winding valleys, allied with the solemn grandeur of the mountains, -above whose dark barrier we have glimpses of remote and shining peaks, -the tiny citadels half gathered into the folding mist, the alternate -radiance and keen obscurity of the lower peaks now visited and now -forsaken by the inconstant sunset light, the sudden illumination -of a solitary peasant or a single tree in sharp relief against the -twilight--all these have passed into the canvas of Giorgione: in him, -above all, we seem to drink that wondrous potion compact of evening -vapour and golden light which the sunset pours into the dim goblet -of the mountain valleys. And we may record here, how, in the last -period of the Venetian Renaissance, the great decorator Veronese -found a field of activity under the shadow of Asolo. When Marcantonio -Barbaro, Procurator of San Marco, and his brother the Patriarch of -Aquileja, bade Palladio build their villa at the little village of -Maser, they called on their friend Paolo to decorate it within. And -this perfect villa is one of the happiest monuments to the two artists; -the excellent skill of both is brought into congenial play, and to the -courtly old patrician Barbaro we owe a debt which perhaps we partly -cancel in the coin of our pleasure. The simple yet sumptuous villa lies -so dexterously disposed below its cypress hill, that it seems almost -to consist of the loggia alone as we climb up the garden slope from -the road, through the judicious mingling of smooth lawn and scythe-cut -grass full of scabious and delicate Alpine flowers. Delicious scents -float down from the late roses along the terrace and the brilliant -flower-beds in the grass; the medusa tree stands luminous against the -evergreen shrubs and cypress, and against the yellow wall a huge cactus -raises its mysterious purple sword-blade. The villa is spacious and -full of air and light; the suite of rooms above the loggia, containing -the great part of Paolo’s work, open one out of the other, and each has -a glass door that leads directly to the lawn and grotto in the cleft -of the hill behind, while the central hall lies open on each side to -wide stretches of mountain country. There were no stern censors here to -ask Paolo if his homely details were quite in keeping with the gravity -of his theme; the artist was working for a friend in a house that was -full of light and sunshine and the clear mountain air, and he has put -his soul with most lucid fantasy into the allegories of autumn and -springtime, of Cybele and Juno, Vulcan and Apollo, of dogs and boys -and girls at play among the mimic balconies, of sprays of fig and vine -leaf; into the figures of Michelangelesque strength reclining above the -doors, and the tiny processions of men and beasts in chiaroscuro on -the friezes; into the clear, radiant faces of women and sinewy forms -of men; the eloquent dogs and lions; and not least into the lithe and -gallant figure of himself, advancing from the mimic door at one end of -the long vista to meet the lady who trips out from the opposite end, -_l’amica dell’ artista_--or, as the guide-book discreetly says--his -wife. The portrait of himself is done with much imagination and even -pathos. He was a dreamer, too, this Veronese. These figures of the -painter and his dog give us pause; they make us feel that he would -have been good to walk the mountains with; that if he could step out -now from the room where he keeps continual watch, on to the exquisite -grass plot, with its happy tuft of white anemone and pale Michaelmas -daisy, we might win from him some mountain confidence which he has not -entrusted to canvas or fresco. It is a pleasure to picture Veronese at -his work upon Marcantonio’s villa. Every midday he must have had good -progress to show; for these blithe works that have kept their colour so -fresh and strong are executed with a few brave master strokes: they -are no less potent in their swift presentment than in their conception. -We can see him dismounting from his scaffold at the summons of Barbaro, -returned from his morning round among his stables or his orchards; we -can see him still keen and stirred by the creative impulse, full of -that excited pleasure which accompanies expression, standing a little -aside while Barbaro bears his admiration to and fro--now confessing -that time and office have rusted his mythology and asking the meaning -of some emblem; now on the lookout for a freak of his friend, some -beast or bird put in perhaps to give him joy; now in raptures over the -old shoes and broom, which he swears he has just thrashed the maid for -leaving on the cornice, while Paolo stands by brimming with mirth at -the deception; now called upon to guess the significance of the fair -lady bridled by her lord, which the guide-book ungallantly interprets -as the victory of virtue over vice, but which to Marcantonio no doubt -seemed capable of less abstract explanation. With all their nobility -of design and execution, there is something about these frescoes so -intimate and sympathetic as to impart to us the actual joy and health -of spirit which conceived them. Given the skill and the robust and -prodigal genius of Veronese, how should they not be joyous in these -halls full of light and air and sunshine, the song of birds and of -trickling water, the sounds of meadow and mountain. We may take leave -of the mountains in the midst of one of those brave companies which -must often have gathered in this earthly Paradise of Marcantonio -Barbaro round the long table spread in the loggia--such a loggia as -Paolo himself so often painted--looking out, through the arches to the -vista of creepered wall and over the green meadows studded with golden -fruit-trees, to the undulating country and tracts of woodland, now -bathed in liquid sunshine, now gathered into a soft-enfolding haze--a -wide ocean from which the campaniles rise like masts of ships, and over -which the distant villas are scattered like shining fishing-boats. - -“These workmen,” says d’Annunzio of the Venetian artists of the -Renaissance, “create in a medium that is itself a joyous mystery--in -colour, the ornament of the world, in colour, which seems to be the -striving of the spirit to become light. And the entirely new, musical -understanding they have of colour acts in such a way that their -creation transcends the narrow limits of the symbols it represents -and assumes the lofty, revealing faculty of an infinite harmony.” -Colour--which seems to be the striving of the spirit to become light. -These words recur to us again and again face to face with the Venetian -masters. By the primitives the colours are laid on as accessory to -the scene, as it were fine enamel; in the Renaissance painters, they -are not only woven into the fabric of the picture, it grows and moves -through them. We may choose, in illustration, Giovanni Bellini’s -small picture of the _Madonna with St. Catherine and the Magdalen_ -in the Accademia, because, though it is in one sense less completely -representative of the distinguishing features of the Venetian school -than, for instance, his masterpiece of the _Frari_, it realises perhaps -more fully than any that “new and musical understanding of colour” -which was the peculiar gift of the Venetians. It is literally informed -with radiance; flesh itself has become spirit, no longer a covering, -but an atmosphere--a directly perfect expression. There is no denial -or emaciation of the flesh; the forms are strong, the habitations of a -potent earth-spirit. The faces are pondering, penetrating, profound, -and withal extremely individual; they might seem impassive, were it -not that every feature is kindled by the pervading colour till we seem -to feel it as a sensuous presence. It is a quality of colour that so -subtly determines the poise of their hands, that makes their touch so -sensitively penetrating that feeling seems to flow from it without -pressure. The solemn harmony of red and green and blue, and of the -diffused radiance of the flesh tints, is not only lit from without by -the sunlight, it seems literally to burn from within, depth behind -depth, with light. - -The peculiarly luminous treatment of the flesh perfected by Bellini in -repose, it remained for Tintoretto to realise in motion; this we may -venture to illustrate from a work too immense for our discussion in any -but a limited aspect--his last great work, _The Paradise_, in the Ducal -Palace. The quality we are seeking in it becomes the more remarkable on -account of its loss of superficial colour, so that at first it seems -cold and faded as if a mist had fallen upon it; then, very slowly, -like day breaking out of the veil, colour reveals itself as a fresh -property in the forms. We cannot penetrate the depth of it; rank behind -rank the luminous faces define themselves like mysterious shapes of -the atmosphere, some mere ghosts in the depths which daylight cannot -pierce, some radiant already with the light; and across and through -them all, through the flame-winged throng of Cherubim, piercing all -companies and ranks of being to the extremes of the vast canvas, shoot -the rays from the central source of light in the seat of Christ. It is -a symphony of colour become almost vocal; we perceive it not only with -the eye but in all our senses, this music of the spheres which one man -has dared to gather into a single canvas. Who but Tintoretto could have -dreamed of achieving this perspective built solely of human forms and -faces? Into all the mysteries of life--those echoes of experience which -we touch but faintly, those substances with which we feel inexplicable -correspondencies--into these Tintoretto has looked: the rays from -behind the Son of God have poured into the heart of the universe, -and from it has grown his Paradise. Joy is the heart of this great -symphony; it works upon us rather as a creative force than as a thing -created, sounding continually some new note or rarer harmony of colour. -At times it overpowers us, and then amid the maze of divine musicians -and Cherubim and Seraphim and Thrones and Principalities and Powers, -some single harmonious human form, strong in beauty, with wings of -light, some tender, lovely face of youth or woman, the solemn gesture -of saint or bishop, the rainbow of an angel’s wing, gives our intellect -a resting-place. For it is not through obscuring of outlines that this -wonder of music in colour is accomplished; the human form, on which all -the notes are played, is become indeed a perfect instrument, but not -by forfeiting its material strength or substance; the structure is -massive, solid--if to our notion of solidity we may unite the gift of -perfect ease within an element whose progress only is by flight, where -each moment is poised but slightly in its passage to the next, where -there is no time because no stable unit to serve as pedestal for time. -In this great picture, that faculty of the Venetian painters which we -are now illustrating, found perhaps its completest realisation--the -power of winging flesh with colour so that it is endowed with the very -properties of atmosphere. - -[Illustration: _By permission of Arnold Mitchell, Esq._ - -TOWARDS THE RIALTO, SAN ANGELO.] - -This luminous quality of the Venetian painters is realised by them -in many more general ways than in the treatment of the human form. -We may consider it in Carpaccio in relation to the significance of -landscape in his compositions. It is his power of treating a scene -atmospherically that supplies one chief charm of his work. It is -never on a day of splendour that either he or Gentile Bellini depicts -Venice; but constantly on a cold, colourless day of late autumn the -waters of Carpaccio seem to live again for us as we have seen them -through the perspective of his arches or in the background of a city -picture. We may see the Grand Canal wind into the dark city under -the pale familiar gold of his Rialto sunset, and scattered sails on -the cold, clear lagoon in weird contrast of orange with the steely -waters or with the pale rose or white of buildings. There is a peculiar -fascination in this clear neutrality of light in sky and water and -buildings; it is no less a property of Venice than her more refulgent -harmonies. Whatever hour of day it comes, it has the strange revelation -of the dawn about it, a curious remoteness in which the works of men -arrest attention as if fraught with a new purport. The emotional -significance of landscape was understood by Carpaccio in a wonderful -degree. How much depends, for instance, in the scene where Ursula’s -father dismisses the English ambassadors, on the vista of canal across -which lights fall from dividing waterways! It is the narrowest strip; -but the sunlight on the houses, the exquisite arch of pale blue sky -fading into white above the distant buildings, give a new value to the -interior; the outside world, on which the sun is shining, seems to -look into the room with the streaming light. A still more beautiful -illustration of Carpaccio’s understanding of light is to be found in -the room where St. Ursula lies asleep. It seems, in fact, scarcely an -indoor room; through its open doors and windows it is in close touch -with the air and sky; and the effect of contact with wind and sky is -heightened by the real plumage of the angel’s grey wings, while the -back-sweep of his robe suggests a sudden alighting after flight with -the current of air still about him. We know of no picture to surpass -this of Carpaccio in conveying the atmosphere of a room into which the -first light is breaking--the exhilaration of an illumined wall, the -waking of colour on window-ledge, chair and bedcover, the blending of -luminous and shadowy. It is the light of the first dawn, the infancy -of day, with a suggestion of unillumined sky, just creeping out of -shadow in the expanse of open, untrellised window behind the plants, -a soft, wonderful stealing green, that has not yet come into its -kingdom. Even buildings are made by Carpaccio to serve an atmospheric -effect. We might illustrate from almost every picture in San Giorgio -degli Schiavoni, but confining ourselves to the St. Ursula series, we -shall find a notable illustration in the buildings seen through the -water-gate in the _Return of the Embassy_, and in the great Renaissance -loggia which fills so conspicuous a place in the foreground, and to -which airiness and light have been imparted by its great arches, by -the water washing round its base, and by the spring of the bridge that -connects it with the campo where the King sits under his canopy. Most -striking of all, perhaps, is the subtle architectural treatment by -which, in the great threefold scene of the Prince’s departure, his -meeting with Ursula and their blessing by the King, Carpaccio has -bestowed an atmosphere of remoteness, almost of fairy strangeness on -the English harbour with its castles and walls and motley buildings -soaring far up the rocky hillside into the sky, an atmosphere entirely -distinct from the upper-world light and joyousness of the contrasting -court of Ursula’s father. - -There is an element of his native landscape that Carpaccio incorporated -with singular felicity, and which is peculiarly prominent in his -pictures--namely the shipping of Venice. In the great trilogy of the -Prince’s departure the vessels are a masterpiece: there is nothing to -surpass them in this kind. Carpaccio seems to have realised to the -full their varied elements of beauty: their static properties, their -weight and substance and the symmetry of their frame, combined with -all the radiant light and spring of swelling sail and rigging and flag -and countless trappings: all that goes to make a sailing ship a thing -of music. And it is not only vessels rigged and ready to float in -triumph on the high seas that Carpaccio depicts: there is a vessel also -_in squero_, with all the song gone from it, one might think, lying -uneasily on its side with its huge mast aslant across the harbour -tower. It is noteworthy that all the vessels of the English King -seem in course of repair; there is something in their semi-skeleton -condition which singularly reinforces the dream effect that we have -noticed in this portion of the picture, and the triumphant vessel that -would seem to belong to the gay town on our right is united in feeling -to the shadow city on the left by the exceeding mystery and beauty -of its reflection. This picture supplies us with another instance of -the way in which Venice operated as an inspiration in the work of -Carpaccio, even when he was not directly portraying the city itself. -The beautiful effect of a drawbridge over a great water, such as he -knew familiarly in Venice, had impressed itself on his mind: adapting -it to the requirements of his scene, he reproduces the bridge of Rialto -in the city of the English King, not forgetting the significance of -a crowning figure in white at the apex of the arch. We cannot indeed -afford to miss a detail in Carpaccio: there is never any crowding nor -taking refuge in vagueness. The varieties of shipping, the flags hung -from the windows, the most distant figures, are all treated with the -same clearness and precision: to each its value is assigned. This -fulness of meaning is one of the sources of his fascination for us: -the fact that he has done a little thing means sometimes more to us, if -we can come at the prompting purpose, than a pageant of main figures. -It is like the side-flash of light which a seemingly irrelevant act -casts sometimes on a personality. - -The fidelity of Bellini and Carpaccio to the facts of Venice fills -us continually with fresh wonder: it is not the fidelity of copyists -standing outside the scene they paint; their very heart is in its -stones. As we watch Gentile’s gorgeous procession sweep like a stream -from the gate of the Ducal Palace round the border of the Piazza, -with the sound of trumpets, the rustle and swing of noble garments -and the gleam of banners, we feel that the painter had heard and -felt the triumph of the music, so marvellously has he conveyed its -influence in these moving figures; we too hear the jubilation of it -as the long tubes pass out and in. With the pictures of Carpaccio and -Gentile Bellini before us we may do more than conjecture what manner -of men they were who filled the foreground of contemporary Venice. -We have not masses or dispositions of colour merely: we seem to move -through a crowd of living beings or a gallery of portraits. No one -could paint loungers as Carpaccio paints them; there is no monotony -in their inaction; the faces are as various as the men--wonderful -faces, some coarse, some refined, but almost all with that indefinable -quality of pathos in their strength which is one of the essentials -of beauty. There are perhaps comparatively few among them that would -satisfy a conventional canon of beauty: their fascination lies in the -rich combination of whimsical humour and strength, melancholy and wit; -so eloquent are they, so quick with intelligence that we are little -disposed to question their material perfection or imperfection. These -citizens of Gentile Bellini, Mansueti and above all Carpaccio--since in -him are realised a far greater variety of types--impress us profoundly -as men of calm and steady purpose, who have lived, felt and prevailed. -They are men of action, yet they are dreamers. And this was not from -incapacity in Carpaccio to express vivid motions in feature or form. -When he is more freely composing, as in the _Death of St. Ursula_, it -would be hard to rival the brilliance and vivacity with which he has -treated the turmoil of the one-sided fray. But these citizens--whether -of Venice or of Ursula’s court is immaterial--seem to be governed by -some internal harmony; there is a rhythm in their motions and in their -standing still, which reflects the spirit of their time. We have only -to compare them with the characters in Longhi’s eighteenth-century -interiors to understand that a great change has taken place. Imagine -Carpaccio and Bellini set to paint as primary interests the choosing of -a dress, the stopping of a tooth, the guessing of a riddle, a dancing -lesson, a toilette. These things were part of life, and superbly they -would have done it; they painted lesser acts than these in the corner -of their pictures, for every detail of the city life so jealously -guarded by its rulers was precious to them. But the difference lies in -the centre of interest. In the eighteenth century, the detail, the side -light, the accessory of life has swelled into the principal subject, -and the faces of the actors are vacant as never in Carpaccio. It is not -so much that they are less beautiful, that they are often witless; but -they are lacking in purpose, in subordination to a common control. The -pulse of a great civic life no longer beats in them. - -We have considered hitherto the manner in which Venice used her elected -medium of expression, how her painters had understood and interpreted -the life of the city. We will turn now to ask what attitude towards the -facts of life is reflected in their canvases. And here we will attempt -again to illustrate, by certain examples, what aspects of life found -most ready acceptance by the Venetian artists of the Renaissance. We -may venture to seek an illustration of two of its broader aspects--one -foreign, the other native to the mind of Venice as reflected in her -life and in her art--in two sculptured figures by Antonio Rizzo in the -courtyard of the Ducal Palace. These two figures, of Adam and Mars, -are most original in conception. Adam holds the apple in his hand; it -seems that he has just partaken of it and that, partaking, he has been -initiated into a new vision. His beautiful clear-cut face is upturned; -his lips are open; his hand seems to hold in the tumult of his heart. -There is as yet no shame, no contrition, no sense of sin in Adam’s -look, nor in his attitude, but the immense wonder of a new experience -with its yet undetermined import; and through the ecstasy of his -vision there breaks that strange pain of the mortal man whose body can -scarcely support its spiritual burden. It seems almost as if Adam were -receiving now that vision of the ages at whose threshold he stood; he -has opened a door which can never again be shut; he has let in a flood -which is beyond his control, and he is rapt in the contemplation. The -other figure who fills with Adam a niche in the Arco Foscari is Mars, -the god of war. His body is grandly moulded, stalwart and disciplined -and ready for action; but there are no tempests in his look; there -is no herculean development of muscle nor trampling vehemence as in -the fresco of Veronese. Rizzo’s war-god is young, full of grace and -beauty, with the dream also of a poet on his sensuous lips. He is -majestic; his face is grave and thoughtful, with a strange sadness in -its vigilant wisdom. He and Adam seem to strike together the accord of -the Renaissance, the union of a great expectancy, an uncomprehended -newness, with controlled and ordered purpose and the conviction of -conquest. It is the latter aspect which seems to find reflection in the -mind of Venice not the mystic promise, the troubled vision, which the -Renaissance held for some of those on whom its influence fell. In the -Venetians of the first Renaissance there is always the note of calm and -assured knowledge; we may find it again and again in their artistic -annals. In the Casa Civran--the so-called Casa dell’ Otello beside the -Campo dei Carmini--we again recognise Rizzo’s hand in one of the most -lovely and characteristic figures of the first Renaissance, which has -fortunately survived the various restorations and spoliations of the -house and stands still intact in its lonely niche on the plastered -wall. It is impossible to convey in words the vivacity, the nobility -and grace of this young warrior: the proud and magnificent control -governing each motion of his spirited form, the rhythm in response -to which each member of him moves, so that the effect on us is indeed -that of a song, a victorious, joyful melody. Again and again we may -meet them, Mars and his young disciple, and others of their kin, in -Carpaccio’s crowds. The young Civran warrior might have stept on to his -niche from the _Death of St. Ursula_; moreover, the life that thrills -in him is felt not in single figures only, but in the entire conception -of series after series of Carpaccio, in Bellini’s _Procession of the -Cross_, in Tintoretto’s _St. Ursula and the Virgins_ in the Church of -the Mendicanti. - -It was thus the Venetians confronted life. In portrait, allegory -or story, realised in varying degrees of naïvety, splendour and -refinement, with more or less penetration and psychological insight, we -find the same balance and control--a unique harmony of strength, grace -and serenity. And if we turn to the religious art of Venice we shall be -struck by a lack of anything like mystic rapture or absorption in the -sufferings of Christ. We have but two examples in Venice of Bellini’s -portrayal of the facts of Christ’s mature life, but he has treated the -theme of the Madonna and Child with a unique profundity. The mystery of -life seems to be shadowed in the face of his Madonnas; his saints and -apostles, so striking in their individuality, so virile in their piety, -have a significance beyond their perfect act of worship. No Venetian -religious painter before Tintoretto equalled Bellini in solemnity and -depth of conception; but in all we find the same pervading calm, the -same absence of tumult or the disturbing element of pain or agony. -We will choose an example from Basaiti--the most perfect, perhaps, -of all his works--in illustration of what seems to us a prevailing -characteristic of the Venetian mind both for strength and weakness--his -_Gesu morto con due Angeli_. It is striking in its originality of -conception and full of noble and tender sentiment. There are no weeping -women, no agonised apostles round the body of Jesus; only the very -young keep watch beside him, two winged infants, at his head and at -his feet. They have found him here, this young dead god, laid out as -if asleep upon the flat stone by the rock--no blasted rock, its crags -are covered with living shrubs and plants. And he is in the light: -there is no ghostly pallor in his face upturned to the sky, upon his -long, dark hair; so beautiful a brow, such tender cheeks, so strong -and brave a neck they have never seen. And he is so still, he lies -without fear, not heeding them. They must not wake him from his sleep. -The infant at his head, whose exquisitely moulded face is full of -that strangely pathetic, antique wisdom of the very young, half-elfish, -half-infantile, feels the burden of his sagacity upon him. Why had -that brow a crown of thorns instead of flowers about it? This youth -to whom they will now bear company had not chosen well his pillow or -his crown--though he is so beautiful he was not wise enough to know -that thorns are not for those who would be at rest. In the picture the -wise infant has taken off the prickly crown that it may not pierce and -rend the dream that holds the sleeper there so long; he is full of the -knowledge of his triumph, half-fearful lest it should not be complete. -The crown of thorns hangs on his own left arm, which he raises half in -warning, half in wonder, feeling as his elbow bends the thorns upwards -on his arm from what pain he has saved that beautiful but foolish -youth. And with his right hand he fondles the hair of Jesus, drawing -it a little back from his forehead to be sure that in his stealthy -theft he has not left some scratch, some mark of pain. But there are -no traces of the crown in any sign of pain, only a faint, faint band -beneath the hair he has drawn back--a shadow, as it were, of Christ’s -regality. _He saved others, Himself He cannot save._ Now with this -little Saviour, this guardian of his pillow, he can at last sleep -in peace. The infant at the feet is more babylike, less wise, more -gleefully wondering. He has found no thorns on that beautiful, still -body, but he has found another wonder at the feet. The toes of one he -holds in his tiny hand, stroking it in his delight: he has found, it -seems, a little hole upon the instep bone that the feet of humans are -not wont to wear, and he points in musing, half-delighted wonder to the -other foot, where he spies the same strange mark. It is a game to this -curly headed cherub. He has not yet dreamed of contact with something -beyond the reach of his baby wisdom. There is not yet in his chubby -face that look which has stolen into the face of his brother and which -now seems to put a world between them, a look that amid all its elfish -aloofness is akin to the solicitude of human love. What dream was this -of Basaiti--the figure of this young God of Light--perfect in form, -luminous and strong, unspoiled and untroubled in his sleep of death? -His eyes if they were open would be fountains fed from the beauty of -the world, but he has borne no burden of humanity. There is power to -suffer in that strong and beautiful young face, but it is not the power -of the Man of Sorrows. This is not Jesus who agonised in the garden, -or who wrote upon the ground; it is not the man from whom Pilate -turned away his face. - -[Illustration: BRONZE WELL-HEAD BY ALBERGHETTI, COURTYARD OF PALAZZO -DUCALE.] - -There is one only--the last and greatest of the Venetians of the -Renaissance--who could sound all notes of tragedy and pathos as well as -notes of joy. Tintoretto, the supreme Venetian, the greatest exponent -of the essential spirit of Venice, is the son of a wider kingdom -than hers and of a greater age than the Renaissance. Unsurpassed as -designer and colourist, he is endowed throughout with the peculiar -gifts of Venice; but during those years of passionate study, in which -he was winning here and there the secrets of his art, hungry for -knowledge, careless of gain, and bargaining only for material in which -to realise his conceptions--during those years in which he lived alone -in continual meditation on some fresh labour, he was probing the deep -and passionate things of humanity as no Venetian artist had ever probed -them before. The streets and churches of the city seem to echo still to -the steps of this genius at once so robust, so tender, so profound and -so joyous. Ridolfi laments the lavishness of his production, arguing -that restraint of his overflowing fantasy would have strengthened his -conceptions. But Tintoretto had to work in his own way; the instinct -that flowered in the Scuola di San Rocco, the _Bacchus and Ariadne_ -and the _Paradiso_, might be trusted to choose the manner of its -relaxation as well as of its labour. No painter, perhaps, has so -wonderfully combined the dramatist and lyrist; for Tintoretto with all -his vast imaginative strength had power also over the tenderest springs -of melody. There is hardly a picture of his in which some exquisite -face of youth or woman will not strike a note of tenderness, and we -need only call to mind the _Visitation_ in the Scuola di San Rocco, -to know what Tintoretto’s tenderness could be. He had that power, the -gift only of the greatest, so intensely to imagine his central theme -that the most perfectly executed and conspicuous detail does not divert -us into lesser issues. It is exactly here that his distinguishing -greatness reveals itself He is completely sincere. His vision is too -comprehensive to overlook what really filled the foreground; his skill -of hand too great to allow its inclusion to be other than an element in -the realisation of his central theme; his concentration too intense to -make him fear lest an accessory should become a primary interest. We -may pause for a moment in consideration of his greatest tragic triumph, -the _Crucifixion_, in the Scuola di San Rocco. The theme is immense, -and, like the _Death of Abel_, it is treated in a great elemental -spirit. Amid all the throes of nature and the sufferings of the Son of -Man, the world goes on its way. The ghostly figure of the Arab on his -camel, and the caravan winding down from the city to depart into the -desert, the two splendid knights who gaze without pity or understanding -on this spectacle of the death of slaves, the man who leans from his -donkey behind the Cross of Christ, all are as prominent to their little -circle as they would be in life; and they have just that prominence for -us--the immediate participators in the tragedy--that they would have -in life. As always in Tintoretto, the horizon is vast. Wide ranges of -blue, undulating country extend to the mountains, above which breaks -his peculiar, tender, yellow light of dawn; he has made them recede -into unimagined distance by setting across the mountains and the light -the raised arm of a mounted figure. There is a great calm in this -horizon, while in the middle distance above the Arab the wind has set -the leaves quivering on a tree whose thin and twisted branches sway -wildly against the blackness of the storm. The most impressive light -for this picture is obtained when the setting sun illuminates the -marvellous group of mourners at the foot of the Cross, so that they -stand out in startling brightness against the heightened depths of -the vast background, while Christ hangs above them dark within the -darkness. - -[Illustration: EVENING IN THE PIAZZETTA.] - -The Scuola di San Rocco is the supreme monument to Tintoretto’s poetic, -as to his plastic genius. If we are justified in feeling that his -understanding of the life of Christ may be a true touchstone of a -man’s philosophy, it will become a matter of first interest to us to -know how so profound a thinker as Tintoretto approached the subject. -There is no lack here indeed of tragic depth. _The Temptation of -Christ_ is sufficient alone to vindicate Tintoretto as gifted with -understanding above his fellows. Another might have compassed the -tumultuous, beautiful earth-spirit, with muscular, proud, uplifted -arms, and face burning with desire; but who else could have added that -touch of impotence to his restless, aspiring gesture, or have dreamed -the tenderness in the lovely, sorrowful face of Christ that looks -down on this radiant creature of desire, entirely without judgment or -stern denial, but as if too remote from the appeal to make reply? The -exceeding pathos of this picture would have been missed if Lucifer, -the brightest of the spirits that fell, were a whit less radiant; -if Christ’s face had one shade less of compassion in its wondering -aloofness. And for our last example we may choose a picture in which -the strength of Tintoretto is realised in quietness so complete -that a hush seems to lie about it. No painting of his is greater in -conception than that of _Christ before Pilate_. The moment he has -chosen is that in which Pilate performs his vain ablution before the -multitude who lightly accept the guilt he attempts to transfer, in -the awful cry, “His blood be on us and on our children.” Tintoretto -has set Pilate’s face in shadow: a single ray falls across the pillar -behind his head. He looks away from Christ but not towards the crowd: -he has spoken: he would fain make an end of this drama. It is the -fine, thoughtful, astute face of a Venetian councillor that Tintoretto -has depicted. Christ stands before him in the full light--removed -only by a single step--a motionless white figure above the restless -crowd, complete in control, gathered into himself and folded in a -great silence and calm; yet not now more alone than when the crowds -cried after him day and night for a sign. His head is bowed upon his -breast: his closely folded robe follows the slight curve of his body: -his bound hands lie nerveless in their cords: yet beside the strength -of this bound prisoner the animation of the foreground figure who -grips the cord is impotence indeed. Most wonderful of all perhaps is -the contrast of a busy scribe at his table below the judgment-seat, -pausing with suspended pen for the words that shall convict, with -the majestic, motionless figure of Christ. We seem to hear the words -proceeding from those closed lips: he would utter them so, not moving. -It is less the originality of this picture that impresses us than -its profound directness and truth, comparable only to the story it -illustrates. In understanding none has surpassed the conception of -that single, solitary figure, face to face with the vast fabric of -the judgment-hall, weighted with its burden of custom and tradition; -none has more profoundly imagined the tragic triumph in that entire -loneliness of the great and good before the tribunal of man. - - - - -Chapter Eleven - -THE SOUL THAT ENDURES - - -On an evening of late September Venice revealed herself to one of -her lovers amidst a spectacle beyond any range of dreams. Evening -was closing in upon the city with cloud and breeze. In the church of -San Giorgio Maggiore the Tintorettos gleamed dimly from the walls; -daylight was gone. But in the tower high overhead, clear of the shadows -of confining buildings, the day had still a course to run. The tide -was low, and land and water stretched out in interchanging coils of -olive and azure beneath a purple storm-cloud, whilst ever against the -bar of the Lido rolled the sea, dyed with that celestial blue that -sometimes steals from the Adriatic into the basin of San Marco to -prostrate itself at the conquering Lion’s feet. And there lay Venice, -her form outlined against a flood of pearl, the water bending in a -tender, luminous bow behind her towers. Far away, across the mysterious -expanse of low lagoon, Torcello and Burano gleamed out in startling -pallor against the storm, amid a wild confusion of dark earth and -glittering water. The Northern Alps were hidden in darkness at the -horizon, but westward across the mainland the clear, sharp peaks of -the Euganean hills rose up behind the city’s pearly halo, behind the -deep blue of the surging lowlands, in almost unearthly outline against -the sunset sky. In front of them a livid fire rolled sullenly along -the valley, sending up purple smoke into the cloud. The storm genie, -summoned by nether powers, was descending to his fearful tryst behind -the Euganeans, but, as he sank, he bent his face upon the pale form -of Venice, his enchantress, and the fire of his wonder and of his -adoration kindled in all her slumbering limbs a glow of responsive -life. A flood of crimson suffused the pallor of her pearly diadem, and -her maidens, sleeping grey among the waters round her, unfolded rosy -petals upon the surface of the lagoon. - -It is this power of living communion with the daily pageant in which -sun and moon are doge and emperor, and the stars and the clouds their -retinue--this it is which, finding expression once at Venice in a -temporal glory that has passed away, is the abiding assurance of her -immortality. This is the spirit which, if once it helped to make her -great, still makes her great to-day, the spirit that endures. For -Venice is not a dead body: she is a living soul. Overflowing all -moulds in which we may think to contain her, she reveals herself -continually in new mystery, new wonder. We spoke of Venice as being -paved with sky, and every day there is cast upon her pavement a -fresh revelation of changefulness and beauty. A thousand forms and -patterns move in procession over the water, passing each instant -into something “rich and strange,” a fleeting succession of aerial -designs drawn with tremulous pencil in colours which never lived -on the palette of a mortal artist. There is a body of truth at the -root of the old fancy which gifted water-maidens with subtler, more -perilously powerful allurements than their sisters of the land. Their -element is mutability, but they are not soulless, as men have said: it -is only that their soul is as the soul of water--luminous, flowing, -mutable, reflective, musical, profound: for, though they are mutable, -they are not shallow; it is a part of their being that they should -be susceptible of change. They cannot tire their victims, they whose -beauty is continually renewed; and yet it may be that men do well to -fear them, for they have secret communings with things men do not dream -of. Venice has held men, she holds them still, with the fascination -of a water spirit; they yield to her, they grasp her, but she is -still before them, never mastered, never fully known. Let those for -whom conquest is the ideal in love beware of Venice the incomparable, -the uncompassable: they who would win her must have power to worship -what they cannot comprehend, they must desire to leave her spirit -free. Then she will unfold her heart to them, she will give herself -in a moment when the pursuit is still. And to those who can receive -the gift, she will give herself again and yet again; only they must -come freshly expectant of each fresh revelation, not clinging to past -impressions, not claiming a memory to be revived. For each renewal is -a transformation, and we must bring new senses to receive it, senses -alive and fresh as earth each morning to the touch of the old sun ever -new. - -Venice, when she was most glorious, did but catch and imprison in her -stones those matchless harmonies of fleeting colour which the sun still -lavishes upon her waters. And there is a season of the year which, -with sun and mist co-operating, hangs once again her pale walls with -their ancient splendour, and plays a noble part in the revival of -the past. With the first days of autumn the scirocco begins to wind -about the heart of her plants and creepers, and to steal into their -veins. Swiftly they yield to the intoxication. Under the folds of the -grey mist-mantle, they drink draught after draught of her brave wine. -But another touch is needed to draw out the virtues of that liquor: -after Circe, Apollo. He bends his look upon them, and they yield -their stores, decking once more the walls of Venice with frescoes of -scarlet, green and gold, paving once more her waterways with their -old-accustomed pomp. In the Sacca della Misericordia this natural -fresco has a peculiarly beautiful effect; for upon the spaces of water -between the rafts that float there, the rich creepers, interwoven among -the trees of the garden of the Spiriti, fling an enchanted carpet -of chequered crimson and green upon a pale rose ground, covering -the whole expanse, save for one space whereon is set the pale blue -watermark of the sky. One may make rare studies here of the carpets -and bright mats that are to be seen hung out in the pictures of the -old Venetian masters. They did not copy from the East alone, or rather -they copied from a greater East, whose treasures travel through a -rarer element than water day after day to the shores of the western -world. The complete stillness of the pools in the Sacca, undisturbed -by any passing steamboat, and even unruffled by the motion of a -gondola, through the protection of the intervening rafts, gives the -rich pattern a durability unattainable in the waters of the canals. -There is only, as it were, a faint breathing of the surface, enough to -give perpetual interchange and commerce among the bold brush-strokes -of colour--incessant, subtle weaving of new harmonies upon the -ground-bass--the shadows deepening or relaxing, when sometimes an -insect dips or a fish rises and starts a fairy circle at a touch that -spreads among the colours until its delicate life is lost. - -[Illustration: A PALACE DOOR.] - -And if at times we may thus see the past in the present, at other -times we may dream the present back into the past. Night, the worker -of so many miracles, holds a key with which we may unlock in Venice -the secret of bygone times. There are hours on the lagoons when even -in daylight the forgotten ages live again and we may keep company -with whom we will, but in the heart of the city it is by night that -we may lay hand on the pulse of her ancient life, and feel it warm -to our touch, beating slow but constant behind the commotion, often -the desecration, of later times. The flow of the Grand Canal is less -troubled than by day: it has intervals of peace in which it may sink -into the broad, dark calm of Carpaccio’s waters. Palace after palace, -in fearless and unstudied alternations of Byzantine, Gothic, Ogival, -Renaissance, Barocco, tower above us, their pillars and balconies -gleaming in faint light of moon or lamp: we seem almost to trace upon -their surface the forms of men and beasts, and to clothe them once more -in the gold and colour which Venice learned of her lagoons. By day we -feast upon the tints still left to fall upon the waters, we praise -the aged snow of crumbling stone or the shades of twisted columns, -or the rich profusion of the pale Cà d’Oro. But what do we know of -Venice when she shone upon the waters in true regality, a monument of -all the glory that the heart or eye of man could conceive? No one has -left us any detailed record of the frescoed façades of the Venetian -palaces, whether on the Grand Canal or in the remoter waterways; -only here and there we catch a glimpse of them on the canvases of -contemporary painters. It is provokingly general among the travellers -or native-lovers of Venice, who set themselves to praise her in words, -to find that they have chosen a medium incapable of achieving what -it was asked to do, and to throw down their weapon in the moment of -trial, struck dumb by the immense wonder of their theme. They cease -from their task before, it seems to us, they have well begun it, always -anticipating the stinging tongue of the dragon, Incredulity. We could -well forgive them their inadequacy, so frankly recognised, had they -but attempted a mere catalogue of some of the frescoes on the walls. -Now, it is at night alone that we can repeople them; that, as we pass -along, we can look up and read into the shadowy spaces those brilliant -chronicles of beauty, power and pride. It is, indeed, a heavy fate that -awaits in Venice the artist who must work in words; colour and music -can draw nearer, can almost attain to the reality itself; and yet by -words also there is something to be conveyed of her enduring beauty. -The fact which words can compass may be so told that there is born -from it a sentiment of that rich atmosphere which is beyond the reach -of words; they may remind or may awaken wonder, itself a new sense -with which to apprehend. Even words may tell of the water snake of -green and gold that writhes and gleams hour after hour in the faintly -stirred depths of the canal, a creature that in the world above is a -dull grey upright pole; or of golden treasures, once the refuse of the -calli, transformed to splendour as they float out over the lagoon; or -of the sudden lapping of the water under the wind down the north lagoon -at midnight, that breaks the smooth image of the moon into a thousand -ripples and passes in a wave that makes the dim lamps tremble into the -narrow waterways of the city. - -But it is not only the waterways of Venice that at night are eloquent -of the past, that seem to take once more their ancient shape and -venture near for colloquy: the streets and squares and churches are -full of spirits, not unkindly, not afraid, less silent and secretive -than in the busy day, when they are lonely among a people careless of -them, with other thoughts, other needs and other destinies. Many a -porch or gable or wide-projecting roof, or sculpture of fantastic beast -or naïve saint or kneeling angel, seems to step out and call upon us in -the night, catching in us perhaps as we pass by some touch of sympathy -with the enduring soul of the past. One must be late indeed in Venice -to secure untroubled peace. Ever and again, even after midnight, the -silence of the great white campos is broken by a group scattered here -and there before the door of a café; voices in eager talk will echo -under a low portico, a sleepy child will clatter by in wooden pattens. -But in the low-beamed, dimly lighted courts, or on the dark steps at -the water-side, under some deserted sotto-portico, the sounds of the -present strike across us like distant voices in a dream. The one night -that lies over all the ages draws our spirit into harmony with these -stones and lapping waters, that have stood through change and stress of -time, that have outlived solemnity and joyous festival and have passed -from gentle usage and glorious vesture into the custody of the poorest, -into neglect and decay. What talk have not these courtyards overheard, -what rich vesture has not swept through them, what noble thoughts and -high hopes have not confided in their silence? And on the dirty steps -where the children sit and play and throw their refuse into the water, -what carpets have not been spread, what proud feet have not pressed to -pass into the gondola and join the triumphant processional of Venice in -her prime? - -But what of ancient Venice? We sometimes despair of re-creating her. -We ponder on Rialto, we watch her lights from the lagoons, we go in -and out among her calli, peering into door and courtyard, climbing an -outer stair, penetrating the recesses of sotto-portico or cellar; and -many records we find of the life which once she lived, but all belong -to the Venice of that second age, when she was already an established -city. We cannot depopulate her and see again that company of islands -gathered together in the lagoon, of various shapes and sizes, some -covered with wood and undergrowth, others rising with bare backs from -the water, with large and lonely outposts lying at greater distance -here and there. Yet now and again come days when the spirit even of -this remoter period returns to its well-nigh forgotten grave, the days -when Venice lies under the rule of the rain-clouds. The inner waterways -of the city lie dead like opaque marble under the dancing drops; but -down the ways that lead from the lagoons the wind pours strong and -restless from the sea, beating the water against the walls and into -the damp vaults, a challenge from the sea to the city, from the sea -unbridled and insurgent--yet not insurgent, for it has never submitted -to her sway. Within Venice, along the slippery streets, there is gloom -and desolation; the sun is the only visitor to whom her heart stands -ever open; she would shut her gates if she could to these wild beings -of cloud and wind, these houseless, grey pilgrims that, at no bidding -of hers, come and claim lodging with her as they take their nomad way. -I know not what of the old, wild fisher heart comes to visit Venice in -these days; phantoms of old time are borne in on the gusty winds from -the sea and the lagoon, and the commanding voice of the sea wind they -must have known so well seems to clothe them with substantial life. -Into the mist vanishes the frescoed Venice of high pomp and festival, -the Venice of regal Bucintoro and banqueting of kings, of brilliant -policy and stem civic control. A still deeper oblivion receives the -Venice of small joys and small sorrows, of Longhi and Goldoni; and the -excitement of the formless past creeps into us, when yet the future was -to make--the hard life of the first dwellers upon the islands, acute -and mobile in their hourly traffic with wind and sea. - -[Illustration: ZATTERE.] - -There is a corner of Venice little known to the stranger, or even -to Venetians themselves, except as a passage to the cemetery of San -Michele, but not less loved on that account by those who are happy -enough to have their lot cast there. The breezes blow with a freshness -that is rare in the more confined spaces of the city or on the Grand -Canal; the tide sets into the Sacca della Misericordia full and fresh -from the northern lagoon, still beating with the pulse of the open sea. -This favoured, this unique corner of Venice is a large square basin of -water, open on one side to the lagoon. Venice, at one time, could boast -of many such, but one by one they have been filled in with earth, and -in the sixteenth century, when the neighbouring Fondamente Nuove were -built, the Sacca della Misericordia itself narrowly escaped inclusion -in the paved parade that was to unite the whole of North Venice from -Santa Giustina to Sant’ Alvise. The fiat had gone forth, but happily it -remains as yet unfulfilled, and the Sacca is still a harbour for the -_zattere_, the timber rafts that are brought down from the mountains, -and set here to season awhile, in sight of their old home, till at -last they are borne away to do service in the works of man. A tiny hut -of planks without a door is set up here and there upon the rafts, and -a couple of dogs are continually upon the prowl. Something in this -woodyard, the building of the rafts, the lapping of the inflowing -tide against them, its waves twisted in some angle into a petulant -restlessness, seems to carry us back to the primeval days before the -historic settlement of the fugitives from the great mainland cities, -back to the manners of the humble fishermen who lived a hard and frugal -life among the low islands of the Adriatic, in constant commerce with -their patron the sea, in constant vigilance against his aggression. - -The night-lapping of the waves against the Sacca della Misericordia -calls to mind the two toiling fishermen of Theocritus, whose life must -have been strangely like that of the first dwellers on the Rivo Alto. -Let us quote from Mr. Andrew Lang’s translation. “Two fishers on a -time together lay and slept: they had strown the dry sea-moss for a -bed in their wattled cabin, and there they lay against the leafy wall. -Beside them were strewn the instruments of their toilsome hands, the -fishing-creels, the rods of reed, the hooks, the sails bedraggled with -sea-spoil, the lines, the weels, the lobster-pots woven of rushes, the -seines, two oars and an old coble upon props. Beneath their heads was -a scanty matting, their clothes, their sailor’s caps. Here was all -their toil, here all their wealth. The threshold had never a door, nor -a watch-dog: all things, all to them seemed superfluity, for Poverty -was their sentinel. They had no neighbour by them, but ever against -their narrow cabin gently floated up the sea.” This is a page for the -history of Venice in her infancy, or rather for the history of that -earlier time when Venice was as yet unborn. Out among the islands -of the lagoon, which on a calm, vague day of summer seem to hover -in the atmosphere upon a silver haze, among those luminous paths of -chrysophrase and porphyry, mother-of-pearl and opal, we shall still -find some footsteps of these first Venetians unerased by tract of time. - -Perhaps it is at Sant’ Erasmo that the print is clearest; there are few -materials that we cannot find here for reconstruction of the primeval -settlement. There are the rush-roofed shelters of the boats and the -rude landing-stages; there are the low, white _capane_ roofed with -thatch or tiles, the long, narrow, stagnant waterways, the high, grassy -levels bordering the water; there are fields of reeds, and thickets or -fringes of rustling poplars; there are _valli_ where the fish stir and -leap and gleam continuously, breaking the smooth water into a thousand -ripples; there is the broad, central waterway, and countless lesser -channels and pools among the reeds, where one may see a boat slowly -winding, guided perhaps by children, their little figures standing -out against the desolate landscape, the silence broken by no voice -but theirs. Thus must Venice have been in her infancy. And if from -among these lonely waterways and grassy flats of Sant’ Erasmo we look -forward into the future, we can anticipate the gradual evolution of a -city such as Venice was afterwards to be. The building of the first -mud-huts; the driving of the first close-set clumps of piles to support -more solid structures; the filling of marsh-pools and strengthening of -foundations; the light wooden bridges thrust across the water, as one -may see them on the Lido to-day; the transition from houses of wood -to houses of brick and stone, from thatch to tiles; the building of -churches on the higher ground, each with its plot of grass about it; -the paving of the most frequented ways, the construction of wells and -chimneys, of paved campo and fondamenta; till we reach at last the city -of palaces, of temples and of towers, the city of sumptuous and varied -colour, the _Venezia nobilissima_ of Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a -predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they -were not changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation -marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left -unbalanced. - -Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs -and outside quotations. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Venice</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Beryl de Sélincourt and May Sturge Henderson</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Reginald Barratt</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 13, 2021 [eBook #66295]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charlie Howard and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENICE ***</div> - -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="center larger">Transcriber’s Note</p> - -<p>Larger versions of most illustrations may be seen by right-clicking them -and selecting an option to view them separately, or by double-tapping and/or -stretching them.</p> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="max-width: 30em;"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="1780" height="2417" alt="cover" /> -</div> - -<hr /> -<h1>VENICE</h1> -<hr /> - -<div id="i_001" class="newpage figcenter" style="max-width: 25em;"> - <img src="images/i_001.jpg" width="1571" height="2586" alt="" /> - <div class="captionl"><i>By permission of the late Thomas Threlfall, Esq.</i></div> - <div class="caption"> - <p>THE CAMPANILE.</p></div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="newpage p2 center wspace"> -<p class="xxlarge gesperrt bold"> -VENICE</p> - -<p class="p2 vspace">BY<br /> -<span class="large">BERYL <span class="allsmcap">DE</span> SÉLINCOURT</span><br /> -AND<br /> -<span class="large">MAY STURGE HENDERSON</span></p> - -<p class="p2 smaller vspace">ILLUSTRATED BY<br /> -<span class="larger">REGINALD BARRATT</span></p> -<p class="small">OF THE ROYAL WATER-COLOR<br /> -SOCIETY</p> - -<div id="i_002" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 12em;"> - <img src="images/i_002.png" width="338" height="425" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="p2 larger vspace">NEW YORK<br /> -DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br /> -<span class="smaller">1907</span> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="newpage p4 smaller"> -<i>Copyright, 1907</i>,<br /> -<span class="smcap">By Dodd, Mead and Company</span></p> - -<p class="p1 smaller">Published, October, 1907</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table id="toc" summary="Contents"> -<tr class="smaller"> - <td> </td> - <td class="tdr"><i>Page</i></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap first" colspan="2">I</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Introductory</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_1">1</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2">II</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Phantoms of the Lagoons</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_16">16</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2">III</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Nuptials of Venice</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_54">54</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2">IV</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Venice in Festival</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_74">74</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2">V</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Merchant of Venice</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_98">98</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2">VI</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Venice of Crusade and Pilgrimage</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_124">124</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2">VII</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Two Venetian Statues</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_160">160</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2">VIII</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Venetian Waterways (Part I)</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_187">187</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2">IX</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Venetian Waterways (Part II)</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_253">253</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2">X</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Artists of the Venetian Renaissance</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_275">275</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdc chap" colspan="2">XI</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Soul that Endures</span></td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#toclink_317">317</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -</div> - -<table id="loi" summary="Illustrations"> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">The Campanile</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_001"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> -</tr> -<tr class="smaller"> - <td> </td> - <td class="tdr smaller">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">View from the Gallery of San Marco</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_007">7</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Santa Maria della Salute</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_023">23</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">The Clock Tower</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_037">37</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Riva Degli Schiavoni</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_057">57</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">The Doorway of San Marco</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_071">71</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">View from Cà d’Oro</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_081">81</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Courtyard of the Palazzo Ducale</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_091">91</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">San Giorgio</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_107">107</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">The Dogana</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_119">119</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">The Shadow of the Campanile</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_127">127</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">The Clock Tower from Gallery of San Marco</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_137">137</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">The Horses of San Marco, looking South</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_147">147</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">The Horses of San Marco, looking North</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_156">155</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">In the Piazza</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_175">175</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">View on the Grand Canal from San Angelo</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_189">189</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Piazzetta, The Library</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_195">195</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Corner of the Palazzo Dario</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_201">201</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">A Venetian Bridge</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_219">219</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Palazzo Sanudo</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_231">231</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">A Side Canal</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_241">241</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">The Gondoliers’ Shrine</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_247">247</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Entrance of the Grand Canal</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_257">257</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">View on the Grand Canal</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_269">269</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Palazzo Rezzonico</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_281">281</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Towards the Rialto San Angelo</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_291">291</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Bronze Well-Head by Alberghetti—The Courtyard of Palazzo Ducale</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_305">305</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Evening in the Piazzetta</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_313">313</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">A Palace Door</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_323">323</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> - <td class="tdl">Zattere</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#i_331">331</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_1" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VENICE"><span class="larger">VENICE</span></h2> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_One">Chapter One<br /> - -<span class="subhead">INTRODUCTORY</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">“Venice</span> herself is poetry, and creates a -poet out of the dullest clay.” It was a -poet who spoke, and his clay was instinct -with the breath of genius. But it is true that -Venice lends wings to duller clay; it has been her -fate to make poets of many who were not so before—a -responsibility that entails loss on her as well -as gain.</p> - -<p>She has lived—she has loved and suffered and -created; and the echoes of her creation are with -us still; the pulse of the life which once she knew -continues to throb behind the loud and insistent -present. The story of Venice has been often -written; the Bride of the Adriatic, in her decay -as in her youthful and her mature beauty, has -been the beloved of many men. “Wo betide the -wretch,” cries Landor through the mouth of -Machiavelli, “who desecrates and humiliates her; -she may fall, but she shall rise again.” Venice -even then had passed her zenith; the path she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span> -had entered, though blazing with a glory which -had not attended on her dawn of life, was yet a -path of decline, the resplendent, dazzling path of -the setting sun. And now a second Attilla, as -Napoleon vaunted himself, has descended upon -her. She has been desecrated, but she has never -been dethroned. She could not, if she would, -take the ring off her finger. No hand of man, -however potent, can destroy that once consummated -union, however the stranger and her traitor -sons may abase her from within.</p> - -<p>It is to her own domain, embraced by her -mutable yet eternally faithful ocean-lover, that -we must still go to see the relics of her pomp. -The old sternness has passed from her face, that -compelling sovereignty which gave her rank -among the greatest potentates of the Middle -Age; her features, portrayed by these latter days, -are mellowed; a veil of golden haze softens the -bold outlines of that imperious countenance. We -are sometimes tempted to forget that the cup held -by the enchanter, Venice, was filled once with no -dream-inducing liquor, but with a strong potion -to fire the nerves of heroes. Viewing Venice in -her greater days, it is impossible to make that separation -between the artist and the man of action -so deadly to action and to art. The portraits of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span> -the Venetian masters, supreme among the portraits -of the world, could only have been produced by -men who beyond the divine perception of form -and colour were endowed with a profound understanding -and divination of human character. The -pictures of Gentile Bellini, of Carpaccio, of Mansueti, -are a gallery of portraits of stern, strong, -capable, self-confident men; and Giovanni Bellini, -who turned from secular themes to concentrate -his energy on the portrayal of the Madonna and -Child, endowed her with a strength and solemn -pathos which only Giotto could rival, combined -with a luminous richness of colour in which -perhaps he has no rival at all.</p> - -<p>No mystics have sprung from Venice. Her -sons have been artists of life, not dreamers, though -the sea, that great weaver of dreams, has been ever -around them. Or rather it is truer to say that the -dreamers of Venice have also been men of action; -strong, capable and intensely practical. They have -not turned their back on the practice of life; they -have loved it in all its forms. Even when they -speak through the medium of allegory, of symbols, -the art of Carpaccio and of Tintoretto is a supreme -record of the interests of the greatest Venetians in -the actions of everything living in this wonderful -world, and in particular—they are not ashamed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span> -to own it—in their supremely wonderful city of -Venice. There are dreamers among those crowds -of Carpaccio, of Gentile Bellini; but their hands -can grasp the weapons and the tools of earth; their -heads and hearts can wrestle with the problems -and passions of earth. Compare them with the -dreamers of Perugino’s school: you feel at once -that a gulf lies between them; the fabric of their -dream is of another substance. The great Venetians -are giants; like the sea’s, their embrace is -vast and powerful, endowed also with the gentleness -of strength. The history of Venetian greatness -in art, in politics, in theology, is the history -of men who have accepted life and strenuously -devoted themselves to mastering its laws. They -were not iconoclasts, because they were not idolaters: -the faculties of temperance and restraint are -apparent in their very enthusiasms. Venice did -not fall because she loved life too well, but because -she had lost the secret of living. Pride became to -her more beautiful than truth, and finally more -worshipful than beauty.</p> - -<p>Much has, with truth, been said about the -destruction of Venice. Even in those who have -not known her as she was, who in presence of her -wealth remaining are unconscious of the greatness -of her loss, there constantly stirs indignant sorrow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span> -at the childish wantonness of her inhabitants, which -loves to destroy and asks only a newer and brighter -plaything. But much persists that is indestructible; -and though Venice has become a spectacle for -strangers, for those who are her lovers the old -spirit lingers still near the form it once so gloriously -inhabited, wakened into being, perchance, -by a motion, an echo, a light upon the waters, and -once wakened never again lost or out of mind. -Does not the silent swiftness of the Ten still haunt -the sandolo of the water police, as it steals in the -darkness with unlighted lamp under the shadow of -larger craft moored beside the fondamenta, visible -only when it crosses the path of a light from house -or garden? It is in her water that Venice eternally -lives; it is thus that we think always of her image—elusive, -unfathomable, though plumbed so often -by no novice hand. It is the wonder of Venice -within her waters which justifies the renewal of -the old attempt to reconstruct certain aspects of a -career which has been a challenge to the world, a -mystery on which it has never grown weary of -speculating. And as the light falling from a new -angle on familiar features may reveal some grace -hidden heretofore in shadow or unobserved, so, perchance, -the vision of Venice may be renewed or -kindled through the medium of a new personality.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span></p> - -<p>Venice is inexhaustible, and it is from her waters -that her mine of wealth is drawn. They give -her wings; without them she would be fettered -like other cities of the land. But Venice with her -waters is never dead. The sun may fall with cruel -blankness on calle, piazza and fondamenta, but -nothing can kill the water; it is always mobile, -always alive. Imagine the thoroughfare of an inland -city on such a day as is portrayed in Manet’s -<i>Grand Canal de Venise</i>; heart and eye would curse -the sunshine. But in the luminous truth of Manet’s -picture, as in Venice herself, the heat quivers and -lives. Above ground, blue sky beating down on -blue canal, on the sleepy midday motion of the -gondolas, on the brilliant blue of the striped gondola -posts, which appear to stagger into the water; -and under the surface, the secret of Venice, the -region where reflections lurk, where the long -wavering lines are carried on in the deep, cool, -liquid life below. When Venice is weary, what -should she do but dive into the water as all her -children do? If we look down, when we can -look up no longer, still she is there; a city more -shadowy but not less real, her elements all dissolved -that at our pleasure we may build them again;</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">And so not build at all,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And therefore build for ever.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span></p> -<div id="i_007" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 33em;"> - <img src="images/i_007.jpg" width="1577" height="2185" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">VIEW FROM THE GALLERY OF SAN MARCO.</div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span></p> - -<p>And if in the middle day we realise this priceless -dowry of Venice, it is in the twilight of -morning or evening that her treasury is unlocked -and she invites us to enter. Turner’s <i>Approach -to Venice</i> is a vision, a dream, but not more divinely -lovely than the reality of Venice in these -hours, even as she appears to duller eyes. Pass -down the Grand Canal in the twilight of an August -evening, the full moon already high and pouring -a lustre from her pale green halo on the broad -sweeping path of the Canal. The noble curves -of the houses to west and south shut out the light; -day is past, the reign of night has begun. Then -cross to the Zattere: you pass into another day. A -full tide flows from east to west, blue and swelling -like the sea, dyed in the west a shining orange -Where the Euganean hills rise in clear soft outline -against the afterglow, while to the east the moon -has laid her silver bridle upon the dim waters. -Cross to the Giudecca and pass along the narrow, -crowded quay into the old palace, which in that -deserted corner shows one dim lamp to the canal. -The great hall opens at the further end on a bowery -garden where a fountain drips in the darkness -and the cicalas begin their piping. Mount the -winding stair, past the kitchen and the great key-shaped -reception room, and look out over the city—across<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span> -the whole sweep of the magnificent Giudecca -Canal and the basin of San Marco. The -orange glow is fading and the Euganean hills are -dying into the night, while near at hand one great -golden star is setting behind the Church of the -Redentore, and the moon shines with full brilliance -upon the swaying waters, upon the Ducal Palace -and the churches of the Zattere, with the Salute -as their chief. The night of Venice has begun; -she has put on her jewels and is blazing with light. -At the back of the house, where the lagoons lie -in the shimmering moonlight, is a silent waste of -waters under the stars, broken only by the lights -of the islands. This also is Venice, this mystery -of moonlit water no less than the radiance of the -city. And it is possible to come still nearer to the -lagoon. Passing along a dark rio little changed -from the past, we may cross a bridge into one of -the wonderful gardens for which the Giudecca is -famous. The families of the Silvi, Barbolini and -Istoili, banished in the ninth century for stirring -up tumult in the Republic, when at last they were -recalled by intercession of Emperor Ludovico, inhabited -this island of Spinalunga or Giudecca and -laid out gardens there. This one seems made for -the night. The moonlight streams through the -vine pergolas which cross it in every direction,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span> -lights the broad leaves of the banana tree and the -dome of the Salute behind the dark cypress-spire, -and stars the grass with shining petals. The night -is full of the scent of haystacks built along the -edge of the lagoon, beside the green terrace which -runs the length of the water-wall. Then, as darkness -deepens, we leave to the cicalas their moonlit -paradise, and glide once more into the Grand -Canal. It is at this hour, more than at any other, -that, sweeping round the curves of that marvellous -waterway, it possesses us as an idea, a presence that -is not to be put by, so compelling, so vitally creative, -is its beauty. Truly Venice is poetry, and -would create a poet out of the dullest clay.</p> - -<p>Every one will remember that a few years ago -an enterprising man of business attempted with sublime -self-confidence to transfer Venice to London, -to enclose her within the walls of a great exhibition. -Many of us delighted in the miniature -market of Rialto, in gliding through the narrow -waterways, in the cry of the gondoliers, and the -sound of violin and song across the water. But -one gift in the portion of Venice was forgotten, a -gift which she shares indeed with other cities, but -which she alone can put out to interest and increase -a thousandfold. The sky is the roof of all -the world, but Venice alone is paved with sky; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span> -the streets of Venice with no sky above them are -like the wings of the butterfly without the sun. -Tintoret and Turner saw Venice as the offspring -of sky and water: that is the spirit in which they -have portrayed her; that is the essence of her life. -It has penetrated everything she has created of -enduring beauty. Go into San Marco and look -down at what your feet are treading. Venice, -whose streets are paved with sky, must in her -church also have sky beneath her feet. It is impossible -to imagine a more wonderful pavement -than the undulating marbles of San Marco; its -rich and varied colours bound together with the -rarest inspiration; orient gems captured and imprisoned -and constantly lit with new and vivid -beauty from the domes above. The floor of San -Marco is one of the glories of Venice—of the -world; and it is surely peculiarly expressive of -the inspiration which worked in Venice in the days -of her creative life. San Marco, indeed, in its -superb and dazzling harmonies of colour, is almost -the only living representative of the Venice of -pomegranate and gold which created the Cà d’Oro, -of the City of Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini, whose -cornice-mouldings were interwoven with glittering -golden thread, while every side canal gave -back a glow of colour from richly-tinted walls.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> -The banners of the Lion in the Piazza no longer -wave in solemn splendour of crimson and gold -above a pavement of pale luminous red; in their -place the tricolour of Italy flaunts over colourless -uniformity. The gold is fading from the Palace -of the Doges, and only in a few rare nooks, such -as the Scuola of the Shoemakers in the Campo San -Tomà, do we find the original colours of an old -relief linger in delicate gradation over window or -door.</p> - -<p>Day after day some intimate treasure is torn -from the heart of Venice. Since Ruskin wrote, -one leaf after another has been cut from the -Missal which “once lay open upon the waves, -miraculous, like St. Cuthbert’s book, a golden -legend on countless leaves.” Those leaves are -numbered now. Year by year some familiar -object disappears from bridge or doorway, to be -labelled and hoarded in a distant museum among -aliens and exiles like itself. And here, in Venice -itself, a sentiment of distress, the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">fastidio</i> of the -Italians, comes over us as we ponder upon the -sculptured relics in the cortile of the Museo Civico. -What meaning have they here? It is atmosphere -that they need—the natural surroundings that -would explain and vivify their forms. Many also -of the Venetian churches are despoiled, and their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> -paintings hung side by side with alien subjects in -a light they were never intended to bear. The -Austrian had less power to hurt Venice than she -herself possesses. In those of her sons who understand -her malady there flows an undercurrent of -deep sadness, as if day by day they watched the -ebbing of a life in which all their hope and all -their love had root. They cannot sever themselves -from Venice: they cannot save her. Venice pretending -to share in the vulgar life of to-day, -Venice recklessly discarding one glory after another -for the poor exchange of coin, still has a power -over us not wielded by the inland cities of Italy, -happier in the untroubled beauty of their decay. -For, as you are turning with sorrow from some -fresh sign of pitiless destruction, of a sudden she -will flash upon you a new facet of her magic stone, -will draw you spell-bound to her waters and weave -once more that diaphanous web of radiant mystery:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Za per dirtelo,—o Catina,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">La campagna me consola;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ma Venezia è la sola</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Che me possa contentar.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Each of us, face to face with Venice, has a new -question to ask of her, and, as he alone framed the -question, the answer will be given to him alone. -Every stone has not yielded up its secret: in some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span> -there may still be a mark yet unperceived beneath -the dust. Here and there in her manuscript there -may lurk between the lines a word for the skilled -or the fortunate. Venice is not yet dumb: every -day and every night the sun and moon and star -make music in her that has not yet been heard: -with patience and love we may redeem here and -there a chord of those divine musicians, or at least -a tone which shall make her harmony more full.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">O Venezia benedetta,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">No te vogio più lassar.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_16" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Two">Chapter Two<br /> - -<span class="subhead">PHANTOMS OF THE LAGOONS</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">We</span> have called them the phantoms of the -lagoons, those islands that lie like -shadows among the silver waters; for -it is in this likeness that they appear to us of -the city—strangely mirrored, remote, a group -of clustering spirits, whose common halo is the -sea. They are a choir of spirits, yet each has a -mute music of its own, and accosting them one by -one—slowly and in the silence entering into their -life—we may come to know and love the several -members of this company of the blest, till our -senses grow alive to their harmony as they sing -together, sometimes in the clear, cold light of the -spreading dawn, sometimes in the evening twilight—when -peak after peak is lit with the flame of -sacrifice and, in the Titanic memory of the sunset -cloud, the great fire lit on earth burns up with -solemn flames into the sky.</p> - -<p>All the languors, the fierce passions, of Venice, -her vitality and her mysticism, are mirrored in the -lagoons; there is no pulse of Venice that does not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span> -beat in them; in swift sequence, as in a lighter -element, they reflect the phases of her being. -And the islands of the lagoons are, as it were, the -footsteps of young Venice. As she was passing -into her kingdom, she set her feet here and there -among the waters, and where she trod a life was -born. Her roots are far back in the past, far up -upon the mainland, where still remain some fragments -of the giant growth, which, grafted in the -lagoons, was to expand there into a new fulness -of beauty and life. It is as if the genius that -conceived Jesolo, Torcello, the Madonna of San -Donato, had undergone a sea-change as it moved -towards the Adriatic, as if some vision had passed -before it and shaken it, as if the immutable had -felt the first touch of mutability—had been -endowed with a new sense born of the ebb and -flow of ocean tides. In Malamocco she stepped -too near the sea, and left behind the mystery of a -city submerged; but no one can receive into his -mind the peerless blue and green of the open -water beyond the Lido, with the foam upon it, or -the sound of its incessant sweep against the shore, -without feeling that the spirit that had thus -embraced the sea had received a new pulse into -her being—a nerve of desire, of expansion, of -motion, which her mountain infinitudes had not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span> -inspired. And with the new life came new -dreams to Venice, dreams she was not slow to -realise, and into them were woven materials for -which we should seek in vain among the islands, -except in so far as the reflex of her later activities -fell also upon them. The Madonna of San Donato -is the goddess of the lagoons; and if there are -children of Venice who creep also for blessing and -for protection to the borders of her dusky garment, -they are but few. The mystic beauty of that -Madonna was not the beauty that inspired Venice -when she built upon the seas. The robe of her -divinity was more akin to the dazzling incomparable -blue of the bay that lies within the curve of -the Schiavoni, as we may see it from the Palazzo -Ducale on a morning of sunshine and east wind; -that indomitable intensity of colour, unveiled, -resplendent, filled to the brim with the whole -radiance and strength and glory of the day—that -is the girdle of Venice, the cup she drank of in -her strength. But it is clear that she had bowed -to a new dominion: with the ocean she wedded -the world.</p> - -<p>The lagoons are full of mysteries of light; they -are a veritable treasure ground of illusion. They -are not one expanse of water over which the light -broods with equable influence; they form a region<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span> -of various circles, as it were, of various degrees of -remoteness or tangibility. Almost one feels that -each circle must be inhabited by a spirit appropriate -to itself, and that a common language could -not be between them, so sharp are the limits set -by the play of light. On an early autumn morning -when the sky is clear and the sun streams full -and level upon the clear blue expanse that separates -Venice and Mestre, we seem to have a firm -foothold on this dancing water. It is a substantial -glory; but as our eye flits on from jewel to jewel -in the clear blue paving, a sudden line is drawn -beyond which it may not pass. The rich flood of -vital colour has its bound, and beyond it lies a -region bathed in light so intense that even colour -is refined into a mystic whiteness—a mirror of -crystal, devoid of substance, infinitely remote; and -above it, suspended in that lucent unearthly atmosphere, -hover the towers of Torcello and Burano, -like a mirage of the desert, midway between the -water and the sky. They hang there in completest -isolation, yet with a precise definition, a startling -clearness of contour. There is no vestige of other -buildings or of the earth on which they stand, only -the dome and campanile of Murano, the leaning -spire of Burano and Mazzorbo’s lightning-blasted -tower, their reflections distinctly mirrored in a luminous<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span> -medium, half mist, half water. There is -an immense awe in the vision of these phantoms, -caught up into a region where the happy radiant -colour dares not play; and yet not veiled—clearer in -what they choose to reveal than the near city strong -and splendid in the unreserve of the young day, -but so unearthly, so magical, that our morning -spirits scarcely dare accost them. What boat -shall navigate that shining nothingness that divides -them from our brave and brilliant water?</p> - -<p>Venice, indeed, at times falls under the phantom -spell. In those mornings of late autumn when the -duel between the sun and the scirocco seems as if -it could not end till day is done and night calls -up her reinforcements of mist, Venice is herself the -ghost, her goblet brimming with a liquor that -seems the drink of death, a perilous, grey, steely -vapour. One only of her islands looms out of the -enfolding, foggy blanket: it is San Michele, the -island of the dead. On such a morning we may -visit this abode of shadows, not at this hour more -strange, more ghostly, than the city. To-day a -veil is hung upon the hard, bare outline of its boundary -wall, which in sunny weather is a glaring eye-sore -as you travel towards Murano over the lagoon. -Here, in the cloisters where once Fra Mauro -dreamed and studied his famous Mappamondo,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span> -there is nothing to terrify the spirit on this morning -of the mist. The black and tinsel drapings, -the strange, unprofitable records of devotion and -bereavement, the panoply of death—all these are -veiled, and only the wild grasses glisten with their -dewdrops on the graves of the very poor, or autumn -leaves and flowers gleam from less humble graves, -while the cypresses raise their solemn spires into -the faintly dawning blue. But the cemetery island -of San Michele together with the islands of the -Giudecca and San Giorgio Maggiore, of San Pietro -di Castello and Sant’ Elena, with many lesser -islands close to Venice, have become absorbed for -us in the life of the city itself. Their bells and -hers sound together; we see them as one with her, -and from them look out to the wider lagoon, -where the remoter islands, the true phantoms, -wander. Many of those near to Venice have had -their vicissitudes, their sometime glorious past, their -pomp and solemn festival. But, bit by bit, it has -been stolen from them, and the treasures which -once they stored have been destroyed or gathered -into the city. Now they serve only as shelters for -those whose life is done—as places of repose for -the dead or for the sick in mind and body. One -only has passed from humble service into a fuller -and happier present. San Lazzaro, once the shelter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> -of lepers from the East, has become under the Armenian -Benedictines a haunt of active, cultured life. -It has a living industry, printing the ancient trade -of Venice, and is in daily commerce with the East.</p> - -<div id="i_023" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 42em;"> - <img src="images/i_023.jpg" width="2004" height="1487" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">SANTA MARIA DELLA SALUTE.</div></div> - -<p>Torcello is a <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">città morta</i>, but scarcely a cemetery -or a ruin. Relics of a past older than even Torcello -has known are gathered into the humble urn -of her museum; beside it stands abandoned, but -not in ruins, the group of the cathedral buildings -and the vast secular campanile; beyond this there -is nothing but the soil—the golden gardens of -vine and pomegranate, the fields of maize and artichokes -between their narrow canals. The intervening -period has entirely vanished; it is like a -dream. The page of populous palatial Torcello -has been blotted out as if it had had no existence. -No vestige remains of the churches which in -the old maps flourished along the chief canal, of -the names which in the documents have no unsubstantial -sound. None now can remember the time -when the spoiler was busy among the ruined palaces; -he too has passed into the shadows, and the -very stones of Torcello are scattered far and wide. -There is something mysterious in this complete -wiping out of a page of history, so that not time -only, but even the mourners of time have disappeared. -There is something unique in the isolation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span> -of the cathedral and the campanile, rising thus -out of the far past—this mighty masonry alone -among the herbs of the field. Of her great history -Torcello brings only the first page and the -last, the duomo, the peasants’ houses and the thatch -shelters of their boats. Wandering along the -grassy paths beside the vineyards, the pomegranates, -the golden thorn bushes of Torcello, we seem -in a sleepy pastoral land where the sun always -shines. Torcello seems ripe, rich ground for a -new life rather than the cemetery of an old; and -we may feed the fancy as we will, for she does not -refuse her doom; she has no hard contrasts of the -old and new.</p> - -<p>The few natives whom foreign gold supports -upon this island of malaria, have their chief haunts -in the cathedral campo, keeping guard over the -treasures of the past. For here upon the campo -stands the urn where Torcello keeps the ashes -of her ancestors—strange relics of old Altinum, -pathetic household gods, forks and spoons and -safety-pins, keys and necklaces, lamps and broken -plates and vases, chains and girdles and mighty -bracelets, some of delicate and some of coarser -make, with more ambitious works of mosaic and -relief, Greek and Roman and Oriental. There is -little in all; yet as we stand here in the museum,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> -looking out through the sunny window on the -hazy autumn gold of earth and the shimmering -water beyond, this little speaks eloquently to the -mind. Even to Torcello, the aged, these things -are ancestral; their life was in the old Altinum -when Torcello lay still undreamed-of in the womb -of time. Climb the campanile, and you will -wonder no more at the passing of the city at its -feet; it is so mighty, so self-contained and now -so voiceless with any tongue that earth can hear -and understand; almost it seems as if that -iron clapper, lying mute below the bell, were -symbol of Torcello’s farewell to the busy populous -world that needs the call to prayer. The great -tower is given up to mighty musings, and we upon -its summit speculate no more on the forgotten -Middle Age; we are content in the golden earth -beneath our feet, in the soft dreamy azure of the -encircling lagoon, where in the low tide the deep -tracks wind and writhe like glistening water-snakes, -or lie, like the faint transparent veining of -a leaf, upon that smooth expanse of interchanging -marsh and water, the uncertain dominion over -which Torcello towers. For the campanile, in its -vast simplicity of structure, its loneliness, its duration, -is of kin with those great sentinels of the -desert in which the Egyptians embodied their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span> -giant dreams of power. It is here that the soul -of Torcello still abides, to dream out upon the -mystery of day and night to the mountains and -the city and the sea. And even if the sunlight -is rich and jubilant in the yellow fields below, -where the autumn has such fitting habitation, -it spreads upon the waters a broad path of silver -that gleams mysteriously like moonlight upon -the distant spaces of the ocean shield, waking -points of light out of the immense surrounding -dimness. And it is most of all in the deep -night that the gulf of the centuries may be -bridged. The monotonous piping of the cicalas -rises even to this height in the darkness, but no -other sound is heard. It is a strangely moving, -melancholy landscape, half hidden, half revealed, -still holding in its patient, silent heart the tragic -sorrows, the hopes and shattered longings, the -courageous struggle of the past ages, the fierce -cry of desolation, the flames of cities doomed to -destruction in the darkness of night, and their -ruins outspread beneath the unsparing sun. It has -lain now so long deserted, a presence from which -the stream of life has flowed away, carrying with -it all the agitations of joy and sorrow, that among -the fluctuating marshes the key for its deciphering -has been lost.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span></p> - -<p>As we have said, whole pages are torn from -the history of Torcello. Fragments only remain. -But here and there is a word or two that may -be gathered into a sentence. If we approach the -island from the east, by the waterway between -Sant’ Erasmo and Tre Porti instead of by the -narrow channels of the inner lagoon, we may -receive some impression of the relation it once -bore to the mainland. We may see how Torcello -stands as the entrance of the lagoon north of -Venice, the last outpost of the mainland, the first-fruits -of a new career—recognise that she was -once through the Portus Torcellus in closest touch -with the high seas. In the ninth century it was -one Rustico of Torcello who combined with -Buono of Malamocco to carry the bones of St. -Mark from Alexandria to Venice. In 1268 -Torcello is specially mentioned by da Canale -among the “Contrees, que armerent lor navie, -et vindrent a lor signor Mesire Laurens Teuple -(Lorenzo Tiepolo) li haut Dus de Venise, et a -Madame la Duchoise” on the occasion of Tiepolo’s -election. Torcello contributed three galleys -completely equipped for the Genoese war, and in -1463 sent one hundred crossbowmen in the service -of the Republic against Trieste.</p> - -<p>What is left of this city, which shared the early<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span> -glory if not the later pomp of Venice? Where -are her palaces, her gardens, her bridges, her -waterways? Where are her piazzas and calles -and fondamentas, her churches and rich convents? -We pass their names in the old chronicles: Piazza -del Duomo, Rio Campo di San Giovanni, Fondamenta -dei Borgognoni, Calle Santa Margherita, -Fondamenta Bobizo, Ponte di Chà Delfino, Ponte -de Pino, and the rest. Many of these were of -very old foundation: their stones and traces of -their construction have been discovered from time -to time under the mud of the canals. In the -poor houses of the peasants traces still remain of -original windows, cornices and pillars; the main -canal is still spanned by the beautiful ruined bridge -of the Diavolo. But for the rest the grass piazza -with its little group of buildings, its museum -flanked by the cathedral, is the sole echo, itself no -more than an echo of the past.</p> - -<p>When Altinum and her neighbouring cities -roused themselves from the crushing desolation of -conquest which had driven them forth to the -remote borders of the mainland, they began to -desire to live anew in the lagoons. There is -no reason to question Dandolo’s statement that -Torcello and the group of surrounding islands, -Burano, Mazzorbo, Constanziana, Amoriana and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> -Ammiana, were named from the gates of Altinum—a -pathetic attempt to perpetuate the ruined -city. Nuovo Altino was indeed the name for -Torcello, and when the terror of invasion had -momentarily passed, the fugitives ventured back -to the mainland, and brought down to the soft-soiled -island the stones of their ancient city. -Torcello was built from the stones of Altinum; -her very stones were veterans, the stamp of old -times was upon them, the stamp of thoughts that -were often sealed for those men of a later day who -built them anew into their temples. The steps up -to the pulpit in the duomo are perhaps the most -striking instance of this ingrafting of the old upon -the new, the naïve earnestness, perhaps the urgent -haste and need of builders who did not fear to set -an old pagan relief to do service in this temple -of their Christian God. There are various theories -as to the meaning of the wonderful relief -which forms the base of the pulpit stair, cut like -its companion slabs to meet the requirements of -the stair without regard to its individual existence. -We cannot help pausing before it; for it is unique -among the monuments of the estuary, so unique -that it seems incredible it should have been the -work of those late Greek artists who executed the -wonderful beasts and birds of the sanctuary screen.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span> -On the right is a woman’s figure, of Egyptian -rather than Greek or Roman mould, standing -with averted face and head resting on her arms, in -melancholy thought. Beside her a man, like her -resigned and meditative in attitude, but not yet -with the resignation of despair, raises his left arm -as if to ward off a blow. The blow is dealt left-handed -by one who in his right hand holds a pair -of scales and advances swiftly on winged wheels. -He, again, is met in his advance by a fourth figure -whom we only see in part, his right side having -been almost completely cut away. He is fronting -us, however—his feet planted firmly on the -ground, his right hand folded on his breast, while -with his left he grasps the forelock of the impetuous -figure of the winged wheels and balances. -Thanks to the happy discovery by Professor Cattaneo -of part of the fragment missing to the -design, we know that a woman’s figure stood -beyond him, holding in her left hand a palm and -in her right a crown which she raises to the stalwart -conqueror’s head. It is a simple but daring -and most spirited composition. It seems to belong -to a far remoter past than that of the earliest -building of Torcello. Professor Cattaneo explains -it as an allegory of the passage of Time, who on -his winged wheels has already passed one man by,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span> -as he stands stroking his beard, while tears and -sorrow await him in the form of the woman on -his right in mourning guise and posture; the stalwart -man on the left is he who faces Time and -takes him by the forelock, and for him the crown -and palm of victory are in waiting. But Professor -Cattaneo seems to give a needlessly limited significance -to the idea of Time. It is to him the -Time which God offers to man that he may do -what is just and combat his own evil passions; this -seems to him to be expressed by the scales and the -stick he grasps in his hand. Perhaps it is enough -to think merely of the club as that with which a -more familiar Time is wont to deal back-handed -blows at those who are so idle or so sluggish as to -let him pass. At any rate the men of Torcello -could comprehend this language of the rough -stone. What matter if the oracles were dumb? -Which of them had not wept to see the face of -Time averted, which of them had not felt the -weight of his backward blow? And yet this -symbol of old Time must have been mute to them -before the great solemn Madonna in the dusky, -golden circle of the apse; she looks beyond all -fortunes and vicissitudes of man. How should -they dare to pray to her? Worship they may, -and rise with strength to contend with Time and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span> -conquer him, with a weapon to face the mystery -of life; but they meet here no smile of comfort, -no companionable grace. To those men who -dreamed this figure, to us who look upon her and -worship, the dominion of Time is a forgotten -thing; we ask no pity for our human woes; they -have passed, they have crumbled: she gives us a -better gift than pity, insight into the hidden things -of life and of art; she wings with hope, if with -stern hope, our dream of beauty. The mosaics on -the west wall of the cathedral have the same stern -character, with less of beauty than the Madonna -of the apse: the great angels on either side the -weird central Christ in the upper division have a -strangely oriental effect. They might be Indian -gods. They hold the Christian symbols, but with -how abstracted, how remote a gaze they look out -from their aureoles! They are at one with the -noble simplicity and strength and greatness of the -spirit of the building they adorn. Somehow they -seem to us the oldest thing within it; we begin to -be drawn by them into mysteries older than the -caves of Greece whence the pillars of this duomo -came; we begin to share their watch over a vast -desert where all the faiths and imaginings of men -may move and mingle, and find a common altar -under the dome of the evening sky.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span></p> - -<p>Greater than Torcello, and still maintaining, as -near neighbour to Venice, something of its old -activities, Murano lives, none the less, a phantom -life. We would choose, as a fitting atmosphere -for Murano, a day of delicate lights and pale, -lucent water, with faint fine tints within the water -and the sky: a day of the falling year, not expectant, -only acceptant, pausing in the dim quiet of -its decay. Even the hot sunshine, though it irradiates -the features of Murano, cannot penetrate -to that spent heart. The marvellous fascination -of its Grand Canal, with its swift and unaccustomed -current of blue waters, cannot draw us from -the sadness, or disperse the spectral melancholy -which invades the spirit and surrounds it as an atmosphere. -The sun infects the dirty children -with a desire to shine, and prompts somersaults for -a soldino; but the weary women, the old, crouching -men, still creep about the fondamenta impervious -to his rays. Murano is not less disinherited, -not less phantasmal, because the daylight comes to -pierce the semblance of her life. It is strangely -invasive and possessing, this sentiment of a life -outlived, a body whose soul is fled. The long -vine gardens that spread to the lagoon, dispossessed, -but still apparently doing service and rich -in vegetables and fruit, seem as if they would persuade<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span> -us of their reality; but their walls are -ruined, their ways are low and narrow; it was not -thus they looked when Bembo and Navagero -paced here in an earthly paradise, a haunt of -nymphs and demigods. The living population of -Murano seems to have fallen under the same spell. -If we bestow on them more than a cursory glance -as we pass along the fondamenta, we seem to -detect in their faces an indescribable sense of -weariness and sorrow and decay. There seem -many old among them, and on the young toil and -privation have already laid their hand. The -strange habitual chant of priest and women and -young girls, going up from tired nerveless throats -in the twilight of San Pietro Martire, seemed -a symbol of the voice of Murano, melancholy, -mechanical, the phantom of a voice—an echo -struck with the hand or by a breath of wind -from a fallen instrument, an instrument that has -lost its virtue and its ring, an instrument unstrung. -We have seen Murano in festa. She can pay her -tribute to free Italy. Ponte Lungo was hung -with lamps, and the desolate campi had their -share in the illumination. In the very piazza of -San Donato a hawker was winding elastic strings -of golden treacle, while women and children in -gay dresses hurried to and fro. In another square,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span> -under the clock tower, a demagogue addressed the -crowd excitedly: there was plentiful noise, plentiful -determination to enjoy. The campanile -looked down and wondered. <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">O Roma o morte.</i> -Had it been Rome then and not death? Rome and -freedom, freedom to destroy the historic and the -old? It was a grand triumph, a triumph justly -commemorated, and yet the conquerors themselves -might grieve over the Italy of to-day. Mazzini, we -know, struck a note of melancholy out of that proud -exultation. Italy, if she lives, lives among ruins, -and for the most part she is careless of her decay.</p> - -<div id="i_037" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 30em;"> - <img src="images/i_037.jpg" width="1453" height="2477" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">THE CLOCK TOWER.</div></div> - -<p>Murano, like Torcello, is bound by one glorious -link with her Byzantine past, and this one -of the noblest monuments, not of the lagoons -only, but of all Italy; simple, stern, august. San -Donato has not, indeed, gone unscathed by time, -nor by modernity. The wonders of its pavement -are becoming blackened and obscured; holes are -being worn in it, missing cubes leave gaps in the -design. In winter it is constantly flooded by -high tide, and even in other seasons the damp is -ruining a pavement which rivals, if it does not -surpass, that of San Marco. It is impossible to -describe the beauty of the designs, the exquisite -harmonics of its precious marbles, porphyry and -verd-antique, Verona, serpentine and marmo greco,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span> -with noble masses of colour among the smaller -fragments, and a most precious gem of chalcedony, -which, if we may believe the poor old sacristan, -whose complaints concerning his precious floor -wake no response, an English visitor would have -wished to steal. The sacristan can show to all -who will lament with him the ruin wrought by -sacrilegious man. But no profane hand has dared to -raise itself against the Madonna of the apse. This -Madonna of San Donato is even grander, more -august, than that other who in Torcello conquers -Time, and surely it is not without reason that we -have called her the goddess of the lagoons. In -perfect aloofness and secrecy she stands, but with -luminous revelation in her strangely significant -eyes; her white hands uplifted, her white face -shining out of the darkness, the long, straight -folds of her dark robe worked with gold, her feet -resting, it seems, upon a golden fire. The gaze -of this marvellous Madonna seems to comprehend -the world. She is a sphinx who holds the key of -every mystery. In her presence we are overcome -by the impulse to kneel and worship. She is not, -like many Byzantine Madonnas, grotesque, forbidding -in her immensity, in her aloofness; for -even while she rebukes and subdues our littleness -of soul, she draws all our senses as a being of absolute,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span> -inexplicable beauty. She holds us rapt and -will not let us go. The memory of the Duomo -of San Donato is concentrated in the single magical -figure of her Madonna, leaning in benediction -from the golden apse.</p> - -<p>Murano is full of corners where Gothic and Byzantine -have combined to beautify portico, pillar -and arch. In the Asilo dei Vecchii are two of the -most ancient fireplaces known in Venice, and at -Venice fireplaces were very early in use. One is a -deep square hollowed in the wall, and furnished -with doors that shut upon it like a panelling, -while two little windows, as usual, open out behind. -The other projects into the room, with -sloping roof and little seats within on either side. -Murano, it is well known, was the pleasure-ground -of the Venetians in happier days; it was here that -the men of the Great Republic had their gardens -elect for solace and for beauty. But with the Republic -Murano fell; the patrimonies of the patricians -were scattered—gradually their palaces were -snatched away, piece by piece, and fell into irrecoverable -ruin. One only now retains some image -of its former splendour, the famous Cà da Mula, -upon the fine sweep of the Grand Canal. The -Madonna of San Donato has looked down on the -spoliation of her temple; she still looks on its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> -slow decay. She has shared the proud sorrows of -the campanile; in colloquy through the night -what may he not have told of the passing of Murano? -They have little, these solemn guardians of -the past, in common with the exuberant Renaissance, -but perhaps a common fate, the unifying hand -of Time, may have bound their spirits in a confraternity -of grief. The heart of the old campanile -would be stirred with pity for the fate of those deserted -palaces, the sublime Madonna would turn an -eye not of scorn but of sorrow on the fading forms -of those radiant women, so splendid on the frescoed -palace fronts, so alluring in the smooth mirror of -the canal. The work of the spoiler, so far as it -was a work of violence, of a human spoiler, is -done; but the slower work of nature still proceeds.</p> - -<p>Long before Murano became a Venetian pleasure-ground, -she had been famous for her painters, for -her ships, for her furnaces. Like Torcello, she -sent vessels to the triumph of the Doge Lorenzo -Tiepolo, and she was conspicuous among the -others, as da Canale says: “For you must know -that those of Murano had on their vessels living -cocks, so that they might be known and whence -they came.” Molmenti thinks that Carpaccio -himself belonged to a shipbuilding family of Murano, -and this is the more interesting in view of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span> -the frequency and detail of shipping operations in -his pictures. Murano was indeed the birthplace of -Venetian art, and the riches of its furnaces glow in -the garments of those early painters, Vivarini, Andrea -and Quirico. From the end of the eleventh -century the glass works had begun to flourish; by -the thirteenth the industry was transferred wholly -to Murano. The legend runs that a certain Cristoforo -Briani, hearing from Marco Polo of the -monopoly of agates, chalcedony and other precious -stones on the coast of Guiana, set about imitating -them. With Domenico Miotto to help him he -succeeded, and the latter carried the art to still -greater perfection, which resulted at last in the -imitation of the pearl. In 1528 Andrea Vidoare -received a special mariegola or charter for the fame -of his wonderful pearls, polished and variegated by -him to a degree unknown before. In the middle -of the fifteenth century the first crystals came from -the furnaces, and the following century was the -golden period of the art—a period coinciding -with the greatest patrician glory of the island. Murano -still burns with its secular fire, winning from -the old world its secrets, the old, wise world that -worshipped fire, to fuse them once more in its crucible -for the wonder of the new; secrets of crystal, -pearl and ruby, and of the blue of the deepest ocean<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> -depths or the impenetrable night sky, imprisoning -them in those transparent cenotaphs in forms of -infinite harmony and grace. And it is not only in -the revival of ancient memories and forgotten mysteries -that the furnaces of Murano play their part; -they contribute also to the present renewal of Venice: -for it is here that the units of the mosaicist’s -art are made. In Murano is laid the foundation-stone -of its success—the quality of the colour, the -depth and richness of the gold. The period of -decadence in the Venetian arts is accurately reflected -in its mosaics; with the decadence of conception -we note also the decadence of colour. -Those hard blatant tones that characterise the late -mosaics of San Marco are records, too permanent, -alas! of a time when the furnaces had lost their -cunning, or rather when the master minds were -blunted and the secret of the ancient colourists allowed -to lie unquestioned under the dust of time.</p> - -<p>There is a humbler department of the glass -works which we must not pass by. It lies away -from the furnaces devoted to rare and subtle texture -and design, behind San Pietro Martire, among -the gardens: a manufactory of common glass for -daily use, tumblers and water-bottles and other -humble ware. Here there is the swift operation -of machinery, at least among the coarser glasses,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span> -and a noise of the very inferno with countless -sweating fiends—little black-faced grinning boys, -grateful for a package full of grapes or juicy figs; -there is little mystery in the production of this -coarser glass, or rather few of the obvious accessories -of mystery, the delicate slow fashioning, the -infusion of colours. Instead, the constant noise of -machinery, deafening and exhausting in its incessant -motion, though even here the reign of -machinery is limited: the finer tumblers must go -a longer journey to be filed by a slower, more -gradual process, the direct handiwork of man. -There is an upper circle to which we gladly pass -from this inferno, almost a paradise if we contrast -it with the turmoil and heat below; to reach it we -pass by the troughs of grey sand which all day -men are trampling with the soles of their bare -feet, to mould into fit temper for the furnace. -The floor of the room above is covered and the -walls lined with strange creations of cold, grey -earth, fashioned by hand, roll after roll of clay, -ungainly forms to be inhabited by fire. This -upper attic, with its company of mute grey moulds, -opens out upon the vineyards of Murano, with -water shimmering through the long golden alleys, -and the city visible beyond. The gardens of the -Palazzo da Mula and of San Cipriano are beside<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span> -us. The bustle of the new world has invaded the -peaceful seclusion of a spot once sacred to the -student aristocracy of Venice.</p> - -<p>For this island, famed for so glorious an industry, -was beloved and honoured by the noblest -of Venetian names, Trifone Gabriele and Pietro -Bembo and Andrea Navagero. Here Navagero -founded one of the first botanic gardens of Europe—“a -terrestrial paradise, a place of nymphs and -demigods”; here Gabriele wandered for hours -under the thick vine pergola walled with jessamine -against the sun. And it was not only as a temporary -pleasure-ground that they loved Murano: -they clung to it as their resting-place in death. -Bernardo Giustiniani desired to be buried by his -palace, at the foot of Ponte Lungo, and Andrea -Navagero in the church of San Martino in the -same quarter where his house was built. Murano -was honoured by at least one royal guest. It was -here that Henry III of France, on his passage -through Venice from Polonia, was given his first -lodging, and the palace which witnessed the first -transports of this rapturous monarch, the palace of -Bartolomeo Capello, still exists, close beside the -church of Santa Maria degli Angeli, at the extreme -western point of the city. It would thus form -the most convenient landing-place, besides commanding<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span> -a view of extreme beauty; to the left, -the fine torrent-like sweep of the chief canal, with -the noble Cà da Mula a little lower on the opposite -bank and its gardens immediately over the water; -Venice filling the horizon clear across the lagoon, -where the south curve of Murano ends to-day in a -meadow of rough grass and fragrant herbs; to the -right the Convent of the Angeli, leading on the -eye across the lagoon to the mainland and the distant -mountains beyond. Traces of fresco remain -on the outer walls of the palazzo, and the upper -hall still stretches through the whole breadth of -the house. It is on the balcony of this central -hall that Henry must have stood when he appeared -before dinner to gratify the crowds on the fondamenta -and in the boats below. The view of -Venice in the evening light is exquisitely lovely, -with the lagoon spread like a mirror to reflect the -delicate opaline of the sunset sky. In this hall -hung with cloth of gold and cremosine, and perhaps -with the colours of Veronese, looking over a -paradise of gardens and water to the immortal city, -Henry kept his court, received the legates from -the Pope and said a thousand graceful things about -His Holiness, rejoiced the natives by his noble -bearing, his perfumed gloves, his frank pleasure in -their tribute, his decision to go on foot to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span> -Angeli to morning Mass. Thus was he initiated -to the magical city and its enchantments by that -wise providence of the Venetians, who made their -islands always stepping-stones, outer courts of the -central shrine, where their pilgrim must pause -awhile to shake the dust of the mainland off his -feet, that the spell might permeate his being and -fill his senses with desire.</p> - -<p>The fondamenta below Henry’s palace, leading to -the church of the Angeli, is one of the most desolate -in Murano; the wide green campo of the cemetery -which opens from it is deserted and bare, save -for a few fowls that humbly commemorate the proud -old shield. The dirt of the children is indescribable, -as they press close begging a soldino. But their -dirt is dearer to them. A bargain for a washed face, -even when the reward rings cheerily on the pavement, -brings no response but laughter and surprise. -We are reminded by contrast of the tribute of Andrea -Calmo, a popular poet of the sixteenth century:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">E voio tanto bene a quel Muran,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Che, per diroelo certo in veritæ,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Son in pensier de vender le mie intræ.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">E venir la per starmene pì san.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Quei horti a pieni de herbe uliose</div> - <div class="verse indent0">E quel canal cusi chiaro e pulio</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Con quelle belle casi si aierose,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Con tante creature che par riose</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Liogo che l’ha stampao Domenedio.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span></p> -<p class="in0">(And I wish so well to that Murano, that to tell -you the sober truth I am thinking of selling my -takings and coming there to live more healthily. -The gardens there are so full of olive trees, and -the canal so clear and clean, the houses so beautiful -and so airy, with so many fair creatures that it -seems a place of joy stamped by the Lord God.) -Beside the Cà da Mula, hidden among some outbuildings, -from which it has in the last years been -partially released, is one of Murano’s finest treasures, -the convent front of San Cipriano, which in -the ninth century, when Malamocco was on the -point of submersion, was brought here by order -of Ordelafo Faliero. Andrea Dandolo dates the -building from 881; it was rebuilt in 1109 and -restored in 1605, and its exquisite façade, still -bearing the stamp of several ages, freed somewhat -from the earth about its base, stands up nobly -from the tangled garden around it. The central -arch is outlined with the finest Byzantine tracery -lined with Gothic, surrounded once with coloured -marbles of which only fragments now remain, -and above this is a frieze of the best Roman of -the Renaissance: slender columns, some Byzantine, -some Gothic, adorn it on either side, and fantastic -Byzantine symbols are sculptured in the stone discs -that are embedded in the walls between the arches<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span> -of the cloister. A campanula on the ruined wall -to the left of the arch stands out clear and pale -against the brick building behind, where once the -cloister opened out, an exquisite harmony of lavender -and rose. Fragmentary though it is, this -façade of the famous monastery is one of the most -precious relics of the islands of the lagoons.</p> - -<p>There is an island where we cannot think of -death, where decay dare not come; though the -water plants smell faint upon its shores, and -the cypresses that clothe it rise black against the -sky. It is the island that sheltered one of the -most joyful spirits that has ever walked the world, -the island where the larks once sang in such -prolonged impulsive harmony of joy that the -sound of their singing has never passed away; it -may seem to lie silent as a veil upon the water, -but the tremor of the sunshine will waken it to -renewed harmonics of delight—San Francesco del -Deserto. We rejoice to think that the Poverello -set foot in the lagoons, that he left here in the -lonely waters the blossom of his love. St. Francis -of the Desert can wake no thoughts of melancholy, -and indeed this is no deserted place, nor in -the morning of his coming, after the night of -storm, can it have seemed a place of desolation; -for nothing is more wonderful, more prodigally<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span> -full of the mysterious rapture of life, than the -flowing in of day upon the lagoons after the -tumult of rain and hurricane. They say that St. -Francis, coming from the Holy Land on a Venetian -ship, was driven by the storm to cast anchor -near Torcello; that as he prayed, the storm subsided, -and a great calm fell on the lagoon. Then -as the Poverello set foot upon this cypress-covered -shore, the sun came out—the sun of the early -summer dawn—and shone through the dripping -branches of the cypresses, covering them with -glistening crystals, and shone on the damp feathered -creatures among the branches and on the -larks among the reedy grass, and as he shone a -choir of voices woke in the lonely island and -a chorus of welcome burst from ten thousand -throats. And the sun shone in the heart of St. -Francis also, and it overflowed with joy; and St. -Francis said to his companion, “The little birds, -our brothers, praise their Creator with joy; and -we also as we walk in the midst of them—let us -sing the praises of God.” And then as St. Bonaventura -relates the legend, the birds sang so clamorously -on the branches that St. Francis had to -entreat their silence till he had sung the Lauds; -but we may read another story if we will, and say -that the dewy matin song of the birds was not so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span> -clamorous as to disturb the quiet morning gladness -of the Poverello, that they sang together in the -dawn. San Francesco del Deserto is not an island -of sorrow. In the little convent inhabited still by -a few quiet Franciscans, the narrow gloomy corner -is to be seen which they name St. Francis’s bed: -in the convent garden there rises a stone memorial -round the tree that flowered from the Saint’s -planted staff. We know these familiar symbols -of the Franciscan convents: the brothers cling to -them as to some fragmentary testament that their -eyes can read and their hand grasp when the living -spirit has fled away; everywhere among the mountain -or the valley solitudes where St. Francis dwelt, -the same dark relics of that luminous spirit are to -be found, the story even of birds banished for ever -by the command of that prince of singers, as if -his own voice chanting eternal litanies could be his -sole delight. They are strange stories; we pass -them by, and go out to find the Poverello where the -cones of the cypresses gleam silver-grey against the -blue. His spirit has taken happy root among -the waters of the lagoons; a new joy and glory is -added to the mountains as they rise in the calm -dawn, clear and luminous from the departing rain -cloud; there is joy and peace in the raised grass -walk between the cypress trees; the island is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span> -indeed a place of life and not of death for those -who have felt the suffering and the joy of love, -and who worship beauty in their hearts.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">O Beata Solitudo,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O Sola Beatitudo.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>There are still solitudes in the desert of the lagoon -where some of us have dreamed of beginning -a new day. In the hour when the last gold has -faded from the sun-path—when those dancing -gems he flings to leap and sport upon the water -have been slowly gathered in, when the churches -and palaces of the city are folded under one soft -clinging veil, which softens the outline that it does -not obscure, when Torcello and Burano lean in -pallid solitude above the level disc of the marsh, -and the Lido lies like a sea-serpent coiled on itself, -its spires reflected in the motionless mirror far south -to Chioggia—they steal out, these island phantoms, -faint, alluring, upon the still mosaic of the -lagoon, like black pearls in that shell-like surface -of tenderest azure and rose. Shall we not dare to -wander among those lovely paths, those dimly burning -gems? None visits them, unless it be the golden -stars and the dreaming lover of Endymion: -their roof is the broad rainbow spread above them -by the setting sun. They seem sometimes to welcome<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span> -a spirit that should come and dwell among -them silently; one that should tread them with -loving reverence and quiet hope, seeking to set free -the fantasies with which earth has stored it, but -which no power of earth may help it to disburden.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_54" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Three">Chapter Three<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE NUPTIALS OF VENICE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">Until</span> the fall of the Venetian Republic -the rite of the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">Sporalizio del Mare</i>, the -wedding of Venice with the sea, continued -to be celebrated annually at the feast of the Ascension. -Long after the fruits of the espousal had -been gathered, when its renewal had become no -more than a ceremonious display, there stirred a -pulse of present life in the embrace; and in a sense, -the significance of the ceremony never can be lost -while one stone remains upon another in the city -of the sea.</p> - -<p>For the earliest celebration of the nuptials there -was need of no golden Bucintoro, no feast of red -wine and chestnuts, no damask roses in a silver -cup, not so much as a ring to seal the bond. For -it was no vaunt of sovereignty; it was a humble -oblation, a prayer to the Creator that His creature -might be calm and tranquil to all who travelled -over it, an oblation to the creature that it might -be pleased to assist the gracious and pacific work -of its Creator. The regal ceremony of later times<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span> -was inaugurated by the Doge Pietro Orseolo II -who, having largely increased the sea dominion of -Venice and made himself lord of the Adriatic, -welded his achievement into the fabric of the state -by the ceremony of the espousal. The ring was -not introduced till the year 1177, when Pope Alexander -III, being present at the festival, bestowed it -on the Doge, as token of the papal sanction of the -ceremony, with the words, “Receive it as pledge -of the sovereignty that you and your successors -shall maintain over the sea.” But the true importance -of the festival, whether in its primitive -form or in its later elaboration, is the development -of Venetian policy which it signified—a development -which, for the purposes of this chapter, will -best be considered in relation to events separated by -nearly two centuries, but united in their acknowledgment -of the growing importance of Venice on -the waters. The first is Pietro Orseolo’s Dalmatian -campaign, followed in 1001 by the secret visit -of the German Emperor Otho III, and the second -the famous concordat of Pope Alexander III and -the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa, concluded under -the auspices of Venetian statecraft in 1177.</p> - -<p>Pietro Orseolo II appears as one of the most -potent interpreters of the Venetian spirit. He -combined qualities which enabled him to gather<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span> -together the threads which the genius of Venice -and the exigencies of her position were weaving, -and to fashion from them a substantial web on -which her industry might operate. He was a -soldier, a great statesman and a patriot. All the -subtlety, all the ambition, all the dreams of glory -with which his potent and spacious mind was -endowed, were at his country’s service, and the -material in which he had to work was plastic to -his touch. Venice lay midway between the kingdoms -of the East and West, and from the earliest -times this fact had determined her importance: -she might rise to greatness or she might be annihilated; -she could not be ignored. The Venice -of Orseolo was instinct with vitality and teeming -with energies, but she was divided against herself. -The foundations of her greatness were already -laid, but her general aim and tendency were not -determined. She was in need of a leader of commanding -mind and capacious imagination, who -could envisage her future, and who should possess -the power of inspiring others with confidence in -his dreams. Such a man was Pietro Orseolo II. -Venice had been threatened with destruction by -the division of the two interests which, interwoven, -were the basis of her power. Before the -final settlement at Rialto she had been torn hither<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span> -and thither by the factions of the East and West, -the party favouring Constantinople and the party -favouring the Frankish King; and at any moment -still the Doge’s policy might be wrecked by the -rivalries of the two parties, if he proved lacking in -insight or capacity for uniting in his service the -interests of both.</p> - -<div id="i_057" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 33em;"> - <img src="images/i_057.jpg" width="1596" height="2252" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">RIVA DEGLI SCHIAVONI.</div></div> - -<p>For some time Dalmatia had been a thorn in -the side of Venice, a refuge for the disloyal, and, -through the agency of the hordes of pirates infesting -the coast, a real menace to her commerce. -Venice had attempted to purchase immunity from -the pirates by payment of an annual indemnity. -Orseolo decided at once to put an end to this payment, -but he realised that the price of the decision -was a foothold in Dalmatia that would need to be -obtained by force of arms. For this end it was -necessary to secure harmony within the city itself, -and, knowing this, he exercised his powers to obtain -approval of his expedition from the authorities -of East and of West, from the Emperors of -Germany and Byzantium. He was successful in -this, and circumstances combined further to aid -his designs. The Croatians and Narentines, by -wreaking on Northern Dalmatia their anger at -the loss of the Venetian indemnity, had prepared -the minds of the Dalmatians to look on the prospect<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span> -of Venetian supremacy as one of release rather -than of subjugation. It is said that they even -went so far as to send a message to Orseolo encouraging -his coming. Their province was nominally -under the Emperor of Byzantium, but their -overlord had decided to look favourably on a -means of securing peace and safe passage to his -province at so small an expense to himself. Orseolo -set sail on Ascension Day, after a service in -the Cathedral of Olivolo (now San Pietro di Castello), -fortified by the good will of East and of -West, and the united acclamations of all parties -in Venice. Pride and vigorous hope must have -swelled the hearts of these warriors. It was -summer, and their songs must have travelled across -the dazzling blue of the great basin of St. Mark, -and echoed and re-echoed far out on the crystal -waters of the lagoon. Triumph was anticipated, -and triumph was their portion. Orseolo’s expedition -was little less than a triumphal progress; the -coast towns of Dalmatia from Zara to Ragusa rendered -him their homage. A new and immensely -rich province was acquired by Venice, and the -title of Duke of Dalmatia accorded to himself.</p> - -<p>Soon after Orseolo’s return from this campaign, -Venice, unknown to herself, was to receive the -homage of one of the emperors she had made it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span> -her business to propitiate. There is something -that stirs the imagination in this secret visit of -Otho III to the Doge. According to the ingenuous -account of John the Deacon, Venetian ambassador -at the Emperor’s court, it was merely -one of those visits of princely compliment which -the age knew so well how to contrive, and loved -so well to recount—a visit in disguise for humility -or greater freedom, like that of St. Louis to -Brother Giles at Perugia, where host and guest -embrace in fellowship too deep for words. The -Emperor, John the Deacon tells us, was overcome -with admiration of Orseolo’s achievements -in Dalmatia, and filled with longing to see so -great a man, and the chronicler was despatched -to Venice to arrange a meeting. The Doge, -while acknowledging the compliment of Otho’s -message, could not believe in its reality, and consequently -kept his own counsel about it—“tacitus -sibi in corde servabat.” However, when Otho on -his travels had come down to Ravenna for Lent, -John the Deacon was again despatched, and this -time from Doge to Emperor.</p> - -<p>It was ultimately arranged that after the Easter -celebration Otho with a handful of followers -should repair, under pretext of a “spring-cure,” -to the abbey of Santa Maria in the isle of Pomposa<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span> -at the mouth of the Po. He pretended to -be taking up his quarters here for several days, but -at nightfall he secretly embarked in a small boat -prepared by John the Deacon, and set sail with -him and six followers for Venice. All that -night and all the following day the little boat -battled with the tempest, and the storm was still -unabated the next evening, when it put in at the -island of San Servolo and found itself harboured -at last in the waters of St. Mark. Venice knew -nothing of this arrival; her royal guest had taken -her unawares, and her waterways had prepared -him no welcome. We may picture the anxiety -of Orseolo, alone with the secret of his expected -guest, on the island of San Servolo. The journey -may well have been perilous for so small a boat -even within the sheltering wall of the Lido, and -we may imagine his relief when it could at last -be descried beating towards the island through -the tempestuous waters of the lagoon. In impenetrable -night, concealed from one another’s -eyes by the thick darkness, Emperor and Doge -embraced. Otho was invited to rest for an hour -or two at the convent of San Zaccaria, but he -repaired before dawn to the Ducal Palace and the -lodging made ready for him in the eastern tower. -There is a fascination in attempting to imagine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span> -the two sovereigns moving amid the shadows of -Venetian night, in thinking of the Emperor -watching from the vantage of his tower for daybreak -over the city. There are wonders to be -seen from this eastern aspect, but after the discomfort -of his voyage to Venice the royal captive may -well have felt a longing for a sight of the city -from within. It is all rather like a children’s -game—Orseolo’s feigned first meeting with an -embassy from Otho, his inquiry as to the Emperor’s -health and whereabouts, and the public -dinner with the ambassadors. Venice is robbed -of a pageant, and one most dear to her, the fêting -of a royal guest; the guest is deprived of all -festivities beyond a christening of the Doge’s -daughter; yet the pleasurable excitement of John -the chronicler communicates itself and disarms -our criticism; and it is not till gifts have been -offered and refused—“ne quis cupiditatis et non -Sancti Marci tuæque dilectionis causa me hac venisse -asserat”—till tears and kisses have been exchanged, -and the Emperor, this time preceding -his companions by a day, has set sail once more -for the island of Pomposa, that we break from the -spell of the chronicler and begin to cavil at the -strange conditions of the visit.</p> - -<p>Modern historians have laid a probing hand on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span> -the sentimentality of John the Deacon’s tale; they -do not doubt the kisses or the tears, but the -unparalleled eccentricity of secrecy seems to demand -an urgent motive. Why this strange coyness of -the Emperor? Might he not have thought more -to honour Venice and her Doge by coming with -imperial pomp than by stealing in and out of the -triumphant city like a thief in the night? And -why did the persons concerned make public boast -of the success of their freak immediately after its -occurrence? For John tells us that when three -days had passed, the people were assembled by the -Doge at his palace to hear of his achievement, -“and praised no less the faith of the Emperor -than the skill of their leader.” The probable -solution of the various enigmas rather rudely -shatters the romance. Gfrörer lays on Orseolo -the responsibility of the <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">incognito</i>, attributing it -partly to a memory of the fate that overtook the -Candiani’s personal relations with an imperial -house, partly to his desire to treat with the -Emperor unobserved. He recalls point by point -the precautions taken by Orseolo to preclude Otho -from contact with other Venetians, and comes to -the conclusion that in those private interviews -in the tower the “eternal dreamer” was feasted on -the milk and honey of promises, food of which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span> -no third person could have been allowed to partake. -“What lies,” he exclaims, “were invented, -what assurances vouchsafed of the most unbounded -devotion to imperial projects in general and the -longed-for reconstitution of the Roman Empire -in particular! Never was prince so shamefully -abused as Otho III at Venice.” It is not necessary -to abandon our belief in Otho’s personal feelings -for the Doge, augmented by Orseolo’s recent -campaign, to realise that there must have been -another side to the picture. Gulled the royal -guest in all probability was, but there is little -doubt that he had an axe of his own to be ground -on this visit to Venice—that the journey had for -its aim something beyond his delectation in a sight -of the Doge and his obeisance to the Lion. For -the furtherance of his schemes of empire Otho -needed a fleet. He had, Gfrörer tells us, “an -admiral already in view for it. Nothing was -wanted but cables, anchors, equipments; in short -there were not even ships, nor the necessary money, -and above all, there were no sailors. I believe -that Otho III undertook the journey to Venice -precisely to procure for himself these necessary -trifles. Who knows how many times already he -had urged the Doge to hasten his sending of the -long-promised fleet; but in place of ships<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span> -nothing had yet come but letters or embassies -carrying specious excuses.” If the historian’s -motivisation is accurate, Otho must have found, -like so many after him, Venice more capable of -exercising persuasion than of submitting to it. -For our uses, however, the original or the revised -versions of the tale serve the same purpose. As an -act of spontaneous homage or an act of practical -policy, the visit of Otho, full as it is of speculative -possibilities, was an imperial tribute to the position -Orseolo had given to Venice, an imperial recognition -of her progress towards supremacy in the -Adriatic.</p> - -<p>Orseolo’s achievement and the rite which symbolised -it were confirmed two centuries later when, -in the spring and summer of 1177, Venice was -the meeting place of Pope Alexander III and the -Emperor Frederick Barbarossa. Tradition has -woven a curious romance round the fact of the -Pope’s sojourn in Venice before the coming of -the Emperor. By a manipulation of various -episodes, he is brought as a fugitive to creep among -the tortuous by-ways of the city, sleeping on the -bare ground, and going forward as chance might -direct till he is received as a chaplain—or, to -enhance the thrill of agony, as a scullion—in the -convent of Santa Maria della Carità, and after some<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span> -months have elapsed is brought to the notice -of the Doge, when a transformation scene of the -Cinderella type is effected. It is inevitable that -melodramatic touches should have been added to -so important an episode, and the accounts of the -manner of Alexander’s arrival and his bearing in -Venice are many and varied. None the less, it is -clear that splendour and not secrecy, ceremony not -intimacy, are the general colouring of the event. -Frederick had shown himself disposed to make -peace and to accept the mediation of Venice, and -in the early days of the Pope’s visit the Venetians -had acted as counsellors, pending the agreement as -to a meeting place. Significant terms are used by -the chroniclers to account for the ultimate choice, -and the note which they strike is repeated again -and again in the chorus of praise that throughout -the centuries was to wait upon Venice. “Pope -and Emperor sent forth their mandates to divers -parts of the world, that Archbishops, Bishops, -Abbots, Ecclesiastics and secular Princes should -repair to Venice; for Venice is safe for all, fertile -and abounding in supplies, and the people quiet -and peace-loving.” Secure among the lagoons, -Venice is aloof from the disturbances of the mainland -cities, and though her inhabitants are proved -warriors they are peaceable citizens. Many of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span> -glories of Gentile Bellini’s <i>Procession of the Cross</i> -would be present in the procession in which the -Doge and the magnates of Venice formally conducted -Alexander III to the city—patriarch, -bishops, clergy, and finally the Pope himself, all -in their festival robes. Ecclesiastical and secular -princes of Germany, France, England, Spain, -Hungary and the whole of Italy were crowding to -Venice. The occasion gave scope for her fascinations, -and they were exerted. No opportunity -for display was neglected; ceremony was heaped -upon ceremony.</p> - -<p>For over a fortnight Venice was the centre of -correspondence daily renewed between Emperor -and Pope, of embassies hastening to and fro, of -endless postponements and uncertainties. The -Pope retires for a few days to Ferrara; then he is -back again to be received as before. But Venice, -the indomitable, is secure of her will, and preparations -for the coming of the Emperor are growing -apace. In July the Doge’s son is despatched to -meet the royal guest at Ravenna and conduct him -to Venice by way of Chioggia. No tempests disturbed -his arrival. He was conducted in triumph -up the lagoon by the galleys of “honest men” -and Cardinals who had gone forth to Chioggia to -meet him. Slowly the islands of the Lido would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span> -unfold themselves to his eyes, Pellestrina in shining -curves, Malamocco with its long reaches of bare -shore and reeds. The group clustered round -Venice itself—San Servolo, La Grazia, San Lazzaro, -Poveglia—would be green and smiling then, -living islands, not desolated as now for the most -part by magazine or asylum. San Nicolo del Lido -welcomed the guest, and he was borne thence on -the ducal boat to the city and landed at the Riva. -Through the acclamations of an “unheard-of multitude” -his way was made to San Marco, where -the Pope in all his robes, amid a throng of gorgeous -ecclesiastics and laymen, was waiting on the -threshold. As he passed out of the brilliant and -garish day into the solemn mosaiced glory of San -Marco and moved to the high altar between Pope -and Doge singing a Te Deum, “while all gave -thanks to God, rejoicing and exulting and weeping,” -even an emperor and a Barbarossa may well -have surrendered his pride. Even we, spectators -removed by time, find ourselves exalted on the -tide of colour and of sound, and crying to the -Venetians, with the strangers who thronged in -their streets, “Blessed are ye, that so great a peace -has been able to be established in the midst of -you! This shall be a memorial to your name for -ever.” Peace was secured and Venice had accomplished<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span> -her task. She had devoted the subtleties -of her statecraft to its performance, but perhaps -the splendour of this hour in San Marco was her -crowning achievement. She asked the recognition -of a Pope, and she brought the temporal sovereign -to his side in a church which is one of the wonders -of Christendom. She polished and gilded every -detail of her worldly magnificence, and poured it -as an oblation at the altar. Her reinforcements to -the cause of Alexander III were drawn from far -back in the ages, from the inspiration of the men -who had fashioned her temple; and may there not -be some deeper signification than merely that of -Frederick’s stubbornness in the “Not to thee, but -to St. Peter,” traditionally attributed to him as he -prostrated himself at his enemy’s feet?</p> - -<div id="i_071" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 32em;"> - <img src="images/i_071.jpg" width="1525" height="2399" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">THE DOORWAY OF SAN MARCO.</div></div> - -<p>To Venice there remained, beside the praise of -all Christendom, many tangible tokens of the -events of the summer. Emperor and Pope vied -with each other in evincing their gratitude. Alexander -formally sanctioned and confirmed the title -of Venice as sovereign and queen of the Adriatic, -and bestowed on the Doge a consecrated ring for -use at the Nuptials. And henceforth the ceremony -at San Nicolo del Lido, the place of arrival and -departure for the high seas and for Dalmatia and -the East, was increased in magnificence. No trace<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span> -now remains of the church where the rites were -performed; but the grassy squares of San Nicolo -and the wooded slopes of its canal, looking on one -side to the city, on the other to the sea, are beautiful -still. The ocean calls to the lagoon, and the -calm waters of the lagoon sway themselves in -answer; while, outside the Lido, line beyond line -of snowy-crested waves, ever advancing, bear in to -Venice, Bride of the Adriatic, the will of the high -sea.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_74" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Four">Chapter Four<br /> - -<span class="subhead">VENICE IN FESTIVAL</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> treaty signed in 1573 between Venice -and Constantinople, though it marked no -real rise in her fortunes, gave her a respite -from the petty and fruitless warfare with the Turk, -in which she had so long been engaged. That -conflict had drained the resources of the Republic -without affording compensating gains. The loss -and horrors of Famagosta might seem to have been -revenged by the battle of Lepanto, where the triumph -of Venice and her allies was complete; but -owing to the dilatoriness and inaction of Don John -of Austria, brother of Philip of Spain, the opportunity -of annihilating the Turkish forces was allowed -to escape, and victory was reduced to little more -than the name. So flagrant had been the character -of Don John’s disloyalty that the Venetians no -longer could mistake his intentions. Spain was an -ally of Venice; but Tommaso Morosini was but -voicing the general conviction when he exclaimed, -“We must face the fact that there will be no -profitable progress, seeing that the victory already<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span> -gained by the forces of the League against the -Turk was great in the number of ships captured, -rare in the number of slaves set free, famous by -reason of the power it broke, formidable for the -numbers killed by the sword, glorious for the pride -it laid low, terrible in the fame acquired by it. -And, none the less, no single foot of ground was -gained. Oh, incomparable ignominy and shame -of the allies, that whatever honour they obtained -in consequence of the victory, they lost by not following -it up!” Though nominally in league with -her against the Turk, Spain, owing to her jealousy -of Venice, was unwilling that the war should be -ended. The League of Cambray, formed in 1508 -by the European powers unfriendly to Venice, -should have made it clear to the Republic that she -had over-reached her own interests by interference -in the politics of Europe. Moreover, a severe blow -had been dealt to the commerce of Venice by the -discovery of the Cape route to the East. Yet, -though her decline had begun, she still formed a -subject for envy, and there is justice in Morosini’s -conclusion as to the causes of the growing enmity -of Spain. “Ruling,” he says of the Spaniards, “a -good part of Europe, having passed into Africa, -having discovered new territory, dominating most -of Italy, and seeing the Republic, the single part,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span> -the only corner of Italy, to be free and without the -least burden of slavery, they envy it, envying it they -hate it, and hating it they lay snares for it.”</p> - -<p>Though the terms of the peace with Constantinople -were humiliating in the extreme (Venice -relinquished the whole of Cyprus, a fortress in -Albania, and agreed within three years to pay an -indemnity of one hundred thousand ducats) it set -her hands free for awhile and gave her a breathing -space in which to return to her pageants. And -for the next few years she laid herself out more -completely than ever before to impress the world -by her splendour. It is not easy to determine the -beginnings of decadent luxury in Venetian history. -Venice had always been a pleasure-house, a place -of entertainment for kings and emperors, a temple -of solemn festival. Perhaps the broad difference -between the splendours of the early and late -Renaissance is that one achieved that perfection of -taste which robes luxury in apparent simplicity, -while the other was more obvious and expansive—the -difference between the Madonnas of Bellini -and of Titian, between the interiors of Carpaccio -and Paul Veronese. There is a real and discernible -difference in aspect between Venice of the fifteenth -and Venice of the sixteenth century, but it -is not the difference between asceticism and luxury.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span> -Venice was never ascetic, no prophet ever drew -her citizens round a sacrificial bonfire on the -Piazza. On the other hand it is said that a Venetian -merchant was burnt in effigy on Savonarola’s -pile because he had attempted to purchase some -of the doomed Florentine treasures. In the -course of the fifteenth century isolated voices were -indeed raised in protest against the luxury of -Venice, and the authorities themselves, as the State -coffers grew empty, tried by oratorical appeal and -detailed legislation to curb the extravagance of -private citizens. But their protests were, in the -main, quite ineffectual. Venice could not resist -the influences that wove for her each day a magical -dress; she could not refuse the treasures of the -East: it was her function to be beautiful, to accept -and love every wonder, to turn her face against -nothing that could glorify. She had always appeared -as a miracle to men, she had always lavished -her treasures on her guests; the vital difference -between the period of her decline and that of her -greatness lies in the gradual relaxation of the ties -binding her to the sources of her wealth. With -the ebbing of her trade her citizens begin to barter -their landed estates and their treasures. Morosini’s -acute and interesting prophecy as to the -private banks into which Venetian money began<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span> -to be diverted provides us with a background to -some of the almost fabulous expenditure of the -Cinquecento—“The banker,” he says, “with a -chance of obliging many friends in their need, and -acquiring others by such a service, and with power -to do so without spending money, simply by making -a brief entry, is easily persuaded to satisfy -many. When the opportunity arises of buying -some valuable piece of furniture or decoration, -clothes, jewels and similar things of great price, he -is easily persuaded to please himself, simply ordering -a line or two to be written in his books—reassuring, -or rather, deceiving himself with the -thought that one year being passed in this way, he -can carry time forward, and pass many years in the -same manner, scheming that such an affair or such -an investment as he has in hand, when it has come -to perfection, ought to prove most useful, and that -through its means he may be able to remedy other -disorders; which hope proving fallacious shows -with how little security walks one who places his -thoughts and hopes in the uncertain and inconstant -issues of events.”</p> - -<p>The fabric of sixteenth-century Venice was too -largely founded on the “uncertain and inconstant -issues of events,” but none the less it was as radiant -a fabric as any that man has yet fashioned. Something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span> -at least of its nature may be learned from -the details of the entertainment of Henry III in -Venice, and his lodging and reception in the then -fashionable suburb of Murano. Henry came to -Venice in the early summer of 1574, on his way -from Poland to take possession of the throne of -France vacated by the death of his brother Charles -IX. He came at a moment when Venice was rich -in artists to do him honour—Tintoretto, Paolo -Veronese, Palladio and Claudio Merulo: he was -crowned with the laurels of war; while the Republic -was able to clothe herself in the glory of -Lepanto and the respite of her newly concluded -peace with the Turk and, superficially at least, -appeared peculiarly fitted to welcome him. The -young King was gracious, and greedy to drink his -fill of life, and Venice was unique in her celebration. -The visit was one of the most spontaneous, -the most joyful to host and guest, of any that are -recorded in her annals. All the territory of -Venice was prepared to honour him, and his journey -was a triumphal progress. There is something -joyous still about the little inland cities of his -route, echoes of festival still linger in their streets, -romance still dwells in their hearts. At Treviso, -where the young King was welcomed with peculiar -pomp, the Lion of St. Mark, portrayed by three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span> -successive ages, rules still, his majesty sustained by -the sturdiness of life that moves in the city. The -winding cobbled streets are full of bustle and interchange, -the arcades are full of people, vital and -busily employed. Treviso is not a museum. Its -ancient palace of the Cavallieri is still in use, -though its loggia with traces of rich fresco is filled -with lumber. But we are not critical of small -details at Treviso; we thank it for its winding -streets and for its leaping azure river; we thank it -for its countless ancient roofs and painted rafters; -for its houses high and low, harmonious though -endless in variation, for the remnants of fresco, -shadows no doubt of what once they were, but -companionable shadows—horses with still distinguishable -motions, graceful maidens both of land -and sea. These glories are fading but they have -substance still, and on a day of mid-autumn we -are well able to imagine a kingly procession on -the road from Treviso to Mestre. It seems a -pageant, a progress of pomp and colour, as we -pass between the vineyards and maize fields and -the great gardens and pastures of the villas, down -the avenue of plane trees set like gold banners on -silvery flagstaffs with carpets of fallen leaves at -their feet. Behind them are ranked dark cypresses, -pale groups of willow, or companies of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span> -poplar. And these are often garlanded to their -very summits by crimson creepers, and interspersed -with statues, not perhaps great in workmanship, -but tempered and harmonised into beauty by the -seasons. Here and there is a lawn flanked by dark -shrubbery, or a terrace ablaze with dahlias and -salvia. And, among them, Baron Franchetti of -the Cà d’Oro has a home even more worthy of -the golden title than is his palace on the shores -of the Grand Canal—a place where the sun -reveals miraculous hangings in the shrubberies, -sumptuously furnished with scarlet and crimson -and gold.</p> - -<div id="i_081" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 33em;"> - <img src="images/i_081.jpg" width="1588" height="2224" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">VIEW FROM CÀ D’ORO.</div></div> - -<p>Some such festival of colour, in banners and -trappings, would be Henry’s preparation for the -pageant of the lagoons. For he was met at -Marghera, half way between Mestre and Venice, -by a troop of senators and noblemen and ambassadors, -and escorted to the palace of Bartolomeo -Capello at Murano. Of the young King’s lodging -at Murano we have spoken elsewhere—of the -hall hung with gold brocade, with golden baldaquin, -green velvet and silk, its entrance guarded -by sixty halberdiers armed for the occasion with -gilt spears borrowed from the chambers of the -Council of Ten. Forty noble youths, in glorious -attire, had been told off to wait on the King.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span> -But, “although a most sumptuous supper was -prepared, none the less His Majesty, when the -senators were gone, showed himself a short while -at the windows dressed in cloth of gold and silk; -after which he went to supper, and the princes -arrived, so that it was most glorious with abundant -supply of exquisite viands and most delicate foods.” -The hearts of the Venetians were won by the -King’s beauty and youth, by his delicate person -and grave aspect, by his majestic bearing and his -eagerness to please and be pleased. He was in -mourning for his brother, but his mourning did -not shadow Venice by its gloom. “His Majesty -appeared in public dressed all in purple (which is -his mourning) with a Flemish cloak, a cap on his -head in the Italian mode, with long veil and -mantle reaching to his feet, slashed jerkin, stockings -and leather collar, and a large shirt-frill most -becomingly worn, with perfumed gloves in his -hand, and wearing on his feet shoes with heels -<i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">à la mode française</i>.”</p> - -<p>It would be tedious to relate the details of the -splendid entertainments that each day were provided -for his delectation; of salutes that made the -earth and water tremble, of fireworks glowing all -night beneath the windows of the Cà Foscari, of -the blaze of light from the candles set in every<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span> -window and cornice and angle of the buildings -along the Grand Canal, of the gilded lilies and -pyramids and wheels reflected in the water, “so -that the canal seemed like another starry sky.” -It was a veritable gala for Henry; he paid a -private visit to the Doge to the great satisfaction -of that prince and his senate, he went about <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">incognito</i> -in a gondola alone with the Duke of -Ferrara, “so that when they thought he was in -his room, he was in some other part of the city, -returning home at an exceedingly late hour accompanied -by many torches, and immensely enjoying -the liberty of this town; and on account of his -charm and courtesy, the whole place gave vent to -the lasting joy and satisfaction it felt in continually -seeing him.” He spent three hours in the -Arsenal, engrossed in viewing the vast preparation -for war and the spoils won from the Turk “in -the sea battle on the day of the great victory”; -and then in the chamber of the Council of Ten, -within the Arsenal, he was provided with a Sugar -Feast, with sugar dishes, knives and forks, so admirably -counterfeit that His Majesty only realised -their nature when his sugar napkin crumbled and -a piece of it fell to the ground. Is there not -something contributive to our picture of Venice -the entertainer, in this feast of sugar given by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span> -terrible Council of Ten within the walls of the -Arsenal itself? There is naturally much vague -repetition in the chronicles of the time, but here -and there are vital touches which bring the young -King to life before our eyes. At the banquet -given in his honour in the Sala del Gran Consiglio, -having eaten sufficiently himself, he brought the -meal to an end before half of the courses had appeared, -by adroitly causing the Dukes of Savoy -and Ferrara to rise in their places at his side, and -calling for water for his hands during the disturbance -caused by the lords and ambassadors as they -followed the example of the dukes. He told -Giovanni Michele that of all the entertainments -he had witnessed in Venice none had pleased him -more than the “Guerra dei Ponti,” and that if he -had known of it earlier he would have prayed to -have had the spectacle repeated several times, for -he “could have asked nothing better than this.” -The Guerra dei Ponti were wrestling matches that -took place on certain bridges over the canals, and -pages of description might not have told us as -much of the nature of the man who lived behind -the scented gloves and purple mantle, as this single -expression of preference.</p> - -<p>Two episodes in the visit of Henry that seem -worthy of fuller record stand out from the rest:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span> -his reception at the Lido and the Ball in the -Ducal Palace; and they represent the achievements -in his honour of two departments of Venetian -activity, the City Guilds and the Court. -While he was still in his lodging at Murano -barges of immense splendour, vying with each -other in symbolism and ingenuity of design, and -each representing one of the trades of Venice, had -arrived to accompany him to the Lido. If we -imagine the Lord Mayor’s Procession, with splendour -a thousandfold enhanced and with drapery -and design of artistic excellence, removed from -the streets to the glittering surface of the lagoon, -we may have some idea of the spectacle. Among -the most splendid of the barges was that of the -Druggists, with an ensign of the Saviour riding -on the world. “The outer coverings themselves -were of cloth of gold, and below them and below -the oars were painted canvases. The poop was -hung within with most beautiful carpets, and on -the four sides four pyramids were erected of sky -blue with fireworks inside them, at the feet of -which were four stucco figures representing four -nymphs, and there were set two arquebuses and a -musket and two flags white and red and a flag -of battle. And on the outside were divers sorts -of arms, spears and shields and six arquebuses.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span> -On the prow was a pyramid with fireworks, on -the top of which was an angel—for this and -the Golden Head were the badges of the two -honoured druggists who had decked the said -vessel—and in the midst of it was a design of a -pelican with a motto round it in letters of gold, -<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Respice Domino</i>, representing the pelican as wounding -its breast to draw blood from it to nourish its -offspring, just as they, the druggists, faithful and -devoted to their prince and master, gave and -offered to him, not only their faculties but their -blood itself, which is their own life in his service; -and at the foot of the pyramid was a little boy -beating a drum.” The Looking-Glass Makers -also had prepared a magnificent barge glittering -with symbols of their profession. But perhaps -the device of the Glass-Workers of Murano out-rivalled -all others in ingenuity and pomp. “On -two great barges, chained together and covered -with painted canvases, they had erected a furnace -in the form of a sea-monster; and following the -train of vessels, flames were seen issuing from its -mouths, and, the masters having given their consent, -the Glass-Workers made most beautiful vases -of crystal, which were cause of great pleasure to -the King.”</p> - -<p>The Convent of Sant’ Elena was the vantage<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span> -point chosen for looking on Venice, and at the -moment the army of barges and brigantines -reached it, they spread out in front of His Majesty, -and a salute broke from them all; “to -which the galleys in the train of the King replied -in such ordered unity that His Majesty rose to his -feet with great curiosity to see them, praising exceedingly -so wonderful a sight, admiring to his -right the fair and famous city marvellously built -upon the salt waters, and on the left a forest of so -many ships and vessels with so great noise of artillery -and arquebuses, and of trumpets and drums, -that he remained astounded; while he openly -showed himself not less merry than content, seeing -so rare a thing as was never before seen of -him.” Henry’s arrival at the Lido is portrayed -in the Sala delle Quattro Porte in the Ducal -Palace. He is seen advancing with sprightly step, -between two dignitaries of the Church, up a temporary -wooden bridge towards the Triumphal -Arch and Temple of Palladio. This arch was -decorated with paintings by Paolo and Tintoretto, -and in connexion with it Ridolfi tells a delightful -story of the painting of Henry’s portrait. “Tintoretto,” -says Ridolfi, “was longing to paint the -King’s portrait, and in consequence begged Paolo -to finish the arch by himself; and, taking off his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span> -toga, Tintoretto dressed himself as one of the -Doge’s equerries, and took his place among them -in the Bucintoro as it moved to meet the King, -thus furtively procuring a chalk sketch of the proposed -portrait, which he was afterwards to enlarge -to life size; and having made friends with M. -Bellagarda, the King’s treasurer, he was introduced -with much difficulty, owing to the frequent visits -of the Doge, into the royal apartments to retouch -the portrait from life. Now whilst he stood -painting, and the King with great courtesy admiring, -there entered presumptuously into the apartments -at smith of the Arsenal, presenting an -ill-done portrait by himself, and saying that, while -His Majesty was dining in the Arsenal, he had -done the likeness of him. His presumption was -humbled by a courtier who snatched it from his -hand, and ripping it up with his dagger threw it -into the neighbouring Grand Canal: which incident, -on account of the whispering it produced, -made it difficult for the painter to carry out his -intention. Tintoretto had also observed on that -occasion that from time to time certain persons -were introduced to the King, whom he touched -lightly on the shoulder with his rapier, adding -other ceremonies. And pretending not to understand -the meaning, he asked it of Bellagarda, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span> -said that they were created knights by His Majesty, -and that he, Tintoretto, might prepare himself -to receive that degree; for he had discussed -the matter with the King, to whom Tintoretto’s -conditions were known and who had shown himself -disposed, in attestation of his powers, to create -him also a knight; but our painter, not being -willing to subject himself to any title, modestly -rejected the offer.” When the portrait was finished -and presented to the King, it was acclaimed -by him as a marvellous likeness, and we may -safely conclude from this that it was fair to look -on. The King presented it to the Doge. Perhaps -the picture from the first had been intended -as a present for Mocenigo, and this was the explanation -of the secrecy observed in regard to it.</p> - -<div id="i_091" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 40em;"> - <img src="images/i_091.jpg" width="1935" height="1451" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">COURTYARD OF PALAZZO DUCALE.</div></div> - -<p>The climax of entertainment was reached in the -festa at the Ducal Palace on the second Sunday -after Henry’s arrival (his visit lasted ten days). -The glories of Venice were gathered in that -marvellous hall still hung with the paintings of Carpaccio -and Gentile Bellini, and the exquisite Paradise -of Guariento; for it was yet a year previous -to the great fire which was to give scope to the -contemporary giants. The later victories of Venice -were as yet unchronicled except in the hearts of -living men. There was no thought of sumptuary<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span> -laws on this day at least of the great festival. -Ladies were there clothed all in ormesine, adorned -with jewels and pearls of great size, not only in -strings on their necks, but covering their head-dresses -and the cloaks on their shoulders. “And -in their whiteness, their beauty and magnificence, -they formed a choir not so much of nymphs as -of very goddesses. They were set one behind the -other in fair order upon carpeted benches stretching -round the whole hall, leaving an ample space -in the centre, at the head of which was set a royal -seat with a covering of gold and entirely covered -with a baldaquin from top to bottom, and round it -yellow and blue satin.” All the splendours of -Venetian and Oriental cloths were lavished on the -Hall of the Great Council and the Sala del Scrutinio -adjoining. The King as usual entered whole-heartedly -into the festivity. His seat was raised -that he might look over the company, “but he -chose nevertheless to go round and salute all the -ladies with much grace and courtesy, raising his -cap as he went along.” After a time musical -instruments were heard, the ladies were carried off -by the gentlemen, and forming into line they -began to dance a slow measure, passing before the -King and bowing as they passed. “And he stood -the whole while cap in hand.” The French courtiers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span> -were permitted by their master to lay aside -their mourning for the time, and they danced with -great merriment, vying with the most famous -dancers of Venice. But the great feature of the -evening was the tragedy by Cornelio Frangipani—a -mythological masque in honour of the most -Christian King and of Venice herself—with Proteus, -Iris, Mars, Amazons, Pallas and Mercury as -protagonists. To the first printed edition of his -masque Frangipani prefixed an apology for his -title of tragedy, with the usual appeal to classic -precedent. “This tragedy of mine,” he says, “was -recited in such a way as most nearly to approach -to the form of the ancients; all the players sang -in sweetest harmony, now accompanied, now -alone; and finally the chorus of Mercury was -composed of players who had so many various -instruments as were never heard before. The -trumpets introduced the gods on to the appointed -scene with the machinery of tragedy, but this -could not be used to effect on account of the great -concourse of people; and the ancients could not -have been initiated into the musical compositions -in which Claudio Merulo had reached a height -certainly never attained by the ancients.” The -masque is in reality a mere masque of occasion, -comparable to countless English productions in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span> -Elizabethan age, though lacking in the lyrical grace -they generally possess. Henry is addressed as the -slayer of monsters, the harbinger of peace, the -herald of the age of <span class="locked">gold—</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Pregamo questo domator de’ mostri</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ch’eterno al mondo viva,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Perchè in pregiata oliva</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Ha da cangiar d’ alloro</div> - <div class="verse indent0">E apportar l’ antica età del’ oro.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The masque is without literary merit, but we -need not regard it in the cold light of an after day, -caged and with clipped wings. To that glorious -assembly, illumined by the great deeds fresh in -men’s minds and the presence of a royal hero, -Frangipani’s words may well have been kindled -into flame. For if time and place were ever in -conspiracy to wing pedestrian thoughts and words, -it must have been at this fêting of the most Christian -King of France in the City of the Sea.</p> - -<p>Pens were busy in Venice during the days of -Henry’s stay. Unsalaried artists, independent of -everything except a means of livelihood, exacted -toll from the royal guest. From the 16,000 scudi -of largess distributed by the King, payments are -enumerated “to writers and poets who presented to -His Majesty Latin works and poems made in praise -of his greatness and splendour.” Gifts, as well as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span> -compliments were exchanged on all hands. The -Duke of Savoy presented the Doge’s wife with a -girdle studded with thirty gold rosettes each containing -four pearls and a precious jewel in the -centre, worth 1,800 scudi. And Henry’s final -token of gratitude to his entertainers was to send -after the Doge, who had accompanied him to -Fusina, a magnificent diamond ring, begging that -Mocenigo should wear it continually in token of -their love. Most of these offerings and acknowledgments, -without doubt, would be merely ceremonial. -Yet the young King’s delight in his -visit had been genuine, and his frank enjoyment -of all Venice offered had won him her sympathy -and even her affection. Memories of the freedom -of his stay went with him to the routine of his -kingship, and he looked backwards with delight -to her winged pleasures. She had spread gifts out -before him, as she does before all, but in his own -hands he had carried the key of her inmost treasures; -for his spirit was joyful and joy is the key to -the unlocking of her heart.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_98" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Five">Chapter Five<br /> - -<span class="subhead">A MERCHANT OF VENICE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">“Siamo noi</span> calcolatori” was the confession -of a modern Venetian, quoted lately as -expressive of the spirit that governs Venice -to-day and has lain at the root of her policy in -the past. The confession is striking; for most -men, however calculating in practice, acknowledge -an ideal of spontaneous generosity which causes -them to shun the admission of self-interested -motives. The charge, if charge it can be termed, -is an old one. Again and again it has been -brought against Venice by those to whom her -greatness has been a stumbling-block—“sono calcolatori.” -But perhaps if the indictment be -rightly understood it will be found to need, not -so much a denial as an extension, a fuller statement -of meaning. And this Professor Molmenti -has supplied in his <i>Venice in the Middle Ages</i>.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> -“The Venetians,” he says, in commenting on the -support they lent to the Crusades, “never forgot -their commercial and political interests in their -zeal for the faith; they intended to secure for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span> -themselves a market in every corner of the globe. -But their so-called egoism displayed itself in a -profound attachment to their country and their -race; and these greedy hucksters, these selfish -adventurers, as they are sometimes unjustly called, -had at bottom a genuine belief in objects high and -serious; the merchant not seldom became a hero. -These lords of the sea knew how to wed the -passion of Christianity to commercial enterprise, -and welded the aspirations of the faith with the -interests of their country, proving by their action -not only how vain and sterile is an idealism which -consumes itself in morbid dreams, but also that the -mere production of riches will lead to ruin unless -it be tempered, legalised, almost, we would say, -sanctified, by the serene and lifegiving breath of -the ideal.” But because she was supremely successful -in her undertakings, Venice won for herself -much perplexed and hostile comment from those -who were jealous of a mastery sustained with such -apparently effortless self-possession—of an organisation -so complete, so silent, so pervasive. She -has been accused of perfidy, of cruelty, in short, of -shameless egoism. A nation, a state, is pledged to -the preservation of its identity, its conceptions must -be bounded and constantly measured by the power -of other states. The neighbours of Venice in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span> -days of her glory were selfish and calculating also; -her prominence was due not so much to special -weapons as to her skill in wielding weapons -everywhere in use.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> Translated by Mr. Horatio Browne.</p> - -</div> - -<p>And what can we say of the ends to which she -directed her success, the scope of her arts, the -nature of her pleasures? It must be admitted by -all that the soul of Venice was capacious, unique -in its harmony of imagination and political acumen; -unique in its power of commanding and retaining -respect. A great soul was in the men of Venice; -it was present in all their activities, in their commerce -as in their art. The two were most intimately -allied. Again and again the chroniclers -of Venice crown their catalogue of her glories -with the reminder that their foundation is in -commerce, that the Venetians are a nation of -shopkeepers, and “you have only come to such -estate by reason of the trade done by your shipping -in various parts of the world.” Even in the fifteenth -century it was deemed complimentary to -say to a newly elected Doge, “You have been a -great trader in your young days.” The greatness -of Venice was coincident with the greatness of -her trade. She was lit, it is true, with the -ancient stars of her splendour after the mortal -blow had been struck at her commerce by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span> -discovery of the Cape route to the East, but the -old unity of her strength had been lost—the firm -foundations of the days when the nobles of Venice -had been the directors of her enterprise. And at -the end of the fifteenth century they no longer sat, -in their togas, behind the counters in Rialto, or -made the basements of their houses into stores. -They had ceased to apprentice their sons to the -merchants on the sea-going galleys. They still -acted as commanders of the ships in times of war, -but in intervals of peace the gulf between noble -and merchant was constantly being enlarged. The -commercial traveller was no longer considered -one of the most distinguished of citizens. The -corner stone had been taken from the building of -Rialto; it had begun to crumble to the dissolution -lamented by Grevembroch in his strange book on -Venetian costumes. In the great days of Venice -her commerce was great, and she knew how to -robe it in glory, how to attract to it the noblest, -and not the meanest, of her sons. Her shops were -the objects of her proudest solicitude, and the -well-being of her merchants the first of her cares. -The hostels provided for foreign traders ranked -with the most sumptuous of her palaces, and the -rules framed for their guidance were amongst the -most liberal in her legislature.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span></p> - -<p>The calculations of Venice, growing with her -growth, impressed on her national consciousness the -importance of her position midway between the -East and the West—her geographical qualification -for becoming the mart of the world. With steady -and concentrated purpose she devoted her energy -to opening up fresh channels of communication. -Sometimes by the marriage of a son or daughter -of the Doge with the heir of a kingdom or a -prince of Constantinople, sometimes by the subjugation -of a common foe, Venice wove new -threads of intercourse with the East. She always -took payment for benefits she conferred in wider -trading advantages. Her merchant vessels were -not private adventures, they represented state enterprise -and were under the control of the central -government, travelling with the fleet and capable -of reinforcing it at need. Seven merchant convoys -left Venice annually for Roumania, Azof, -Trebizond, Cyprus, Armenia, France, England, -Flanders, Spain, Portugal and Egypt. By means -of these vessels the glories of the Orient found -their way to the lands of the West; Venice was -mistress of the treasures of Arabia, and became -their dispenser to Europe. And she was not -merely a mart, a counter of interchange; she -tested the goods at their source; she was not at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span> -the mercy of valuers, her citizen travellers came -into touch with the goods on the soil that produced -them. The East, to which the art of -Venice owes much of its material—its gold, its -gems, its colours—was not an unfathomed mine -but, in a certain sense, a pleasure-ground for her -citizens; they passed to and fro familiarly, guests -of its greatest potentates. They stood face to face -with Cublay Kaan, the monarch of mystery.</p> - -<p>The journeys of the famous Poli are among the -most thrilling and significant records of Venetian -history. Through them we are able to realise -something of the Republic’s debt to the lands -of the East—a debt not to be summed up in -enumeration of embroidery and jewels and perfumes -and secrets of colour. In part at least it -consisted of legends and traditions that filtered -into Venice through the hearing and speech of -her travellers—age-old lessons in wisdom, which -must have invested some of the common things of -Venetian life with new meaning and done something -to break down the barriers which ignorance -erects between man and man, knowledge and -knowledge. In the beautiful Persian rendering -of the story of <i>The Three Magi</i>, as told by Marco -Polo, she came into touch with comparative theology, -the familiar Christian tale drawn from an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span> -earlier source. Marco Polo tells how he first -found at Sara the beautiful tombs of Jaspar, -Melchior and Balthasar, with their bodies completely -preserved; how the people of that place -knew nothing of their history save that they were -the bodies of kings; but three days’ journey -onward he had come to the city of the fire-worshippers -and been informed of the three who -had set out to worship a newly born Prophet, -carrying with them gifts to test the extent of his -powers—gold for the earthly King, myrrh for -the physician, incense for the God. “And when -they were come there where the Child was born, -the youngest of these three Kings went all alone -to see the Child, and there he found that it was -like himself, for it seemed of his age and form. -Then he went out much marvelling, and after -him went in the second of the Kings, who was -near in age to the first, and the Child seemed to -him, as to the first, of his own form and age, and -he also went out much perplexed. Then went in -the third, who was of great age, and it happened -to him as to the other two, and he also went out -very pensive. And when all the Kings were -together, they told one another what they had -seen; and they marvelled much and said they -would go in all three together. Then they went<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span> -together into the Child’s presence, and they found -Him of the likeness and age that He really was, -for He was only three days old. Then they -adored Him and offered Him their gold and -incense and myrrh. The Child took all their -offerings and gave them a closed box, and then -the three Kings departed and returned to their -country.” Marco Polo goes on to relate how -the Kings, finding the box heavy to bear, sat down -by a well to open it, and, when they had opened -it, they found only stones inside. These, in their -disappointment, they threw into the well and lo! -from the stones fire ascended which they gathered -up and took home with them to worship. With -it they burned all their sacrifices, renewing it from -one altar to another. Other tales he told them -from the wisdom of the East—of the idealist who -found no joy in earthly existence, and the chagrin -of his father the King, who surrounded him with -luxury and with beautiful maidens, but could not -persuade him. One day he rode out on his horse -and saw a dead man by the way. And he was -filled with horror at a sight which he had never -seen before, and he asked those who were with -him the meaning of the sight, and they told him -it was a dead man. “What,” said the son of a -King, “then do all men die?” Yes, truly, they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span> -say. Then the youth asked no more, but rode on -in front in deep thought. And after he had ridden -some way he met a very old man who could not -walk, and who had no teeth, for he had lost them -all by reason of his great age. And when the -King’s son saw the old man he asked what he was -and why he could not walk, and his companions -told him that he could not walk from age, and -that from age he had lost his teeth. And when the -King’s son understood about the dead man and the -old man, he returned to his palace, and said to -himself that he would live no longer in so evil a -world, but that he would go “in search of Him -who never dies, of Him who made him. And so -he departed from his father and from the palace, -and went to the mountains, that are very high and -impassable, and there he lived all his life, most -purely and chastely, and made great abstinence, -for certainly if he had been a Christian, he would -be a great saint with our Lord Jesus Christ.” -Did he find his answer in the mountains? Perhaps -in some dawn or sunset he learned of the -nature of “Him who made him, of Him who -never dies”; perhaps among the wild creatures -he learned before he was old to sing the lauds of -our sister Death. But Polo’s comment on the -story is interesting, for the Venetians would have<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span> -little natural sympathy with its hero. They would -prefer Carpaccio’s fairy prince who forsook his -kingdom to follow Ursula and her virgins. The -tale of one who dared not look on life in company -with his kind, would strike a chill across -the full-blooded natures of Venice, so eager to -grasp at all that ministered to enjoyment and -vitality.</p> - -<div id="i_107" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 50em;"> - <img src="images/i_107.jpg" width="2388" height="1619" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">SAN GIORGIO.</div></div> - -<p>But Marco’s pack held stories of a more tangible -kind—tales of the Palace of Cublay Kaan, with its -hall that held six thousand men, the inside walls -covered with gold and silver and pictures of great -beasts, and the outside rainbow-coloured, shining -like crystal in the sun, and a landmark far and -wide. And within the circuit of the palace walls -was a green pleasure mound covered with trees -from all parts and with a green palace on its summit. -“And I tell you that the mound and the -trees and the palace are so fair to see that all who -see them have joy and gladness, and therefore has -the great Sire had them made, to have that beautiful -view and to receive from it joy and solace.” -He tells of the wonderful Zecca where coins of -the Great Kaan are stamped—not made of metal, -but of black paper—which may be refused nowhere -throughout the Kaan’s dominions on pain -of death. All who are possessed of gold and treasure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span> -are obliged to bring goods several times in the -year, and receive coins of bark in exchange; and -therefore, Marco explains, “is Cublay richer than -all else in the world.” He describes the posting -system, the rich palaces built for the housing of -messengers, the trees planted along the merchant -routes to act as signposts on the road; “for,” he -says, “you will find these trees along the desert -way, and they are a great comfort to merchant and -messenger.” Visitors to the chapel of San Giorgio -dei Schiavoni will recall the use that Carpaccio -has made of these palm-tree signposts in the <i>Death -of St. Jerome</i> and the <i>Victory of St. George</i>. Marco -tells of magnificent feasts made by the Great Kaan -on his birthday and on New Year’s Day. He delights -in stories of the chase within the domain of -Cublay’s palace of Chandu (perhaps the Xanadu of -Coleridge) the walls of which enclosed a sixteen-mile -circuit, with fountains and rivers and lawns -and beasts of every kind. He describes in detail, -as of special interest to his hearers, the size and -construction of the rods of which the Palace of -Canes was built and the two hundred silken cords -with which it was secured during the summer -months of its existence. He speaks of the “weather -magic” by which rain and fog are warded off -from this palace; and of the Great Kaan’s fancy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span> -that the blood of a royal line should not be spilt -upon the ground to be seen of sun and air, and of -his consequent device for the murder of his uncle -Nayan, whom he tossed to death in a carpet. Baudas -(Baghdad), he says, is the chief city of the -Saracens. A great river flows through it to the -Indian Ocean, which may be reached in eighteen -days. The city is full of merchants and of traffic; -it produces <em>nasich</em> and <em>nac</em> and <i xml:lang="fr" lang="fr">cramoisy</i>, and gold -and silver brocades richly embroidered with design -of birds and of beasts; and the woods of Bastra, -between Baudas and the sea, produce the finest -dates in the world. He recounts the taking of -this Baudas in the year 1255 by Alaü, the Great -Kaan’s brother, who, when he had taken it, discovered -therein a tower belonging to the Caliph full -of gold and silver and other treasure, so that there -never was so much seen at one time in one place. -When Alaü beheld the great heap of treasure, he -was amazed and sent for the Caliph into his presence -and asked him why he had amassed so great -a treasure and what he had intended to do with it. -“Did you not know that I was your enemy and -coming to lay you waste?” he demanded. “Why, -therefore, did you not take your treasure and give -it to knights and soldiers to defend you and your -city?” The caliph replied nothing, for he did<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span> -not know what to answer. So Alaü continued, -“Caliph, I see you love your treasure so much, I -will give you this treasure of yours to eat.” So he -had the Caliph shut up in the tower and commanded -that nothing should be given him to eat or -drink, saying, “Caliph, eat now as much treasure -as you will, for you shall never eat or drink anything -else.” And he left the Caliph in the tower, -where, at the end of four days, he died. Marco -must have opened up to his listeners in Venice -horizons of lands almost comparable in extent to -the sea-spaces familiar to their thoughts from infancy. -He spoke of deserts of many days’ journey, -of the port of Hormos at the edge of one of the -most beautiful of the plains—a city whence precious -stones and spices and cloths of silver and gold -brought by the merchants from India were shipped -to all parts of the world.</p> - -<p>But the Poli brought more tangible trophies -than the most circumstantial of tales in their pack. -Foolish artists might have held themselves rich -with these, but the honour of their family would -demand better credentials before welcoming fantastically -arrayed strangers into its bosom. The -courtyard of the house behind the Malibran, at -which on their return from their travels they demanded -admission, is known still as the Corte del<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span> -Milione, and its walls are still enriched with Byzantine -cornice and moulding, and with sculptured -beasts as strange as any to be met with in Cublay’s -preserves. The three travellers had the appearance -of Tartars, and from long disuse of their -language they spoke in broken Italian. Tradition -tells of the way in which they heaped exploit -upon exploit in the attempt to convince their incredulous -relatives of their identity; and at last, -according to Ramusio, they invited a number of -their relations to a superb banquet, at which they -themselves appeared in long robes of crimson satin. -When the guests were set down, these robes were -torn into strips and distributed amongst the servants. -Through various metamorphoses of damask -and velvet they came at last to the common dresses -in which they had arrived. And when the tables -were moved and the servants had gone, Marco, as -being the youngest, began to rip up the seams and -welts of these costumes and take out from them -handfuls of rubies and sapphires, carbuncles, -diamonds and emeralds. There was no longer -any doubt or delay; the shaggy tartar beards -had lost all their terrors. These men, who had -suddenly displayed “infinite riches in a little -room,” must undoubtedly be what they claimed -to be; happy the family to which the magicians<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span> -belonged; the Doge’s Palace need not be afraid -to welcome them; they must be set high in the -State.</p> - -<p>Yet the accumulation of treasure was by no -means the most noteworthy act of their drama. -The Poli had been more than mere traders; from -the first they had been diplomatists of a high order. -Their career seems to give us the key to some of -the wonderful faces that appear in the crowds -pictured by Venetian painters, especially those of -Carpaccio. They are the faces of men who have -met the crisis of life unalarmed, by virtue of a -combination of daring and wisdom which is no -common possession. They are not cold; if they -are severe they are full of feeling—sensitive to the -pathos and humour as well as the sternness of reality. -The Poli had been obliged to furnish themselves -with patience in lands where the transit of a plain -is measured in weeks; three years’ residence in a -city of Persia is mentioned as a matter of detail. -We are not told the reason of delay, only that they -could not go before or behind. They had travelled -in the true spirit of adventure. On that first journey, -when Marco was not of the company, the Great -Kaan’s messengers, who came to request an interview -for their master, who had never set eyes on a -Latin, had found the two brothers open-minded<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span> -and trustful. They had acquitted themselves well -in Cublay’s presence, answering all his questions -wisely and in order. He had inquired as to the -manners and customs of Europe, and particularly as -to Western methods of government and the Christian -Church and its Head. He had been “glad -beyond measure” at what he had heard of the -deeds of the Latins, and decided to send a request -to the Christian Apostle for one hundred men -learned in the Christian law and the Seven Arts -and capable of teaching his people that their household -gods were works of the devil and why the -faith of the West was better than theirs. The -thought of the lamp burning before the sepulchre -of God in Jerusalem had stirred his imagination, -and he craved some of its oil for the light of his -temple, or, maybe, his pleasure dome. So the two -Venetians had set out for Europe on his strange -embassy. They were provided with a golden tablet -on which the Kaan had inscribed orders for the -supplying of their needs, food, horses, escorts in -all the countries through which they should pass. -At the end of three years, after long delays on -account of the snows, they arrived at the port of -Layas in Armenia, and from Layas they had come -to Acre in April of the year 1269. At Acre they -had found that Pope Clement IV was dead, and no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span> -new election had as yet been made. Venetian -history teems with dramatic situations, but it would -be difficult to find any stranger than that in which -the Polo brothers now found themselves placed. -Merchants of Venice, they came as ambassadors -from the Lord of All the Tartars to demand -missionaries from the Father of Christendom, -who was not able to supply them because he was -not in existence. In their dilemma at Acre they -consulted Theobald of Piacenza, Legate of Egypt, -who advised them to await the new Pope’s election -and meanwhile to return to their homes. His -advice was accepted, and the two brothers made -their way onwards to Venice, where one of them, -Nicolas, discovered his son, young Marco, a lad of -fifteen years old. They remained in Venice for -two years, but when, at the end of that time, no -Pope had yet been elected, the brothers felt their -return to the Kaan could be deferred no longer. -There is something touching in their fidelity to -the pledge they had given and the constancy of -their merchant faith. They prepared to set out -again. This time little Marco went with them on -an absence that lasted for seventeen years, and was -to gather a greater treasure for the world than any -diamonds and rubies and velvets to be prodigally -scattered on the floor of the Corte del Milione. -At Acre they obtained Theobald’s permission to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span> -fetch some of the holy oil desired by the Kaan -from Jerusalem. The journey to Jerusalem performed, -they returned once more to Acre, and -finally set forth on their return journey to the -Kaan with a letter from Theobald testifying that -they had done all in their power, “but since there -was no Apostle, they could not carry the embassy.” -But when they had gone as far on their journey as -Layas, they were followed by letters from Theobald, -who was now Pope Gregory of Piacenza, begging -their return. They complied with great joy and -set sail for Acre in a galley provided for their use -by the King of Armenia. This was the hour of -their triumph, for they were received by the Pope -with great honour, given costly presents for the -Kaan, and provided with two friars of very great -learning. The names of these two are possibly -better withheld, for they were more learned than -courageous. When they had come as far on their -journey as Layas, their incipient fears of the land -of the Tartars were wrought to a pitch by the sight -of the Saracen Army which was being brought -against Armenia by the Sultan of Babylon, and -they insisted on handing their credentials over -to the Poli and returning at once to Italy. And -the brothers were forced to go on their way with -worse than no preachers of their faith, with tidings -of their defection.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span></p> - -<p>For three and a half years they journeyed on, -detained often by floods and bad weather. The -news of their coming travelled before them to the -Kaan, and he sent his servants forty days’ journey -to meet them. The Kaan received them with joy, -was graciously pleased with the letters and credentials -sent by the Pope, and accepted young -Marco as his liegeman and responsible messenger. -Marco sped well in learning the language, customs -and writing of the Tartars, but it is clear he must -have acquired other than scholastic accomplishments. -He was endowed with tact and power of -observation, and returned from his first embassy -full of news of the men and customs he had -encountered; “for he had seen on several occasions -that when the messengers the Great Kaan -had sent into various parts of the world returned -and told him the results of the embassy on which -they had gone, and could tell him no other news -of the countries where they had been, the Kaan -said they were ignorant fools.” For seventeen -years young Messer Marco was employed in continual -coming and going. He was learned in -many strange and hidden things, and was placed -in honour high above the barons—the darling of -Cublay’s heart. Again and again the three Venetians -asked for leave of absence to visit their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span> -country, but so great was the love Cublay bore to -them that he could not bear to be parted from -them; until at last an embassy arrived from Argon, -King of Levant, asking for a new wife of the -lineage of his dead wife Bolgana, and the Kaan is -persuaded by Argon’s messengers to allow Marco -and his two uncles to depart with them in charge -of the lady. They set out by sea, and after some -twenty months’ sailing and many disasters arrived -at their destination. King Argon was dead, and -the lady Cocachin was bestowed on his son. Of -the six hundred followers who had set out with -them on their journey only eighteen had survived it. -Their mission accomplished, the Poli made their -way to Trebizond, from Trebizond to Constantinople -and from Constantinople to Venice. This -was in the year 1295.</p> - -<div id="i_119" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 45em;"> - <img src="images/i_119.jpg" width="2156" height="1505" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">THE DOGANA.</div></div> - -<p>And how would Venice, the place of his birth, -reveal herself to Marco, now he had seen so -many wonders and glories in distant lands? We -may imagine the sun to have been setting as the -travellers turned into the Lido port, dropping a -globe of molten fire vast and mysterious through -the haze, while the last dim rays gleamed golden -on the windows of the Riva degli Schiavoni. -Venice lay among her waters, blue and glittering, -interspersed with jewelled marsh. The last gulls<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span> -of those that so gallantly had dipped and sailed all -day upon the water were flying home, their breasts -and wings radiant in the level sunlight round the -home-coming ship. Many citizens of Venice -must have been at the Lido port, thronging to -meet the merchant vessels, to greet their friends -or to have news of them from others. But none -came to meet these three travellers; alone they -embarked in a gondola bearing their cargo with -them. Venice had clothed herself in all her beauty -to give them welcome. Which of Cublay’s glories -could rival this splendour of the lagoon with its -countless treasures of light? The marsh lay in unequal -patches, each outlined with a luminous silver -rim—a magic carpet of dusky olive, threaded -with strands of radiant azure and sprinkled with -ruby and amethyst. As their gondola moved -slowly down towards the city, the boats of the -night fishers passed with the silence of shadows -between them and the glow. And when here and -there a fisher alighted on the marsh or moved -across it like a spirit stepping on the waters, he -must have seemed to Marco the very memory and -renewal of those strange Eastern stories of which -his mind was full. So, under the mystic glow of -the desert, he had seen figures of the caravan rise -and move against the tinted haze of the oasis.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span> -Onwards glided the boat towards the Basin of San -Marco—westward the luminous wonder of lagoon -and marsh, and a cold, clear intensity of stirring -water to the east. And as they drew nearer and -ever nearer, our travellers’ hearts beat high with -the wonders of the city of their birth. The -stars were piercing the night sky in countless -numbers: the yellow lights of the city quivered -along the Riva: the masts of the fishing-fleet -swung clear against the pale western glow in the -waterway of the Giudecca: the flowing tide wound -silver coils about the black shadows of their hulls. -Past the Dogana, keystone of Venice to the Eastern -traveller, their little boat moved down the -quiet waters of the Grand Canal, deep into the -heart of that great shadowy city, apparent Queen -over all the glories of the Cities of the East.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_124" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Six">Chapter Six<br /> - -<span class="subhead">VENICE OF CRUSADE AND PILGRIMAGE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> story of Venice and the Crusades forms -one of the most interesting pages of her -history in relation to the East. The -gradual awakening of her consciousness to the fact -that the pilgrimages to the Holy Land might be -of close significance to herself culminates in her -attitude towards the great Fourth Crusade at the -opening of the thirteenth century. The Crusades -were, in fact, a commercial speculation for Venice, -but a speculation into which she infused all the -vitality and fulness of her nature. And she became, -not merely a place of passage for the East, -but a superb depository of relics to detain pilgrims -on their outward way; a hostel so royally fitted -with food for their senses, their religious cravings -and their mystic imaginings, that one and another -may well have been beguiled into delaying their -departure for more strenuous sanctities. The narratives -of the pilgrims, with their enthusiasms, -their details of relics, their records of Venetian -ceremonies, religious, commercial or domestic,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span> -coloured by their quaintly intimate personal impressions, -form one of the most picturesque pages -of Venetian chronicle.</p> - -<p>Pietro Casola, a Milanese pilgrim of the late -fifteenth century, gives us a picture of a city that -is sumptuous and rich in all its dealings, yet pervaded -by a harmony and decorum that has stamped -itself on the face of each individual citizen. We -feel that Pietro Casola has really had a vision of -the meaning of Venice, when, among the inventory -of wonders of the Mass for the pilgrims on -Corpus Christi day, of the velvets, crimson and -damask and scarlet, the cloth of gold and togas -sweeping the ground, each finer than the last, he -pauses to add, “There was great silence, greater -than is ever observed at such festivals, even in the -gathering of so many Venetian gentlemen, so that -you could hear everything. And it seemed to -me that everything was ruled by one alone, who -was obeyed by each man without resistance. And -at this I wondered greatly, for never had I seen so -great obedience at such spectacles.” In the record -of this arresting impression, more even than in the -description of many coloured drapery and white -cloths spread on the piazza, of the groves of oak-trees -bordering the route of the procession and the -candles lit among them, we seem to see before us<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span> -the rhythmic solemnity of that unique <i>Procession</i> -on the Piazza of Gentile Bellini. We need only -Casola’s other observant characterisation of the -Venetian gentleman to complete the picture. “I -have considered,” he says, “the quality of these -Venetian gentlemen, who for the most part are -fair men and tall, astute and most subtle in their -dealings; and you must needs, if you would treat -with them, keep your eyes and ears open. They -are proud; I think it is on account of their great -rule. And when a son is born to a Venetian, they -say among themselves, ‘A Signor is born into the -world.’ In their way of living at home they are -sparing and very modest; outside they are very -liberal. The city of Venice retains its old manner -of dress, and they never change it; that is to say, -they wear a long garment of whatever colour they -choose. No one ever goes out by day without his -toga, and for the most part a black one, and they -have carried this custom to such a point that all nations -of the world who are lodging here in Venice, -from the greatest to the least, observe this style, -beginning from the gentlemen to the mariners -and galleymen; a dress certainly full of confidence -and gravity. They look like doctors of law, and -if any were to appear outside his house without his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span>toga he would be thought a fool.” Without doors<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span> -the women also belonged to this sober company, -or at least the marriageable maidens and those -who were no longer of the number of the “belle -giovani”; so sombrely were they covered when -outside their houses, and especially in church, that -Casola says he at first mistook them all for widows, -or nuns of the Benedictine Order. But for the -“belle giovani” it is another matter; they give relief -to the week-day sobriety of these Venetians, so -decorous and black when off duty, though revelling -in such richness of velvet and brocade when the -trumpet of a public function stirs their blood.</p> - -<div id="i_127" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;"> - <img src="images/i_127.jpg" width="1636" height="2377" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">THE SHADOW OF THE CAMPANILE.</div></div> - -<p>We are indebted to Casola for a picture of a -Venetian domestic festival at the birth of a child to -the Delfini family. He realised fully that he was -admitted, together with the orator of the King of -France, in order that he might act as reporter of -Venetian magnificence. It was in a room “whose -chimney-piece was all of Carrara marble shining as -gold, so subtly worked with figures and leaves, that -Praxiteles and Pheidias could not have exceeded it. -The ceiling of the room was so finely decorated -with gold and ultramarine, and the walls so richly -worked, that I cannot make report of it. One -desk alone was valued at five hundred ducats, and -the fixtures of the room were in the Venetian style, -such beautiful and natural figures, so much gold<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span> -everywhere, that I know not if in the time of -Solomon, who was King of the Jews, when silver -was reputed more vile than carrion, there was such -abundance as was here seen. Of the ornaments of -the bed and of the lady ... I have thought best -rather to keep silence than to speak for fear I -should not be believed. Another thing I will -speak the truth about, and perhaps I shall not be -believed—a matter in which the ducal orator -would not let me lie. There were in the said -room twenty-five Venetian damsels, each one fairer -than the last, who were come to visit the lady who -had borne a child. Their dress was most discreet, -as I said above, <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">alla veneziana</i>: they showed no -more than four to six finger breadths of bare neck -below their shoulders back and front. These damsels -had so many jewels on their heads and round -their necks and on their hands—namely, gold, -precious stones and pearls—that it was the opinion -of those who were there that they were worth -a hundred thousand ducats. Their faces were superbly -painted, and so also the rest of them that -was bare.” The account of this sumptuous interior -is peculiarly valuable when we realise the date -to which it belongs, the period of the first greatness -of Venetian Art, a period which has been sometimes -regarded as one of almost naïve simplicity.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span> -Casola, with his customary exactitude, dwells on -the frugality of Venetian gentlemen in the matter -of food—a frugality that caused the guest to reflect -that the Venetians cared more to feed the eye -than the palate. It was not yet the period of the -sumptuous living deplored by Calmo only half a -century later.</p> - -<p>Casola was a more secularly minded pilgrim -than the priest of Florence, Ser Michele, who paid -five visits to the bones of the Holy Innocents at -Murano, and only at the fifth visit was counted -worthy, as he humbly deemed, to see the relics: -Providence, in the form of the sacristan, having -till then failed him. The more festive Casola—who -paid repeated visits to Rialto, “which seemed -to be the source of all the gardens in the world,” -who spent one day in vain attempts to count the -multitudinous boats in and about the city, and who -was so frivolous, for all his long white beard, as to -buy a false front on the piazza—in the midst of -his expatiations on the Venetian maidens, pulls himself -suddenly together with a sense of incongruity -between his diversions and his goal, and shakes -himself free from the allurements of Venice, crying: -“But I am a priest, in the way of the saints; -I did not try to look into their lives any further. -To me it seemed better, as I have said above, to go<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span> -in search of the churches and monasteries and to -see the relics of which there are so many. And -this seemed to me a good work for a pilgrim who -was awaiting the departure of the vessel to go to -the Holy Sepulchre, bringing the time to an end -as well as he could.” In the Accademia at Venice -there is a curious little painting, attributed to Carpaccio, -of the assembly of the martyrs of Mount -Ararat in the Church of Sant’ Antonio di Castello, -which stood once on the site of the Public Gardens. -It was a familiar sight for Venice, the dedication of -pilgrims that is represented here; and there is a -strange pathos in the slim, small figures as they -move in two lines half-wavering up the aisle, each -wearing a crown of thorns, perhaps in prophecy of -coming martyrdom. They are not marching confidently -to victory like an army; their crosses are -held at all angles, forming errant patterns among -themselves. Some are girt for their journey in -short vestments under their long robes. It is curiously -unlike a procession native to the city; there -is a dreamlike, mystic quality about it and a lack -of body in its motion which is enhanced, perhaps, -by the extreme detail with which the interior of -the church is transcribed—the models of vessels -in the rafters; the votive limbs and bones hung on -the wooden screen, offerings of the diseased cured<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span> -by miracle, as they may be seen in San Giovanni e -Paolo to-day; the coiled rope of the lamp-pulley; -the board with a church notice printed on it; and -everywhere, winding in and out of the picture, -seen through the portal of entrance, disappearing -behind the sanctuary screen, the interminable procession -of the ten thousand little pilgrims.</p> - -<p>In 1198 the lords of France flocked with enthusiasm -to a crusade preached by Foulques de Nuilly -under the authority of Innocent III. After much -discussion of practical ways and means, with which -they were less amply provided than with spiritual -enthusiasm, they made choice of six ambassadors -who should procure the necessities of the enterprise, -Jofroi de Villeharduin, Mareschal of Champagne, -Miles li Brabant, Coëns de Bethune, Alars -Magnarians, Jean de Friaise, and Gautiers de Gaudonville. -Venice was decided on by them as the State -most likely to provide what they stood in need of—ships -for the journey—and they departed to -sound the mind of the Republic, arriving in the -first week of Lent in the year 1201. Venice, in -the person of the Doge, Henry Dandolo, opened -the negotiations; the messengers were made to -feel it was no light thing they asked. They were -received and lodged with highest honour, but -they were made to wait for a Council to assemble,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span> -which should consider the matter of their request. -After some days they were admitted to the Ducal -Palace to deliver their message; and its purport -was this: “Sir, we are come to you from the high -barons of France who have taken the sign of the -Cross to avenge the shame of Jesus Christ, and to -conquer Jerusalem if God will grant it them; and -because they know that no people have such -power as you and your people, they pray you for -God’s sake to have pity on the land over seas and -the avenging of the shame of Jesus Christ, so that -they may have ships and the other things necessary.” -The spiritual and sentimental appeal is -left unanswered by the Doge. He asks simply, -“In what way?” “In all ways,” say the messengers, -“that you recommend or advise, which -they would be able to fulfil.” Again the Doge -expresses wonder at the magnitude of what they -ask, bidding them not marvel if another eight -days’ waiting is required of them before the final -answer can be given. At the date fixed by the -Doge they returned to the Palace. Villeharduin -excuses himself from telling all the words that -were said and unsaid, but the gist of the Doge’s -offer was this, that it depended on the consent of -the Great Council and the rest of the Republic. -Venice should provide vessels of transport for four<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span> -thousand five hundred horses and squires and -twenty thousand foot soldiers, and viands to last -the whole company nine months. The agreement -was to hold good for a year from the time -of starting, and the sum total of the provision was -to be eighty-five thousand marks. But Venice -would go further, for the love of God, and launch -fifty galleys at her own expense on condition of -receiving the half of all the conquests that were -made by land and sea. Nothing remained but to -win the consent of the Great Council and ask a -formal ratification from the people. Full ten -thousand persons assemble in “the chapel of San -Marco, the fairest that ever was,” and the Doge -recommends them to hear the Mass, and to pray -God’s counsel concerning the request of the envoys. -It will be seen that all is practically accomplished -before the question is put to the people or -God’s grace asked on the undertaking, but no -item of the formality is omitted. The envoys are -sent for by the Doge that they may themselves repeat -their request humbly before the people, and -they came into the church “much stared at by the -crowd who had never seen them.” Again the appeal -is made, Jofroi de Villeharduin taking up the -word by the agreement and desire of the other envoys. -We can picture the strange thrill that ran<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span> -through the great multitude as that single voice -broke the silence of St. Mark’s with its burden -of passionate tribute to the greatness of Venice: -“‘Therefore have they chosen you because they -know that no people accustomed to going on the -seas have such power as you and your people; and -they commanded us to throw ourselves at your -feet and not to rise until you had consented to -have pity on the Holy Land beyond the seas.’ -Now the six messengers knelt, weeping bitterly, -and the Doge and all the others cried out with -one voice and raised their hands on high and said, -‘We grant it, we grant it.’ And the noise and -tumult and lament of it were so great that never -had any man known a greater.” Then the Doge -himself mounted the lectern and put before the -people the meaning of the alliance that had been -sought with them in preference to all other -peoples by “the best men of the world.” “I -cannot tell you,” says Villeharduin, “all the good -and fair words that the Doge spoke. At last the -matter was ended, and the following day the charters -were drawn up and made and sealed.”</p> - -<div id="i_137" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 28em;"> - <img src="images/i_137.jpg" width="1339" height="1905" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">THE CLOCK TOWER FROM GALLERY OF SAN MARCO.</div></div> - -<p>The time of gathering for the pilgrims was -fixed for the following year 1202, at the feast of -St. John, and amid many tears of piety and devotion -the Doge and deputies swore to abide by their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span> -charters, and the envoys of both parties set out for -Rome to receive the confirmation of their covenant -from Innocent III. But the drama which -had begun amid such moving demonstrations of -good will and Christian sentiment necessarily had -its dilemmas and its complications. It was essential -to the fulfilling of the pact that all the crusaders -should assemble at Venice to pay their toll, -and embark on the ships; otherwise the crusaders -could not hope to provide the money due to the -Venetians. The Republic, for its part, had amply -fulfilled its compact. All who arrived were received -with joy and lodged most honourably at -San Nicolo del Lido. The chronicle can find no -parallel for the richness of the provision made for -the would-be crusaders. But there were, alas, three -times as many vessels as there were men and horses -to fill them.—“Ha! it was a great shame,” -bursts out Villeharduin, “that the rest who went -to the other ports did not come here.” The -dilemma was a serious one. Even of those who -were there, some declared themselves unable to -pay their passage, and the money could in no way -be made up. Some were for sacrificing their -whole estate that the Venetians should not lose by -the defection of the others, but the counsel found -small support among those who now wished to be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span> -rid of their bargain. But the small party who felt -themselves, in a sense, the conscience of the Crusade -carried the day. “Rather will we give all we -possess and go poor among the host, than that it -should disperse and come to naught; for God will -render it to us at His good pleasure.” So the -Counts of Flanders, Loys, Hues de St. Pol and -their party began to collect together all their goods -and all they could borrow. “Then you might -have seen a vast quantity of gold and silver borne -to the palace of the Doge to make payment. And -when they had paid, there still was lacking from -the covenant thirty-four thousand marks of silver. -And those who had kept back what they possessed -and would give nothing were very glad at this, for -by this means they thought the expedition would -have failed. But God who counsels the disconsolate -would not so suffer it.” The Doge put before -his people that not only would their just claim -remain unsatisfied though they should exact from -the crusaders the utmost they could collect, but -they would bring discredit on themselves by acting -as strict justice would permit. He suggested the -combining of two advantages, a material and -moral. Let them, he suggests, demand the reconquest -of Zara as substitute for the debt, that they -may not only have the fame of possessing the city<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span> -but the praise of generosity. And Dandolo, the -old wise doughty Doge, has yet another suggestion -to propose. There was a great festival one Sunday -in San Marco, and the citizens and barons and pilgrims -were assembled before High Mass began. -Then amid the silent expectation of the great -gathering the Doge mounted the lectern and made -the famous offer of his own person as leader of -the host. “‘I am an old man,’ he said, ‘and -feeble, and should be feeling need of repose, for I -am infirm in body. But I see there is none who -could so well rule and lead you as I who am your -lord. If you will consent that I take the sign of -the Cross to preserve and guide you, and that my -son remain in my stead and keep the city, I would -gladly go to live and die with you and with the -pilgrims.’ And when they heard, they cried all -with one voice: ‘We pray you for God’s sake to -grant us this, and to do so and to come with us.’ -And the people of the city and the pilgrims, felt -deep compassion at this, and they wept many tears, -thinking how that valiant man had so much need -to stay behind, for he was an old man, and though -his eyes were still fair to look on he could not see -with them on account of a wound which he had -received in his head. Nevertheless he had a great -heart. Ha! how little they resembled him who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span> -had gone to other ports to avoid danger! So he -came from the pulpit and went to the altar and -knelt down, weeping bitterly, and they sewed the -cross for him on a great cotton cap because he -desired that the people might see it. And the -Venetians began to take the cross in great numbers, -and many on that very day, and still the number -of crusaders was few enough.” It was no wonder -that the pilgrims had great joy in the crusaders for -the good will and valour they felt to be in them. -Whatever aim may previously have been uppermost -as an incentive to enthusiasm and self-oblation, -there was no doubt that Venice now was -giving of her best. This retiring of the old Doge -from his ducal throne to embark on a more arduous -leadership is one of the most moving episodes -in the annals San Marco.</p> - -<p>But at this moment an event occurred that -changed, or rather diverted into a new channel -the current of the Crusade, providing in fact, as -our chronicler Villeharduin remarks, the true occasion -of his book. Into the midst of the pilgrims -assembled at Verona on their way to Venice there -came Alexius, son of Isaac the deposed Emperor -of Constantinople, in quest of help against his -usurping uncle. What more opportune than the -neighbouring host of “the most valiant men on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span> -earth” for aiding in the recovery of his lost -kingdom and the reinstatement of his tortured -father. To the crusaders, and especially we may -believe, to the Venetians, this new motive did not -come amiss. It is startlingly like life, this Fourth -Crusade, with its original aim thus gradually becoming -but a secondary purpose in a far more -complicated scheme, a middle distance in an -increasingly extended horizon. The relief of -the Holy Sepulchre, the avenging of the shame -of Christ, assume in fact a rather shadowy outline -in a prospect dominated by Zara and Constantinople.</p> - -<p>The departure from Venice did not mark the -term of the obstructions to which the Crusade was -fated. The disgraceful contest between the French -and the Venetians within the streets of Zara, the -defection of a number of the pilgrims, the death -of others at the hands of the wild inland inhabitants -of Dalmatia—all these causes reduced the -already meagre company before it had well started -on its way. The Pope was placed in the dilemma -of strongly disapproving the secular turn given to -the Crusade, while realising that the Venetian fleet -was the only means for accomplishing his ends in -Palestine. His solution was to absolve the barons -for the siege of Zara, permitting them still to use<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span> -the fleet—though the devil’s instrument—while -Venice, the provider, remained under interdict. -We here come into contact with an element of -singular interest in the relations of Venice and the -East—her attitude towards the Papacy. The -independence of San Marco was one of the essential -articles of the Venetian creed. In spiritual -matters none could more devoutly bow to the -Apostle of Christendom; but the spiritual supremacy -was an inland sea to Venice: it must be stable, -fixed, defined; it must not flow with a tide upon -the temporal shores where her heart and treasure -lay. The authority of San Marco was a political -principle. All state ceremonies were bound up -with San Marco; the Ducal Palace itself was -subsidiary to the Palace of St. Mark. How should -a State that had sheltered, traditionally at least, a -Pope “stando occulto propter timorem” that had -acted as mediator between Pope and Emperor and -seen the Emperor’s head bowed to the ground on -the pavement of San Marco—how should such a -State be subordinate to any rule but its own complete -self-consciousness? Venice always followed -the eminently practical rule of allowing much -freedom in non-essentials in order to preserve -more closely her control over the really material -issues. The attitude always maintained by her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span> -with regard to the Inquisition is so closely parallel -to her relations with the East and the pagans of -the East, constantly deprecated by the Pope, that -we may fitly quote here Paolo Sarpi’s admirable -reply to the papal protests against conferring the -doctorate in Padua on Protestants; the principle -is the same, though limited in that instance to a -particular and seemingly divergent issue. “If anyone -openly declared his intention of conferring the -doctorate on heretics, or admitted anyone to it -who openly and with scandal professed himself to -be such, it might be said that he had failed to -persecute heresy; but, it being the opinion of the -most Serene Republic that heretics and those who -are known for such should not be admitted to the -doctorate, and it being our duty to consider Catholic -anyone who does not profess the contrary, no -smallest scandal can accrue to the religion even -though it should chance that one not known for -such were to receive the doctorate. The doctorate -in philosophy and medicine is a testimonial that -the scholar is a good philosopher and physician -and that he may be admitted to the practise of that -art, and to say that a heretic is a good doctor does -not prejudice the Catholic faith; certainly it would -prejudice it if anyone were to say that such a man -was a good theologian.” This was the position<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span> -of Venice with regard to her pagan allies, the -meaning of her superbly fitted lodges for Turk, -infidel and heretic. The Saracen, the Turk and -the Infidel might not be a good theologian, but -he was a good trader, a channel for the glories -with which Venice loved to clothe and crown -herself. He was a part of her life more essentially -and more irrevocably than the prelates of holy -Church; his ban would have been more terrible -to Venice than papal thunders. It was not primarily -as hot sons of the Church, consumed with -fire for the shame of the Holy Sepulchre that the -Venetians with such generous provision prepared -their ships for the Crusade: it was as men of -business with no small strain of fire in their blood -and a high sense of the glorious worth and destiny -of their city.</p> - -<div id="i_147" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 36em;"> - <img src="images/i_147.jpg" width="1727" height="2416" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">THE HORSES OF SAN MARCO, LOOKING SOUTH.</div></div> - -<p>There were moments of inspiration for the -Crusaders amid all their toils and internal strife, -and not least was the first view of Constantinople -which had been for so long the emporium of -Venice. The fleet had harboured at the abbey of -St. Etienne, three miles from Constantinople, and -Villeharduin describes the wonder and enthusiasm -of those who saw then for the first time the marvellous -city “that was sovereign over all others,” -with its rich towers and palaces and churches and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span> -high encircling walls. “And you must know -there was no heart there so daring but trembled.” -We are reminded of this picture of Constantinople -when we stand face to face with Carpaccio’s city -in the <i>Combat of St. George</i>. It so successfully -combines solidity and strength with the airy joy -of watch-towers and towers of pleasure, that at -first we have only the impression of fantastic play -of architecture; but by degrees we come to feel -the seacoast country of Carpaccio, that at first -seemed so wild and unmanned, to be in fact bristling -with defence and preparation. It is immensely -strong in fortifications, no dream or fairy -citadel. It is begirt with towers and walls along -the water; strongholds lurk among the loftiest -crags; towers of defence and battlements peer over -the steep hillside; and, if we look closer, we see -the towers are thronged with men. We remember -Villeharduin’s note, “There were so many men on -the walls and on the towers that it seemed as -if they were made of nothing but people.” It is -a sumptuous city, too, that we see in glimpses -through the gateway, the city of a great oriental -potentate.</p> - -<p>We cannot follow Villeharduin through the -vicissitudes of the siege and counter-siege. He -himself confesses in the relation of one point alone<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span> -that sixty books would not be able to recount all -the words that were spoken, and the counsels that -were given and taken. In the simple, terse and -trenchant style that Frenchmen, and especially the -Frenchmen of the old chronicles, know how to -wield so perfectly, he tells us of the Doge’s wise -counsel that the city should be approached by way -of the surrounding islands whence they might -gather stores; of the lords’ neglect of this counsel, -“just as if no one of them had ever heard of it”; -of their investment of the palace of Alexius in the -place named Chalcedony, that was “furnished with -all the delights of the human body that could be -imagined befitting the dwelling of a prince”; of -the capture of the city and the ravishing of its -treasures that were so great “that no man could -come to an end of counting the silver and the gold -and plate and precious stones and samite and silken -cloth and dresses <em>vaire</em> and grey, and ermines and -all precious things that were ever found on earth. -And Jofroi de Villeharduin, the Marshall of Champagne, -will bear good witness that to his knowledge -since the centuries began there was never so great -gain in a single city.” The division of the booty -necessarily occasioned heart-burning and revealed -certain vices of “covetoise” undreamed before. -And as time went on and still the passage to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span> -Palestine was delayed the sanctuaries of the Greek -Church were treated with barbarous irreverence -and despoiled of their treasure and sacred vessels. -Then with the retaking of Constantinople from -Marzuflo there followed a time of abandonment of -men and leaders to their fiercest passions and the -almost total destruction of the city. Here again -Venice stepped in, as the merchant had stepped in -to rescue treasure from the pile of Savonarola, to -enrich herself from the ruins of Constantinople.</p> - -<p>The taking of Constantinople opened another -door into the Eastern garden from which Venice -had already begun to gather so rich an harvest. -Picture the freights that Venetian vessels were -bearing home in these years of crusade and conquest, -to be gathered finally into the garner of St. -Mark’s! It is strangely thrilling to imagine the -first welcome of the four bronze horses, travel-dimmed -no doubt, who only found their way to -their present station on the forefront of St. Mark’s -after standing many times in peril of being melted -down in the Arsenal where they first were stored. -But at last, says Sansovino, their beauty was recognised -and they were placed on the church. It is -only by degrees that we come to accost and know -the exiles one by one. The more outstanding -spoils, the Pala d’Oro, the great pillars of Acri,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span> -the bronze doors, the horses, the four embracing -kings, these are among the first letters of St. Mark’s -oriental alphabet; but there are many lesser exiles -which have found a shelter in the port of Venice, -which as we wander among the glorious precincts -of San Marco impress themselves upon us one by -one; such is the grave-browed, noble head of -porphyry that keeps solitary watch towards the -waters from the south corner of the outer gallery -of San Marco, as if it had been set down a moment -by its sculptor and forgotten on the white, marble -balustrade. The whole being of San Marco is -bound up with the East, and it is another token -of the magic of Venice that she has been able to -embrace and furnish with a life-giving soil those -plants that had been ruthlessly uprooted and had -made so long and perilous a journey. The official -records, that tell of the arrival from one expedition -and another of Eastern vestures for the clothing of -San Marco, are not mere inventories to us who -have walked upon the variegated pavement between -the solemn pillars and seen the sunlight -illumine one by one the marbles of the walls, -with their imbedded sculpture and mosaic, or gild -the depths of the storied cupolas and the luxuriant -harmonies of colour and design on the recesses of -the windows. They are significant, these records,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span> -like the entry in a parish register of the birth of -some one whom we love; for the church of San -Marco, though in fact a museum of many treasures, -is not a museum of foreign treasures. Her spoils -are not hung up in her as aliens like the spoils that -conquerors bore to ancient temples; they found -her a foster-mother of their own blood and kin. -She herself is sprung from a plant whose first -flowering was not among the floating marshes of -the lagoon.</p> - -<div id="i_156" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 36em;"> - <img src="images/i_156.jpg" width="1721" height="2510" alt="" /> - <div class="captionl"><i>By permission of the Hon. John Collier.</i></div> - <div class="caption"> - <p>THE HORSES OF SAN MARCO, LOOKING NORTH.</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Turn, on a sunny day, from the Molo towards -San Marco, passing below the portico of the -Ducal Palace adjoining the Piazzetta. Framed -by the pointed arch at the end is a portion of the -wall which once formed the west tower of the -Ducal Palace. This delicate harmony of coloured -marbles and sculptured stone seems a rare and -beautiful creation, not of stone but of something -more plastic, more mobile, so responsive is it to -the light, so luminous, so full of feeling. As we -draw nearer and it becomes more clearly defined, -we see great slabs of marble sawn and spread open -like the pages of a book, corresponding in pattern -as the veining of a leaf. They are linked by -marble rope-work, and between them are inserted -smaller slabs of delicately sculptured stone and a -wonderful coil of mosaic. It is a veritable patchwork<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span> -wall, but no less beautiful in its effect of -harmony than in its details—the four porphyry -figures of embracing kings its corner-stone. This -wall is truly a key to the fabric of the church -itself; it is like a window into St. Mark’s, that -treasury of Eastern spoil; the East is in every vein, -in every heart-beat of it. The spoil of the temples -of ancient gods furnished forth the Church of San -Marco as it furnished the saint himself. In this -one angle we have cipollino and porphyry, serpentine -and verd-antico, marmo greco and eastern -mosaic, pillars of granite profound and glittering, -breccia africana and paonazetto. The weight of -centuries is upon it all; ages of lives have gone -to its making, and it came to Venice only when -generations had passed over its head. For the -human race it has never been but old; the mind -loses itself in speculation on that stupendous past -that lies between us and the time when stone was -not. And yet how strangely through that long, -enchanted silence, when the centuries were endowing -it with an immensity of strength and hardness -and endurance for which we have no word of -parallel but in its own nature, it has kept the -similitude and mobility of life, at once withholding -and revealing the riches of its beauty. How can -we wonder that da Contarini, the strange and learned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span> -dreamer of the Cinquecento, burst out into a rapture -of mystic joy in the presence of San Marco, -“that golden church, built by the eternal gods, of -our protector, Messer San Marco”? He celebrates -the pinnacles and shining columns, the throng -of glittering figures that burn like golden spirits -in the sunlight, the sculptured marbles polished -with soft Ethiopian sand. “It might be said that -it has been gathered together from all parts of the -world.” He then proceeds to seek among the -marbles of San Marco those mysterious correspondences -which the wonder of men has always felt -to exist between human nature and the nature of -the stone; he loses himself in contemplation of one -after another of the precious marbles that in wide -surface or minute mosaic form the priceless garment -of St. Mark’s temple: diaspro, which must -be seen in broad extent to realise its strange -radiance, like flocks of cloudlets fleeting before -the wind in the full illumination of the setting -sun, dazzling our eyes with light; or that other -adamantine marble of Africa, the breccia adriana -di Tegoli, a harmony of greens before which serpentine -and verd-antico must bow; or the most -precious porpora of deep and glowing red; or that -queen of all the stones, imperial in its beauty, a -magnetic stone indeed, drawing the spirit into its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span> -luminous depths, weaving round it an enchanted -web of secrecy, of divine inter-relations, till the -human soul seems to commune with the very soul -of colour—<i xml:lang="it" lang="it">diaspro sanguinoso</i>. What would not -Sir Thomas Browne have read in those eloquent -and secret pages where wave follows wave of -colour, deep ocean green, pure carmine, translucent -amethyst. Diaspro sanguinoso! in the setting of -a ring, in the mosaic of a pavement, it is seen a -dense green stone spotted with crimson—bloodstone. -It is as if you saw the human eye in one -of those weird, symbolic paintings of old time, isolated -in its socket without the illumination of the -human countenance about it. This sanguinary jasper -is too subtle, too delicate, too mystical to belong -to that titanic family of the stones of Africa. -The dreaming soil of Egypt might have given it -birth; it might own kinship with the myth of -Aurora’s kiss; but to us it seems fraught with the -magic of a more distant East.</p> - -<p>There have been many vindicators of the freedom -of Venice; many assertors that, though in -appearance subject some time to Byzantium, she -has always been politically independent. To us -it seems a matter of lesser moment; but whether, -in fact or in form, Venice were or were not ever -politically dependent on Byzantium, the fact of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span> -her artistic dependence is one which she cannot -deny without perjuring herself before a thousand -witnesses. Document after document more durable -than parchment—though many have already -perished and many perish daily—attests the debt -of Venice to the East. Till she perish altogether -at the hands of a relentless, unregarding tyrant—a -bastard child of Time misnamed Progress—she -must continue to bear witness to her debt. So -long as she breathes, each breath confesses it and -the East will lay her tribute on the tomb of Venice -dead—lamenting as for one of her own children.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_160" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Seven">Chapter Seven<br /> - -<span class="subhead">TWO VENETIAN STATUES</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">In</span> two of the public squares of Venice the statues, -in bronze, of two of her heroes are set up, -the one of a man of war, the other of a comedian: -in the Campo di SS. Giovanni e Paolo the -statue of Bartolomeo Colleoni, in the Campo di -San Bartolomeo that of Carlo Goldoni. The first -is a warrior on horseback in full armour, uplifted -high above the square, disdaining the companionship -of the puny mortals who saunter without a -purpose to and fro under his feet. Horse and rider -stand self-sufficient and alone; one spirit breathes -in both: in the contour of the stern face of the -warrior, with its massive chin and proudly disdainful -lip, in his throat with the muscles standing out -like ropes upon it, and in the sweep of his capacious -brow, under which the keenly penetrating -eyes hold their object in a grip of iron; and, for -the horse, in every line of his superbly curving -neck, in the acute serenity of his down-looking -eye, and in each curling lock of his mane that seem<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span> -as if moved together by one controlling impulse. -How clear the outline of his skull, everywhere visible -beneath its fine covering of flesh and muscle! -and his body, like the body of his master, how perfectly -responsive an instrument it is! There is -nothing here of that wild disorder of the beast untamed, -which is mistaken sometimes for strength. -The hand of Colleoni is light upon the bridle, the -horse glories in a subjection that is itself a triumph: -he and his master are one. Do but compare -this for a moment with the prodigious mass, -the plunging man and beast, that overlook the -Riva degli Schiavoni—Victor Emanuel on horseback. -It is not altogether an arbitrary contrast; -the two great monuments seem to represent Venice -before the fall and Venice after. What unity of -purpose, what hope of conquest is there in those -monstrous figures on the Riva? Beneath this -redundancy of flesh and armour how shall they -prevail against the world? They are not only different -in degree, they are of a different species from -Verocchio’s horse and rider. The spirit of the first -Renaissance is in every line of his great statue—its -strength, agility and decorative skill. How -studied is the symmetry, the static perfection of -the whole! how strongly and yet how delicately -he emphasises the rectangular framework of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span> -design! The rod of Colleoni, the trappings of his -horse, the tail and legs and body-line—each is -made contributive, while the backward poise of the -rider balances the forward motion of the horse, -and all is thus drawn into the scheme. It is all -willed, but with that spontaneity of will which men -call inspiration.</p> - -<p>This statue, which so marvellously sums up in -sculpture the central aim of Venice as a state in -the fifteenth century, offers an instructive contrast -to that in the Campo di San Bartolomeo, where -the comedian Goldoni, though raised above the -level of the square, still seems a companionable -part of the life that passes around him, moving in -its midst as he moved amid the life of the eighteenth -century in Venice, meditating upon it, -observing, loving it, faithfully and fearlessly recording -it. Marked by a realistic fidelity and insight -worthy of a greater age, Dal Zotto’s statue -of Goldoni is in its own way itself a masterpiece -and one of the noblest works of modern art in -Venice, full of sympathy and understanding and -admirable in execution. The sculptor might -seem to have lived as an intimate with Goldoni, -and the realism of his treatment suits the subject -singularly well. The comedian is not aloft upon -a pedestal, remote from men, in glorious aloofness;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span> -he is raised but slightly above our heads, not much -observed of the crowd, but observing all. Briskly -he steps along, in buckled shoes, frilled shirt and -neckerchief, his coat flying open, and a book or -manuscript bulging from the pocket of it, his -waistcoat slackly buttoned, his cocked hat tipped -jauntily upon his forehead over his powdered -periwig. As he goes he crushes his gloves with -one hand at his back and with the other marks -progress with his cane. It is a strong, taut little -figure, tending to roundness, with a world of suggestiveness -in every motion, an admirable mingling -of thought and humour in the face that -laughs down on this strange, grotesque, conventional, -lovable Venice. What a strange contrast -is this, of the slippered sage of the eighteenth -century, who houses the swallows in the loose -folds of his slouch hat, and the armed hero of the -fifteenth, whose every muscle is alert, responsive -to the stern controlling will! Goldoni is a sage -upon a different platform, meditating upon a different -world. His Venice is the Venice of -Longhi; she has become pedestrian; she has become -a theme for comedy. Comedy might have -found plentiful food, no doubt, in the Venice that -employed Colleoni, the Venice of the first great -painters. There is a fund of humour and whimsicality<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span> -in the strangely fascinating faces of Carpaccio’s -citizens. Yet try to picture them held -up to ridicule by one of themselves upon the -stage, and the imagination faints; the thing is inconceivable. -In Goldoni’s age the interest of life -was shifted to another field, and he stands as the -central figure, the leader in a new campaign, representative -not of its vices or its vanities or its -follies, but of the solid virtues of which these are -the shady side. He is one of those happy spirits -which the reactionary age of small things produced, -not only in Italy but everywhere in the -eighteenth century; a spirit of clear, calm insight -and capable judgment, neither enamoured of the -life of his small circle nor embittered against it, -content to live in the midst of it in serenity and -truth.</p> - -<p>Goldoni, Colleoni, each is representative of a -period in the history of the Republic, periods -widely separated in temper and in time, and yet -related intimately; so intimately indeed that the -period of which Goldoni is the master-spirit is -actually foreshadowed in the very presence of the -superb warrior of the other public square. To -study the process of the growth and the decadence -of the Republic is to find that there is no convenient -preconceived theory with which it will fit in;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span> -it rebels against such manipulation, as everything -individual rebels against the ready-made. We -need rather to look upon Venice as upon a plant -that springs and comes to its perfection and fades -slowly away, changing and developing in indefinable -gradations, showing at every stage some -surprising revival from the past, some strange anticipation -of the future. In the fifteenth century -itself, while the earliest artists were at work for -Venice at Murano, and Carpaccio was as yet unborn, -Venice already bore about with her the seeds of -her decay. In fact, the growth of her art coincides -with the slow relaxation of her hold upon -the bulwarks of her policy both at home and -abroad. The election of Foscari as Doge in 1423 -marks a moment of change in Venetian life and -government, indicated by the substitution of the -title Signoria for that of Commune Venetiarum, -and by the abolition of the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">arengo</i>—yet Carpaccio -has still his grave citizens to portray, and Ursula -sleeping the sleep of infancy. Among the exhortations -which tradition has handed down to us as -addressed from time to time to the Venetians by -Doge or by ambassador is that supposed to have -been spoken on his death-bed by Foscari’s precursor, -the Doge Tommaso Mocenigo. It might -have been spoken for our instruction, instead of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span> -as a reminder to his own subjects of what they -knew so well, so vivid an impression is to be derived -from it of the inner life of Venice during -the first thirty years of the fifteenth century. -Whether legendary or not, these exhortations -have something significant and individual about -them which really illuminates; it is as if a light -were suddenly flashed into a vast room, pressing -our vision upon one point, providing a nucleus -of knowledge about which scattered ideas and -impressions may group themselves intelligibly. -Whatever they are, they are not the fabrication -of a later time which has lost understanding of the -spirit that animated the past. If the portrait they -give is imaginary, they have seized upon the -salient features and endowed them with a vitality -which the photograph, however literal, too often -lacks. Mocenigo’s farewell address is an impressive -portico opening upon a new period in the -career of Venice, a strange trumpet-note of ill -omen on the threshold of her greatest glory. -Behold, he says, the fulness of the life you have -achieved, of the riches you have stored; turn -now and preserve it; there is peril in the path -beyond; there is twilight and decay and death. -Your eyes, full of the light, have no knowledge -of the shadow; but mine, dim now with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span> -age, have known it, and its grip is upon my -limbs. Venice heard but might not heed his -warnings. The sun himself must rise and fulfil -his day and set. Decay is in each breath that the -plant draws in; it cannot crystallise the moment; -inexorably it is drawn onwards to maturity and -death. It was inevitable for Venice that as her -strength increased her responsibilities should increase -with it; perforce she must turn her face to -land as well as sea. She could not remain alone, -intent only on nourishing and developing her individual -life. In proportion to her greatness she -must attract others to her, and the circle of her -influence must widen till it passed beyond her -own control. The dying words of Mocenigo -came too late. A temporary delay there might -have been; there was no turning back. Venice -had been drawn already into the vortex of European -mainland politics, and she could not stand -aside. In our own colonial policy we are continually -confronted with the problem of aggression -and defence. In reality there is no boundary between -the two, or the boundary, if it exists, is so -fine that the events of a moment may obliterate -it. St. Theodore carries his shield in his right -hand and his spear in the left; and an old chronicler -of Venetian glory interprets the action as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span> -symbolising the predominance of defence in his -warrior’s ideal. Doge Tommaso Mocenigo would -have approved the interpretation. But spear and -shield cannot exchange their functions. Until the -spear is laid aside, it will insist on leading; and -Venice had not laid aside the spear, she had furnished -herself anew.</p> - -<p>“In my time,” says Mocenigo, after a pathetic -preliminary avowal of his obligations to Venice -and of the humble efforts he had made to discharge -them, “in my time, our loan has been reduced -by four millions of ducats, but six millions -still are lacking for the debt incurred in the war -with Padua, Vicenza, Verona.... This city of -ours sends out at present ten million ducats every -year for its trade in different parts of the world, -with ships and galleys and the necessary appointments -to the value of not less than two million -ducats. In this city are three thousand vessels of -from one to two hundred anforas burden, carrying -sixteen thousand mariners: there are three hundred -vessels which alone carry eight thousand -mariners more. Every year sail forty-five galleys, -counting small and great craft, and these take -eleven thousand mariners, three thousand captains -and three thousand calkers. There are three -thousand weavers of silk garments and sixteen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span> -thousand of fustian.... There are one thousand -gentlemen with incomes ranging from seven hundred -to four thousand ducats. If you go on in -this way, you will increase from good to better, -you will be lords of riches and of Christendom. -But beware, as of fire, of taking what belongs to -others and making unjust war, for these are errors -that God cannot tolerate in princes. It is known -to all that the war with the Turk has made you -brave and valorous by sea, ... and in these years -you have so acted that the world has judged you -the leaders of Christendom. You have many men -experienced in embassies and government, men -who are perfect orators. You have many doctors -in diverse sciences, lawyers above all, and for this -reason many foreigners come to you for judgement -in their differences and abide by your decisions. -Take heed, therefore, how you govern such a state -as this, and be careful to give it your counsel and -your warning, lest ever by negligence it suffer loss -of power. And it behoves you earnestly to advise -whoever succeeds me in this place, because -through him the Republic may receive much good -and much harm. Many of you incline to Messer -Marino Caravello; he is a worthy man and for his -worthy qualities deserves that rank. Messer Francesco -Bembo is an honest man, and so is Messer<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span> -Giacomo Trevisan. Messer Antonio Contarini, -Messer Faustin Michiel, Messer Alban Badoer, all -these are wise and merit it. Many incline to -Messer Francesco Foscari, not knowing that he is -an ambitious man and a liar, without a basis to -his actions. His intellect is flighty; he embraces -much and holds little. If he is Doge, you will -always be at war. The possessor of ten thousand -ducats will be master but of one. You will spend -gold and silver. You will be robbed of your reputation -and your honour. You will be vassals of -infantry and captains and men-at-arms. I could -not restrain myself from giving you my opinion. -God help you to choose the best, and rule and -keep you in peace.”</p> - -<p>Mocenigo’s warning was disregarded. But although -Foscari was made Doge, Venice did not -rush into war. In spite of repeated efforts on the -part of the Florentines to secure an alliance, the -traditions of the old peace policy were tenaciously -adhered to during the first years of the new reign. -It was the temptation to secure Carmagnola as -leader of her forces which finally overcame her -scruples. Foscari’s discourse on this occasion, as -reported by Romanin, is a curiously specious mingling -of philanthropy and self-interest. Reading -between the lines, we understand from it something<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span> -of Mocenigo’s fears at the prospect of his -election. The passion of empire is in his heart. -Venice, whom eulogists loved to represent as the -bulwark of Europe against the infidel, is now to -be the champion of down-trodden Florence. It -is the sword of justice that she is to wield. We -are reminded of Veronese’s allegory—Venice -seated upon the world, robed in ermine and scarlet, -her silver and her gold about her, her breast -clasped with a jewelled buckler, round her neck -the rich pearls of her own island fabric, on her -head the royal crown. Her face is in the shadow -of her gilded throne and of the folds of the stiff -rose satin curtain, as she looks out over the world, -over the universe, from her lofty seat on the dark -azure globe. The lion, the sword and the olive -branch are at her feet. What is she dreaming of, -this Venice of the soft, round, shadowed face? Is -it of peace, or of new empire? Is it to the olive -bough or to the sword of justice that she inclines? -In a neighbouring fresco, Neptune, brooding in -profound abstraction beside his trident, deputes to -the lion his watch; but Mars of the mainland is -alert, on foot, and his charger’s head from above -him breathes fire upon his brow.</p> - -<p>“You will be the vassals of captains and men-at-arms.” -There was a note of prophecy in Mocenigo’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span> -closing words, and it is indeed a question, in -face of Verocchio’s superb warrior—who was the -prince and who the vassal, who the servant and -who the master. Colleoni’s triumph at his grand -reception in Venice can scarcely have been the -triumph of a mere man-at-arms. Studying the -magnificent reserve of strength in his grandly -moulded face and neck, we feel Venice must rather -have acknowledged that an Emperor had descended -in her midst. Little wonder that such a man -dared ask a place on the Piazza of St. Mark itself! -The period of his command embraced some of the -most brilliant successes of the Venetian arms on -land. Difficulties and perils that seemed insurmountable -were yet surmounted by a mind -possessed of supreme qualities of judgment, daring -and nobility. Singularly akin, indeed, to -Venice herself was this man who had a key to -the minds of his antagonists, who read their -secrets and forestalled their actions: it is not -strange that he was dear to her. Though -a professional soldier and no Venetian born, he -could act as a worthy representative of Venice, and -there might seem small fear of ruin for a Republic -that could so choose her servants. But Colleoni -had fought against the Lion and set his foot upon -its neck, and the Lion had been constrained to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span> -turn and ask his service of him, the highest tribute -it could offer, the completest confession of its -defeat. And Colleoni could respect and be faithful -to such a paymaster: for twenty years he led -the Republic on land, and was never called to -render an account before her judgment-seat. -Magnanimously at his death he absolves her of all -her debts to him, makes her two grand donations, -then, by his own wish, towers over Venice, a paid -alien, her virtual master, yet such a master as she -was proud to serve. We wonder if this thought -came ever to the mind of Verocchio, the Florentine, -as he moulded the great figure of the hero: -did the imagination please him of Venice the -vassal, Venice subjected beneath the horse and his -rider?</p> - -<p>There was a fête given in honour of Colleoni -at Venice in 1455, on the occasion of the bestowing -on him the staff of supreme command. To -Spino, Colleoni’s enthusiastic biographer and fellow -citizen, the episode was portentous, as to one -unfamiliar with Venetian traditions in this respect. -It had, indeed, a significance he did not dream of; -it was the reception not of a victorious fleet, not -of an admiring monarch or fugitive pope, but of -an army of mercenaries and their leader. Spino -tells how Colleoni was accompanied by an escort<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span> -of the chief citizens of Bergamo, Brescia and other -cities of the kingdom that had been committed to -his charge; how barges over a thousand were sent -from Venice to fetch him and his party from -Marghera; how the Venetians came out in flocks -to meet him in gondolas and sandolos to the sound -of trumpets and other instruments of music, preceded -by <em>three</em> ships called <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">bucintori</i>, “of marvellous -workmanship and grandeur,” in which were the -Doge and Signoria, the senate and other magistrates; -and how ambassadors of kings and princes -and subject states came to do homage to the new -Serenissimo Pasqual Malipiero. He tells, as all -the chroniclers of festivals at Venice tell, of the -throngs, not only on windows and upon the fondamentas, -but upon the house roofs along the Grand -Canal; of Colleoni’s reception at San Marco and -the display of the sacred treasures at the high altar; -and how, as he knelt before the Doge, the staff -of his office was bestowed upon him with these -words, “By the authority and decree of the most -excellent city of Venice, of us the Doge and of the -Senate, ruler and captain-general of all our men -and arms on land shalt thou be. Take from our -hands this military staff, with good presage and -fortune, as emblem of thy power, to maintain and -defend the majesty, the faith and the judgments<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span> -of this State with dignity and with decorum by -thy care and charge.” For ten days the festivals -continued with jousts and tournaments and feats -of arms. But all was not fêting and merriment. -Colleoni held grave discourses also with the Padri, -and “their spirits were confirmed by him,” says -Spino, “in safety and great confidence.”</p> - -<div id="i_175" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;"> - <img src="images/i_175.jpg" width="1634" height="2115" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">IN THE PIAZZA.</div></div> - -<p>The Venice who could thus do honour to Colleoni -her general was a superb Venice, superb as -Colleoni himself who in his castle of Malpaga -received not only embassies from kings but kings -themselves; who, at the visit of Cristierino, King -of Dacia, came out to meet him “on a great -courser, caparisoned and equipped for war, and he, -all but his head, imperially clad in complete -armour, attended only by two standard-bearers carrying -his helm and lance, while a little further -behind followed his whole company of six hundred -horse in battle array, with his condottieri and -his squadrons, all gloriously and most nobly armed -and mounted, with flags flying and the sound of -trumpets”; who, besides making rich provision -for all his children, built churches, endowed monasteries -and left to the Venetians, after cancelling -all their debts to him, one hundred thousand -ducats of gold. The Venice that employed Colleoni -was superb—we have a record of her living<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span> -features in Gentile Bellini’s marvellous presentment -of the procession in St. Mark’s square—the -brain as flexible, the jaws as rigid as those of the -mighty warrior Verocchio conceived. Yet Spino’s -comment on the last tribute paid by the Venetians -to their general gives us pause—“confessing to -have lost the defender of their liberty.” It was a -confession which could still clothe itself triumphantly -in the great bronze statue, but there is an -omen in the words. In this confession of 1496 is -foreshadowed the fall of 1796.</p> - -<p>Much has been written of the social life of this -Venice of the Fall; there are countless sources for -its history in the letters, diaries and memoirs of its -citizens and of its visitors, reputable and disreputable; -richest sources of all, there are the pictures -of Longhi, the comedies of Goldoni. But of the -Venice that lay behind this small round of conventions -and refinements, laxity and tyranny, perhaps -less has been said. Of many avenues by which it -might be approached we shall choose one, and -since the praise of Colleoni has drawn our attention -to the foundations of Venetian power on land, -nothing will better serve our purpose than the -foundation of her power by sea, that Arsenal -which Sansovino described as “the basis and -groundwork of the greatness of this Republic, as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span> -well as the honour of all Italy.” The Arsenal -was, next to San Marco, perhaps the sanctuary of -Venetian faith. It was far more than a mere manufactory -of arms and battleships. In the celebration -of the Sensa its workmen held the post of -honour, the rowing of the Bucintoro. Its officers -were among the most reputed in the State. The -Council of Ten had a room within its precincts. -It was entered by a superb triumphal arch, a sight -which none who visited Venice must miss. The -condition of the Arsenal may well be taken as an -index to the condition of Venice herself.</p> - -<p>We may set side by side two pictures of the -Arsenal, one drawn from a curious little work of -early seventeenth century, a time at which, though -Venice was moving down the path of her decay, -the glorious traditions of the past still found renewal -in her present life, and the Venetian fleet -was still a triumphant symbol of Venetian greatness; -the other from the reports of her officials in -the last years before her death. Luca Assarino -was one of many guests who had to say to Venice, -or to the Doge her representative, “My intellect -staggers under the weight of a memory laden with -surpassing favours. You received me into your -house, did me honour, assisted me, protected me. -You clothed yourself in my desires, and promoted<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span> -them on every occasion; and this not only without -having had of me any cause to honour me so -highly, but even without having ever seen me.” -He feels he cannot better discharge the burden of -his gratitude than by shaping some of the emotions -inspired in him by his visit to the Arsenal. There -is a touch of sympathy and sometimes even a touch -of truth and insight under the extravagantly symbolic -garb of his appreciation. “Admiring first of -all an immense number of porticoes, where as in -vast maternal wombs I saw in embryo the galleys -whose bodies were being framed, I realised that I -was in the country of vessels, the fatherland of -galleons, and that those masses were so formidable -as to show themselves warriors even in their birth, -fortifying themselves with countless nails and arming -thus their very vitals with iron. I considered -them as wandering islands, which, united, compose -the continent of Venetian glory, the mainland of -the rule of Christendom. I admired with joy the -height of their masts and the size of their sailyards, -and I called them forests under whose shade the -Empire of the sea reposed and the hopes of the -Catholic religion were fortified. And who, I said -to myself, can deny that this Republic has subjugated -the element of water, when none of her -citizens can walk abroad, but that the water, as if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span> -vanquished, kisses his feet at every step?” Like -all recorders of the glories of Venice, he is struck -dumb at certain points by fear of the charge of fabling, -but, collecting himself, he proceeds to speak -of the trophies and relics, the rows of cuirasses, -helmets and swords that remained as “iron memorials -to arm the years against oblivion of Venetian -greatness. What revolutions of the world, what -accidents, what mutations of state, what lakes of -tears and blood did not the dim lightnings of those -fierce habiliments present to the eye of the observer?... -I saw the remains of the Venetian fleet, -vessels, that, as old men, weighted no less with -years than glory, reposed under the magnificence -of the arches which might well be called triumphal -arches. I saw part of those galleons to which -Christianity confesses the debt of her preservation.... -And last, I saw below the water so great a -quantity of the planks from which vessels afterwards -are made, that one might truly call it a treasury -hidden in the entrails of a lake. I perceived -that these, as novices in swimming, remained first -a century below the surface, to float after for an -eternity of centuries; and I remarked that they -began by acquiring citizenship in that lake, to end -by showing themselves patricians throughout the -seas, and that there was good reason they should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span> -plant their roots well under water, for they were -the trees on which the liberty of Venice was to -flower.” In his peroration the eulogist strikes a -deeper note. “May it please Almighty God to -preserve you to a longest eternity; and as of old -the nations surrounding you had so high an opinion -of your integrity and justice that they came to you -for judgment of their weightiest and most important -cases, so may heaven grant that the whole of -Christendom may resort always to your threshold -to learn the laws of good government.”</p> - -<p>We think sadly of his prayer among the records -of abuse and corruption in the Arsenal of two -centuries later; the Venetian lawyers were still -renowned among the lawyers of the world, but -the State was no longer capable of teaching the -laws of good government to Christendom. The -theatre, the coffee-house, the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">ridotto</i>, the gay <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">villeggiatura</i> -were now the main channels of her activity; -the tide of life had flowed back from the Arsenal -and left it a sluggish marsh. In the arts of shipbuilding -no advance had been made, and the cause -lay chiefly in an extraordinary slackness of discipline -by which workmen were first allowed to serve in -alternation and in the end were asked for only one -day’s service in the month. Many youths who -had not even seen the Arsenal were in receipt of a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span> -stipend as apprentices, in virtue of hereditary right. -Martinelli tells of porters, valets, novices and even -of a pantaloon in a troop of comic actors who were -thus pleasantly provided for. There was a scarcity -of tools, and even the men in daily attendance at -the Arsenal spent their time in idle lounging and -often in still more mischievous occupations for -lack of anything better to do; disobedience and -disloyalty were rife. The Arsenal was used by -many as a place of winter resort, as workhouses -by the tramps of to-day, and the wood stored for -shipbuilding was consumed in fires for warming -these unbidden guests, or made up into articles of -furniture for sale in the open market. The report -of the Inquisitors of the Arsenal, dated March 1, -1874, which Martinelli quotes, is indeed a terrible -confession: “One sad experience clearly shows that -the smallest concession ... becomes rapidly transformed -into unbridled licence. Not to mention -the immense piles of shavings, from sixty to seventy -thousand vast bundles of wood disappear annually. -The wastage of so great a mass of wood, more -than the equivalent of the complete outfit of ten -or twelve entire ships of the line, is not to be -accounted for under legitimate refuse of normal -work, but points plainly to the voluntary destruction -of undamaged and precious material.” It is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span> -scarcely surprising that with so little care for the -preservation of discipline in the Arsenal and for -the efficiency of its workmen Venice fell behind. -The Arsenal had indeed become, as Martinelli says, -“a monument of the generous conceptions of the -past—a monument, like the church and campanile -of San Marco, beautiful, admirable, glorious, but -as completely incapable as they of offering any -service to the State.” Similar abuses existed also -in the manning of the ships. The officers were -for the most part idle and incompetent, and the -despatches of the Provveditori are a tissue of -lamentable statements as to the depression of that -which had been, and while Venice was to retain -her supremacy, must ever be, the mainstay of her -power. There is desertion among the crews and -operatives; the outfit provided for them is unsuitable -and inadequate. Nicolò Erizzo, Provveditor -Extraordinary to the Islands of the Levant, concludes -a despatch, dated October 30, 1764, as -follows: “Thus it comes about that your Excellencies -have no efficient and capable officers of -marine, and if an occasion were ever to arise when -it were necessary to send them to some distant -part, let me not be deemed presumptuous if I -venture frankly to assure you that they would be -in great straits. I had a proof of the truth of this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span> -when I launched the galley recently built; for -the officers themselves begged me to put a ship’s -captain on board, since at a little distance from -land they did not trust themselves, nor did they -blush to confess it in making this request.”</p> - -<p>It was ten years earlier, in 1744, that the Ridotto, -or great public gaming-house, was closed in Venice -by order of the Great Council, and the Venetians, -their chief occupation gone, were reduced to -melancholy peregrination of the Piazza. “They -have all become hypochondriacs,” writes Madame -Sara Gondar. “The Jews are as yellow as melons; -the mask-sellers are dying of starvation; and -wrinkles are growing on the hands of many a -poor old nobleman who has been in the habit of -dealing cards ten hours a day. Vice is absolutely -necessary to the activity of a state.” This then is -the Venice against which Goldoni stands out; and -after all, the essential difference between the world -reflected in his comedies and that world of Gentile -Bellini and Carpaccio, which was Colleoni’s world, -is a difference of horizon. There is an epic grandeur -about Carpaccio’s world: heroes stride across -it, with lesser men and lesser interests in their -train. The small affairs of life are not neglected. -There is the Company of the Stocking, who discuss -their peculiar device and the articles of their<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span> -order with the grave elaboration of State councillors. -Venice was always interested in matters -of detail. But in Colleoni’s day the same seriousness -of purpose was available when larger issues -were discerned: in Goldoni’s the power to discern -larger issues has disappeared. The Venetians, lords -once of the sea, can still take interest in their -stockings, but they can take interest in nothing -else. The Lilliputians are in possession. Goldoni -does not quarrel with his age for not being monumental, -and we shall do well to follow his example -and make our peace with it. He looks upon the -clubs of freemasons, the pedantic literary reformers, -the false romanticists, the bourgeois tyrants and -masquerading ladies, with a serene and indulgent -smile. In his famous literary dispute with Gozzi -he maintains before his fiery opponent the calm -and level countenance of truth. The battles rage -around him, but he stands firm and unassailable, -as Colleoni himself may once have stood in the -midst of battles how different, waged in how -different a world!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_187" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Eight">Chapter Eight<br /> - -<span class="subhead vspace">VENETIAN WATERWAYS<br /> -<span class="smaller">(PART I)</span></span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">In</span> Venice it is difficult to make choice of one -route rather than another, when the means -of transit is indeed an end in itself, and in -some degree the same delight awaits us on every -way we choose. We may pass hours on the Grand -Canal merely combining enjoyment of its changefulness -with a welcome monotony of rest; every -moment the water is expressive, every moment it -lives under some new impulse and reveals itself -afresh. Carpaccio’s picture, <i>The Miracle of the -Holy Cross</i>, is a marvellous rendering of the life of -the Grand Canal; we are reminded of it again and -again as we turn into the noble sweep of the waters -at the angle of the Cà Foscari. The spirit and -motion of Venice seem to be concentrated in the -picture—the dark water alive with many gondolas, -the fascination of the rhythmic movements of -the rowers, at rest or sharply turning or slowly -propelling. It has caught and embodied the -genius of the canal—that ceaseless change and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span> -variation of angle which keeps it springing and -full of life; that flowing spirit which unifies the -palaces and waters of Venice in a conspiracy of -beauty. Our gondola in some mysterious way -enrols us in this conspiracy; through its motion -we consent to the spirit of the place. We are not -onlookers merely; the gondola pulses with the life -of Venice; it is an instrument of her being. We -feel as we move along that we are needed in the -spectacle of Venice, that we have a share in the -equilibrium which is of the essence of her power. -There is no means of city transit that we can -imagine to rival the gondola in its freedom from -noise and jostling, in its realisation of comfort. -But there are other reasons why it must remain -the essential means of passage in Venice. From -the gondola alone can we hope to realise how the -city stands amid its waters, how living the relation -between land and water is. These are not canals -in the common sense of the word; they are living -streams flowing among islands, each of which is -individual, irregular, unique. Venice is not a tract -of land cut into sections, large or small, by water, -as is an inland city by its streets. A most vigilant -watch was kept over the building of the houses -that they should not transgress the law of the -waters nor interfere with the relation of their currents<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span> -to the islands. And this vigilance, perhaps, -combined with the desire of each owner of land -to make use of it to the last fragment, is responsible -for the irregularities and varieties of angle -which make the houses of Venice more individual -than those of any other city. Usually a wall when -it has once displayed to us its surface has finished -its confidences; it has no reserves, no allurements; -it is rigid and uncompromising. But one that -breaks from the level, inclining its proud profile in -response to the tide of the waterway below it, is a -wall of far greater and more individual resources. -It is only by gondola that we can appreciate this -strong element of personality in the houses, and -only by journeying in a gondola that we can learn -to appreciate the individuality of the different -quarters of Venice. It is not merely that one is -peopled by the rich, another by the poor; that one -region abounds in ancient palaces, another in -modern buildings; nor that peculiar treasures of -art are associated with each. Their characters are -divergent. From the canals we realise that Venice -is built upon separate islands and we see their -diversity. The parochial divisions of the sestieri -do not exactly follow the shape of the islands, but -roughly speaking we shall find the waterways in -the district covered by each sestiere distinctive in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span> -character. Castello and Cannaregio, San Polo and -Dorsoduro, each has its own recognisable method -of curve, broad or narrow, wayward or orderly.</p> - -<div id="i_189" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_189.jpg" width="2188" height="1525" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">VIEW ON GRAND CANAL FROM SAN ANGELO.</div></div> - -<p>The last joy of one who has lived long in -Venice, as well as the first of the new-comer, will -be a gondola journey. It is impossible to exhaust -the certain beauties of even a side canal, not to -speak of its casual surprises. If we are in haste -and time is precious, we do better to make our -way over bridge and calle with what dexterity and -speed we can; for it is an insult to ask haste of the -gondola. Yet, if we accept in the right spirit the -extraordinary delays and dilemmas of traffic—immense, -interminable barges suddenly blocking -the entire canal, or a flock of gondolas and sandolos -in seemingly inextricable confusion—we shall -always have our reward; not only the pleasure of -watching the riddle of passage solve itself, thanks -to the seeming elasticity of the rio, but a glint of -sun-jewels on a new angle of the waters, some -richness of ornament on house or bridge, some -relic of ancient Venice, some name of calle or rio -will break upon us with a fresh revelation. We -cannot come to the end of Venice; she is inexhaustible: -stealing about among the sudden -shadows and broken lights of her waterways, -sweeping in full, swift tide round unexpected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span> -corners and under diminished bridges, some new -idea breaks upon us unawares with irresistible persuasion. -We cannot define its meaning; we cannot -say why details in Venice have so great a -significance. A window opened suddenly in one -of the palaces at night—why does it seem so portentous? -It is another of the manifold gifts of -the waters to Venice, this gift of distinction. -Venice is not like other cities in which a thousand -acts pass unnoted. She has the distinction of a -unique individual whose smallest action is fraught -with a strange immaterial fragrance that is unmistakably -its own. We cannot analyse the fragrance; -we only recognise that it is a spiritual -gift; it emanates only from subtle and penetrating -natures; it is the aroma of life itself. To it we -owe the strange excitement that invades us in -Venetian waters, and makes a gondola tour far -more than a novel mode of traversing a city. As -we watch the citizens of Venice from the water, -see them crossing a bridge, pausing to lean over, -or carried in the stream of passengers, they too -seem endowed with a singular vitality; their passing -and their standing still appear alike purposeful -and portentous. What history might not be -written by questioning the windows that look out -on the side canals, or the tides that have ebbed and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span> -flowed in their channels? It would be a work of -many volumes; for the private records of Venice -are not lacking in fulness. The Piazza of Bellini’s -<i>Procession of the Cross</i> represents one side of Venetian -life, its solemnity, its assurance, its pomp and -colour; but the narrow waters know another side, -the domestic festivities, the courtings, weddings -and banquetings, and private hates. For she was -strong in deeds of darkness as in deeds of light, and -echoes of them still wash against the basements of -her houses. Water is a safer confidant of blood -than earth, and the waters of Venice have received -their full share of such confidences. Ebbing tides -washed out to sea the stains of violence and flowed -in to pave the city anew, yet the atmosphere of -the dark waterways is more enduring than material -stains, and there is no dark deed of ancient Venice -to which they may not still supply a realistic -setting.</p> - -<div id="i_195" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 41em;"> - <img src="images/i_195.jpg" width="1979" height="1593" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">THE LIBRARY, PIAZZETTA.</div></div> - -<p>The gondolier’s stock of knowledge will carry -us but a small way on the lesser rios. His catalogue -is ready for the Grand Canal; he can carry -the reader to the obvious points of interest the -guide-book enumerates, but his information does -not usually comprise even the most beautiful of -the palaces of the side canals, and on the more -familiar routes there is much to discover for oneself.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span> -Moreover there are aspects of a gondola tour -which the guide-book cannot include, but which -are none the less important for those who really -wish to know the physiognomy of Venice. And -one is the time of day at which it is to be taken. -Venice is the city of light—more luminous than -any other city; and if it is true that new light or -shadow everywhere alters the aspect of familiar -objects, it is infinitely truer in Venice where each -moment witnesses the birth of some new and -wonderful offspring of the light. If one, who has -known the statue of Colleoni against the intense -blue of the midday sky, comes on him suddenly -when the Campo is in shadow and the Scuola di -San Marco alone still receives the light upon the -rare marble of its upper façade, he will find that, -as the definition of the stern features is lost, a note -of tenderness steals into the proud assertion of the -face. It seems a fresh revelation of character, this -change wrought by a new light in the known and -familiar, and it is one of the peculiar creative gifts -of Venice.</p> - -<p>In considering some of the most noteworthy -subjects in the city as she now is, we may imagine -a gondola tour on a day of the high tides in December, -when the water washes in long smooth -waves almost up to the feet of the Lion and St.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span> -Theodore, and gives to the Molo the exhilarating -effect of a sea-shore. The spring tide spurts and -bubbles through the gratings in the Piazza and -Piazzetta, to unite in a lake which covers the -whole pavement till it deepens in the atrium of -San Marco and the heavy outer doors are closed. -As the waters rise, the dominion of light is extended; -the chequered marbles of the Ducal -Palace take on a new brilliance, and the agate eyes -of the Lion glow and sparkle as he looks across -the sun-paths to the sea. We will imagine ourselves -embarking at the Piazzetta and turning into -Venice from the Basin of San Marco, under the -Ponte della Paglia and the Bridge of Sighs. The -entrance into the Rio del Palazzo is flanked on -one side by what was formerly the eastern tower -of the Ducal Palace. Relics of a Byzantine frieze -are all that now remain of it; the rest is lost in -the grand eastern wall of the palace—a superb -monument of the first Renaissance. This wall -would provide material for many hours of study -in the rich variety of its sculptures. Not a capital -or column is left unadorned, and each is particularised -with an apparently inexhaustible variety of -design. The two massive, projecting balconies -of the Anti Sala dei Pregadi, overhanging the rio, -which presented to the sculptor some at least of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span> -the problems of ceiling decoration, are richly -carved beneath with deep circular roses. The remotest -corners are worked with the same conscientious -detail as the more conspicuous, and each with -a view to its position above the rio. As our eyes -grow accustomed to the comparative darkness of the -canal, we see that lions look down on us from the -arches of the topmost windows, and that some of the -upper columns are surrounded by a band of sculpture -similar to that on the pillars of the façade of the -Scuola di San Rocco. Amid the wealth of sculptured -stone there is an impressive severity in the -discs of porphyry set at intervals along the wall; -but perhaps its greatest beauty is the ducal shield -bearing the Barbarigo arms. This shield, placed -over a low water-door, is upheld by two winged -pages with lighted torches in their hands, who are -themselves like songs of light in their graceful and -spirited beauty. Massiveness and grace are magnificently -combined in this east wall of the Ducal Palace; -it is at once solemn and brilliant; and as we -look back to its angle with the Riva, the rose and -snowy marbles gleam as if they were transparent.</p> - -<p>A little further and the waters have us in their -power. The Ponte di Canonica denies us passage; -the tide is too high for us to pass beneath it, and -we are forced to return to the Riva degli Schiavoni.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span> -But before we turn we may see one of the most -beautiful of Renaissance palaces rising in clear -whiteness against the blue of the sky. The Greek -marble of its surface is inlaid with circles of serpentine -and porphyry; on either side of the central -building two scrolls, inlaid with palm leaves, bear -the words, <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">Honor et gloria Deo solo</i>, and higher in the -wall are marble slabs most delicately designed with -animals, birds and foliage. A mitre, crown, and -crosier, and various other articles of head-dress are -represented in the stone, but the Capello family had -many branches in Venice, and of the owners of this -particular palace even Tassini has no record. The -most beautiful of its features is set high up, almost -too high to be comfortably seen from the water—two -young companion figures of the first Renaissance, -full of grace and imagination and strength, -each with spear, and scales, and casque surmounted -by three heads. These twin warrior angels look -out with serene strength into the day; they are -lightly armed, but poised and ready for battle. -The duplication of their winged figures, and the -height at which they are placed, makes us think -of them primarily as decorative sculptures; they -cannot possess the intimate charm of the young -warrior of the Palazzo Civran, but they endow the -harmonious marbles of this palace front with a distinction<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span> -and character which give it rank among -the first houses of the greatest period in Venice. -After the rains, these precious marbles shine with -a peculiar lustre, and the Palazzo Capello as it -appears to-day is worthy of comparison with the -Palazzo Dario, which glows with serpentine and -porphyry beside the Grand Canal, fresh and fine -and delicate as on the day of its completion.</p> - -<div id="i_201" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 44em;"> - <img src="images/i_201.jpg" width="2133" height="1596" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">CORNER OF THE PALAZZO DARIO.</div></div> - -<p>As the water is still rising and the Ponte di -Canonica will not allow room to pass, we must -move along the shining waters of San Marco till -we find a more hospitable waterway. With difficulty -we get under the Ponte del Sepolcro and -thence down the Rio della Pietà in which, at the -distance of a few strokes, we may land if we will -at a low sotto-portico leading to San Giovanni in -Bragora, where Cima’s noble picture, <i>The Baptism -of Christ</i>, is imprisoned behind a stifling modern -altar which makes it impossible to study the composition -as a whole. A little farther, passing a fine -ogival palace on our right, we halt before a plastered -barocco house with remnants of Byzantine -window-posts on an upper story. But our chief -interest lies this time in the basement, in a low, -narrow arch, the crowns of whose pillars, richly -worked in marmo greco with griffins and lions, -are, even in time of normal tides, little above the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span> -level of the water, though probably the arch once -rested on pillars not less than ten feet high. This -buried arch is eloquent of the rising of the waters -on Venice. It arrests us by the beauty of its workmanship; -but it is one of many that we must -pass on each canal, though not all have placidly -accepted submergence; many have kept above the -water by accepting the addition of a capital or -crown. Elsewhere there are notable examples of -this patchwork of which Venice never is ashamed -and which has produced much in her of the greatest -interest. In the Salizzada di San Lio, in the -sestiere of San Giustina, is a pillar, supporting one -side of a sotto-portico, in which a whole page of -Venetian history is comprised. Looking into it, -we see that it is composed of two distinct portions, -that it has in fact two capitals—a capital of the -early Renaissance superimposed on a Byzantine -column which retains its own. They stand happily -united, these children of two ages, but we -naturally ask ourselves the reason of their juncture, -and the answer is that the Byzantine pillar was -once sufficient to itself; it had no need of a crown -to complete its dignity or service. No weight of -years has shrunk it to these dwarfed proportions. -It is the rising of earth from below, not pressure -from above, which has reduced it. The soil of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span> -Venice has been raised, inch by inch and foot by -foot, in defence against her submergence. Many -basements have become uninhabitable, and Galliccioli -records that in the church of SS. Vito e Modesta -an ancient pavement was discovered eight -feet below the existing one, while in SS. Simone e -Giuda three levels were found one above another. -In San Marco a confessional similar to that still at -Torcello, after having been lost sight of for several -centuries, was found three feet below the soil and -one and a half feet below the ordinary level of the -water. Our pillar, therefore, which at one time -planted its foot firmly on the ground, has been -gradually buried alive, and to preserve the serviceableness, -as well as the dignity of the portico—in -fact, to secure its existence as a sotto-portico at all—a -new head had to be added to the Byzantine -pillar to supply the theft at its foot. The incident -is rich in suggestion of the achievement of the -Venetian builders, of the delicate counterpoise and -equilibrium, the ceaseless give-and-take required in -this city of the sea. Venice was crowned queen, -but her dominion could only be maintained by -understanding and reverence of the element she -ruled. To be glorious she had to be most humble; -for the element she constrained is one no human -power can subdue; it would kiss her feet, it would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span> -endow her with glory, but it would not surrender -its life. A thousand times more glorious should -be her dominion, but a thousand times more subtle -must be her insight and her sway. Her finger -must be ever on the pulse of this living force, she -must hold the key of its temperament in her hand, -she must know when to submit. The wedding -of Venice and the sea was not the submersion of -one personality in another, it was a union involving -infinite tact, infinite insight and acceptance.</p> - -<p>We move forward again under the Ponte di -Sant’ Antonin beside the Fondamenta dei Furlani -or Friulani, to the little building at its further end, -a sombre little building with heavily barred windows, -but with a sculptured façade. Its outer -door is never more than half open; it appears to -admit visitors reluctantly, and, however bright the -sunshine in the world outside, our first impression -of San Giorgio dei Schiavoni is always gloomy. -Only for two short hours, from ten to twelve in -the morning, the chapel is open—short, because -the sacristan keeps jealous watch upon the clock -and, as if it were with the booming of the great -gun from the royal palace that his true day began, -hurries to close the remaining wing of the outer -door, and bar the chapel into solitude and darkness. -Carpaccio’s pictures were painted for the light.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span> -Their original home was not the Schiavoni chapel, -but the School which, till 1451, the Confraternity -of St. George and St. Triphonius owned in -the convent of San Catterina in the northern extremity -of Venice near the Fondamenta Nuova. -The chapel of the Schiavoni needs more daylight, -and even such as is obtainable is not freely enough -admitted; but Carpaccio is a magician whose spell -can release us from all consciousness of discomfort. -The chapel is an intimate revelation of one of the -most fascinating characters in Venetian history. It -is the completest record of Carpaccio that exists, -the series of paintings in which his imagination -has the fullest range. It is not as a portrait painter -of Venice and the Venetians that Carpaccio is here -employed, his scope is wider and the whole spirit -of his treatment is different. The <i>St. Ursula</i> series -is not lacking in subtle personal touches; but it is -not intimate in the same degree as the <i>St. George</i>, -and it does not touch the level of personal intensity -of the <i>St. Jerome</i>. There are psychological -touches in this chapel of the Schiavoni which it -would be hard to rival in modern art; we are -companioned here by one of the most humorous, -tender, profound and understanding of natures, one -who reflects upon life in the spirit of joy and whose -painful experiences never prevailed against his assurance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span> -of beauty. As is always the case with -Carpaccio, each picture, though one of a series, is -complete in itself. Except with St. Jerome, the -painter shows even a certain carelessness of the -preservation of identity in his hero: St. George -becomes steadily younger from the time of his -combat with the dragon, till, in the third of the -series, a mere boy is represented as presiding at the -baptism of the king and princess. The figure of -St. George in the fight with the dragon is magnificent. -No comparisons are necessary to convince -us of its greatness of conception; but if we consider -for a moment Basaiti’s treatment of this subject, -we shall understand better the material of -which Carpaccio is made. Basaiti’s St. George is -a sentimentalist even in this moment of stress; his -sword-thrust and the spirit expressed in his face -are disconnected. With Carpaccio the source of -St. George’s action is his will. The spirit of the -sword-thrust is revealed in the thrilling purpose of -his armoured limbs, which no metal can obscure. -He is not thinking of graces, but the purpose with -which he is instinct creates its own harmony; he -is one who must prevail. When the stress of the -action is past, his face hardly seems striking, but -here it is so pierced with light, as it gleams in -paleness against the aureole of hair, that it has<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span> -become a living flame. Rarely has such glory of -purpose and burning intensity of will been conveyed -in a human face upon canvas. And all the -details of this picture are invested with an accordant -beauty. Even the grotesque fancy that seems -to riot in the horrors of material death has had to -give way before it. The face of the maiden, who -lies, half-eaten, close to the dragon’s feet, is as exquisite -in her death-sleep as that of St. Ursula in -her royal chamber; and the mutilated youth under -the body of the horse is not less lovely. The -horse’s face is wonderful; his large eyes drink in -the purpose of his master; his tongue lolls; his -mane streams wildly as he rushes against the wind. -Like Colleoni’s horse he triumphs under his rider, -not so much ridden as a sharer in his progress; -but he, like his master, moves in another and more -romantic world than Colleoni. Never was horse -more gloriously or more worthily caparisoned; his -trappings are of scarlet, stamped with classic heads -and chased with bronze; his bridle of the richest -gilded leather set with gems. And the dragon too -is beautiful. If we compare this trampling, vivid -creature of the luminous eyes with the crawling -worm against which St. George raises his sword in -the succeeding picture, we shall feel something of -the meaning of the breath of life. The very colour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span> -of his skin seems to have flowed through him with -his blood; he is abjectly grey when dragged on to -the Piazza. This transformation of the dragon is -a great feat, the greater when we remember that -even when he first appears, the virtue is beginning -to go out of him, his claws are already beating the -air with growing impotence. This first picture -of the St. George series is the most complete lyric -of Carpaccio’s that we possess; it is an episode of -high romance, and its landscape is conceived in -the spirit of romantic fantasy. We have noted -elsewhere the treatment of the buildings, the way -the city, which at first sight seems of a dreamlike -quality, like the port whence St. Ursula’s prince sets -out, defines itself gradually as a solid, fortified -citadel, half hidden behind oriental watch-towers. -But we have still to note the inspiration with which -Carpaccio has unified these defences with the grand -sweep of the coast-line. The huge cliffs which -enclose the bay on the left, stretching out to the -yellow light, are worthy to rank with those in -Turner’s <i>Ulysses and Polyphemus</i>. The landscape -to the right of the bay is freer and more fanciful. -A cupolaed duomo crowns the cliff behind the -princess. Men and horses move on the huge projecting -rock, joined to the main cliff only by a -natural arch and by a high-swung delicate bridge.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span> -The houses among the trees and the horsemen -moving over the dizzy bridge enhance the romantic -strangeness of effect. The framing by this -rugged arch of a full-rigged vessel upon the open -sea is one of Carpaccio’s happiest fancies. The -devastated shore, the sea flowing into the city, the -yellow of the sky above the horizon passing into -a troubled paleness of cloud-flecked blue, the wind-driven -vessel on the high sea, the suggestion of -vast ocean spaces—all these combine in the imaginative -grandeur of effect. The second picture of -the series, <i>St. George’s Return</i>, is very different in -atmosphere. It is filled with sunlight, the trampling -of victory and the sound of music. Its keynote -is victorious joy and pomp of festival, sounded -in the spacious sunniness of the Piazza and the -horizon of slope and mountains beyond; sustained -in the buildings that surround the square and the -airy pinnacles and balconies crowded with onlookers, -and in the flags that fly round the octagonal -building winging it with air. The radiant -flowered brocades compete with the trappings of -the horses to perfect the scene; and through it, -and round it, sounds the music of drum and -trumpet from the turbaned band which forms a -background to the royal party, drawing them, as -it were, into the sweep of the central square where<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span> -St. George officiates. All moves to the measure of -glad yet solemn music; here is no lightning stroke, -no sudden motion; the muscles of action are relaxed, -in slow measure the horses paw the ground. -The third picture, <i>The Baptism of King and Princess</i>, -is still pervaded with music. The musicians lead -in the scene; the three foreground trumpeters, -conspicuous on the carpeted dais, seem to be -trumpeting for their lives. The golden, cavernous -trumpet-mouth pointing directly at us has a strangely -inspiring effect, seeming to invade us with sound -breaking on the heavy roll of the meditative drummer. -The music connects itself with the background -and helps to widen the horizon. There is -not one of these pictures which is not enlarged by -the suggestion, at least, of some wide background -of nature. Sometimes, as in these jubilant scenes, -it enhances and extends the gladness of the festival, -sometimes it wings our spirits amid conditions that -burden and confine. In the first of the <i>St. Jerome</i> -series, for instance, where the lion arrives, the first -point that strikes us is the obvious humour of the -scene, the effect of the entry of this gentlest and -most companionable of beasts on the Brethren of -the cloister. They do not wait to determine its -intentions: it is a lion. It is wounded and asking -sympathy, but the Brothers have attention for nothing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span> -but their fears. But below the humour there -is tragedy. It is not the quaintness of the lion, or -the scattering monks, or the beasts on the grassy -square, or all the varied monotony of that beautiful -frescoed cloister, that claim our attention as the -heart of the picture. It is the bent and aged figure -of St. Jerome. His features are the same as -in the study scene, but his mature youth has given -place to snowy age. And another change has -come over his face; the radiance of the study -scene is replaced by bewildered sorrow slightly -touched with contempt. A loneliness is now in -his face. In his study he was at peace communing -with other minds or with the mind of God. -But here with the monks he is bewildered—bewildered -and oppressed. We seem to see him -ageing as he eyes his foolish companions. Is this, -he seems to question, the fruit of his long sojourn? -He has asked the sympathy of the Brothers, and -they are beside themselves with fear. There is -deep pathos in this aged figure making his appeal -in vain, and if the cloister filled the horizon, the -effect on our spirits would be stifling. But there -is a great sky overhead, there is an orange tree, -“that busy plant,” there is a winding way amidst -the vista of palm trees and blue hills, there is the -great desert whence the lion has come. <i>The Death<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span> -of St. Jerome</i> affords a still more impressive example -of this kind of relief. Here we are not walled -in, the desert is around us; we see it through the -gateway by the well and through the porticoes of -the buildings, and above it in purple outline rise -the snow-capped mountains. And this wide horizon -is peculiarly welcome as an escape from the -confinement of spirit expressed in the funeral procession. -The gladness of the open country, the -hills and mountains, the palm-tree signposts along -the desert way, are a relief to the lion’s agony. -For the lion is the keynote of the picture, though -it is struck so quietly that at first we may even be -unconscious of its sounding. In the foreground on -a narrow strip of pavement lies the body of St. -Jerome. His head rests upon a stone and his long -beard lies straight and smooth upon his breast. It -is quite lifeless, this body, but the kneeling Brothers -think their master is before them. There are -wonderful character studies among these Brothers, -sensual and simple and devout. Those Carpaccio -has chosen to read the Office for the Dead are the -most lifeless. The skull on the blasted tree trunk, -which his love of the grotesque has inserted in the -angle of the wall, seems a fit symbol of the sovereignty -they acknowledge. But we have already -noted the existence of another actor in the scene.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span> -In front of a little group of buildings under a -broad rustic portico lies the lion, not inert like -his master or like the monks who perform the -rites of the dead, not now a suppliant, deprecating -lion. His paw tears the ground, his head is raised; -he roars in the agony of his bereavement. He is -no longer feared, it seems; custom has staled the -terrors of him. To the Brothers he is merely -another animal of the menagerie, one of the last -whims of Brother Jerome. Yet he understands -that his master is not here in this square of the -convent. He has long been content; but now the -desert calls to him and he answers with the voice -of the desert that he had unlearned for a while. -We have mentioned only a few of the series of -paintings in this wonderful chapel, and even of -them the greater part has been left unsaid. Each -picture requires the whole of the two hours, the -Scuola allows, for study of them all; but, in coming -to them from time to time for a few moments -only, we may constantly discover some new token -of their artist’s insight and understanding, some -richness of composition, some delicacy of colour, -some intimate detail of workmanship which makes -us feel Carpaccio’s presence. The beauties of St. -Jerome’s study are almost inexhaustible; the details -of this exquisite room will reveal to us much of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span> -Carpaccio and of Venice. Nothing is in it by -chance or because space has to be filled. The gold -and rose of the apse, the marble of its pillars, the -painted ceiling and richly bound manuscripts, the -delicate bronzes, the colouring of the walls, -the tiny white dog (forerunner of the lion), the -crosier and crimson cushion, all are expressive. -And there is one touch—for which we give -thanks to the artist—unobtrusive but surely significant; -the candles on either wall are held in the -bronze fore-paws of a lion. This Chapel of the -Schiavoni has not gone unscathed; during a fire -that two years ago destroyed a warehouse on the -opposite bank of the canal, the water from the -engines poured through the roof of the chapel, -injuring the pictures on the wall nearest the rio—the -<i>Combat of St. George</i> and his <i>Return with the -Dragon</i>.</p> - -<p>Leaving the sestiere of Santa Giustina, with its -relics of ancient Venice and its famous Palace of -the Contarini, on our right, and also on our right, -the Church of San Francesco della Vigna, where -in the darkness of the Giustiniani Chapel are preserved -some of the most beautiful sculptures of the -Lombardi, we turn sharply to the left into the Rio -del Pestrin, and again to the left into the Rio San -Lorenzo. This Rio San Lorenzo is the scene of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span> -one of Gentile Bellini’s most famous pictures. We -are parallel here with the Rio di Sant’ Antonin, by -which we came from the basin of St. Mark. The -miracle represented by Bellini as taking place here -is one of those connected with a fragment of the -true Cross belonging to the School of San Giovanni -Evangelista. Some of the finest artistic power of -Venice was lavished in honouring the virtues of -this relic, and we owe to it inestimably precious -records of the city in the days of her splendour. -We understand in watching Bellini’s procession -something of the nature of those ever-recurring -ceremonies which made Casola feel that the Venetians -must needs be specially beloved of God. The -three-arched bridge of San Lorenzo, which is the -structural centre of the composition, is thronged -with a white-robed confraternity bearing splendid -candles which glint among the trees that are tied -upon the bridge, and that we see receding into the -campo of the church which is hidden from us. In -the centre of the bridge is fixed the banner of the -Confraternity, waving in the wind. The throng -upon the bridge is by no means idle; there is the -effect of that incessant movement of which one is -conscious in the densest crowd, and those at its -edge are eagerly watching the doings in the -water. It is indeed the water that excites our<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span> -chief interest; Bellini has contrived to perpetuate -numberless familiar graces and dignities in the -rowers whom we see framed by the central arch -of the bridge, or holding up their boats alongside -of it. But it is the novel element of the swimmers -in the canal which gives the picture a unique place -in our regard. In the space of water between the -bridge and the temporary platform in the immediate -foreground, where kneels a monumental -little company of Venetian gentlemen—tradition -says the family of the Bellini—is an aquatic -display of the most delicate order. Four of the -Brothers swim in the clear green water, upheld -by their flowing robes like a water-lily by its -leaves, and one, the Grand Guardian—as he -treads water with admirable equilibrium and an -easy grace that is beyond all praise—holds up -on high the precious Cross. No words can -describe the delight that these swimmers afford -us. Their whole heart is in the quest; two of -them, an old man and a young, who have been -pursuing the elusive trophy in vain, have seen the -discovery and slackened their strokes; but one, -who has evidently just dived off the fondamenta, -is striking boldly out and trying with down-turned -face to penetrate the depths of the green water. -The negro, stripped, and ready for a plunge, who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span> -stands quaking on the lowest step of a wooden -landing-stage opposite, affords a delightful foil -to the Brothers who swim with such careless -proficiency despite their encumbering robes. If -he would but look up, he would see that his -courage need not be put to the test—that the -lost treasure is already sailing triumphantly ashore.</p> - -<div id="i_219" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 45em;"> - <img src="images/i_219.jpg" width="2143" height="1565" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">A VENETIAN BRIDGE.</div></div> - -<p>To identify the exact scene of the picture, we -shall do well to pass into the Rio San Lorenzo -from the Rio del Pestrin and take up our stand -a little beyond the Ponte San Lorenzo at about -the point of Bellini’s wooden bridge. Looking -back we have now in front of us the present -Ponte San Lorenzo in place of Bellini’s beautiful -three-arched bridge, spanning the canal between -the long fondamenta on our left, and the campo -and Church of San Lorenzo, which are still—as -in the picture—wedged between the buildings on -our right. The minute private fondamenta also, -where in the picture kneel two of the foremost -of the procession, is still in existence. On our -left is the fondamenta in front of Bellini’s beautiful -frescoed house, and beyond it several houses of -irregular heights, as in the picture, while the -horizon on this side is still filled by the main -features of Bellini’s background—another Palazzo -Capello bounded on three sides by water, the Rio<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span> -Pestrin, the Rio San Lorenzo, and the Rio San -Giovanni Laterano. The palace retains some of -its grandeur; it is easily recognisable by its shape, -though to-day it is one storey higher. The Capello -arms are still to be seen on it, but it has been -robbed of most of its glories of marble and colour. -There is a certain melancholy as well as a fascination -in attempting to reconstruct the scene of -the picture. In the Gallery, when we are face to -face with the frescoed houses that we may only -see foreshortened, we long to join the spectators -across the rio and complete those tantalising -fragments of centaurs and figures on horseback -that combine with more conventional ornaments -to decorate the palace on the fondamenta. But -now we are face to face with reality, the frescoes -are no more. With the exception of the Palazzo -Capello it is only the shape and relative position -of the houses that assures to us their identity.</p> - -<p>In Bellini’s time this corner by San Lorenzo -was splendid indeed. The Capello family, which, -according to the chroniclers, was numbered among -the patricians in 1297, played a prominent part in -all Venetian activities, but chiefly in war. It is a -member of this family—Vittore Capello, generalissimo -of Venice in the Turkish campaign of 1462 -and 1465, who is represented as kneeling before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span> -Sant’ Elena in the beautiful relief above the façade -of Sant’ Aponal. Another Capello—Vincenzo—in -the succeeding century filled five times -the office of Admiral, and in 1541 erected the façade -of Santa Maria Formosa. Notoriety of a different -kind was brought to the family by Bianca, -who married for love and freedom, and was cheated -of both, but who died Grand Duchess of Tuscany. -This palace of the Capello family at San Giovanni -Laterano was worthy of their fame. The superb -side wall that faces us in Bellini’s picture is like a -tapestry in diamonds of dusky crimson and gold. -It is bordered by a design of gold below the bands -of colour, which are most effectively placed immediately -under the projecting roof. A beautiful design -in red and green, like rich embroidery, forms -a kind of flag, enclosing the Capello symbols on a -shield painted in different shades of blue. Everything -that conventional ornament could do to -beautify the house has been done. Ornamental borders -and squares are set among the bricks, and the -smooth marble facings of the ogival windows are -inlaid with coloured discs and knobs. The lower -square house at the end of the fondamenta, divided -from the Capello palace by the rio, has the same -beauties of ornamental band and stripes of alternating -colours beneath the roof. The single window<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span> -in the wall that faces us is magnificent, grated and -enclosed by gilt rope-work; the capitals of its pillars -and its ogival arch are richly gilded, and in -the surface of the stone above are set discs of porphyry -with centre and rim of gold. Over the massive -wooden entrance door is a painted frieze of -green leaves, and discs with Byzantine birds are inserted -in the wall above. A grand surface of wall -is still left for the fresco painter, and Tintoretto -was yet to come. Perhaps the most notable feature -in this lower house is the carving of its chimneys; -each has an individual form. The fondamenta -in the picture is thronged with citizens, and -the conspicuous row of stalwart ladies, who kneel -on its extreme edge above the water, tradition calls -Catterina Cornaro and her train. Certainly this -representation of the Queen of Cyprus and her -train is different from that which Bembo has given -us in his delightful letters to Lucrezia Borgia from -Asolo. Catherine, it is true, was no longer a girl -when she went to her captivity at Asolo; but -there is a lightness and freedom in Bembo’s picture -of the party who told tales of love and -philosophy and idled among the gardens, which -leaves us unprepared for the solidity and uncomeliness -of this uniform row of figures. We know -little of this Queen of Cyprus, but we expect more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span> -grace of her than is possible to these matrons. -They have studied so little how to please in the -wearing of their sumptuous robes, that despite their -jewels they produce an effect of almost conventual -dulness. It is difficult to imagine anything more -magnificent than the dresses of these ladies; they -are literally covered with jewels. Excessively virtuous -they may be, but they are also excessively -lavish; they might well give ground for the legislation -as to women’s dress quoted by Sanudo; but -they have not taught their jewels to shine. The -matron who heads the row is robed in dark velvet: -her sleeves and the front of her bodice are of -gold, slashed with white and trimmed with pearls. -An edging of solid gold, studded with jewels, -passes from her shoulders to her waist; rich lace -completes the decoration of her bodice. Strings of -pearls cross on her breast, and a thickly turned gold -cord is round her neck and hangs in front. She -wears a gold coronet set with gems, and beneath -it a broad ornamental band. A transparent veil -falls down her back, and is draped about her forehead -and neck, covering her long ear-rings. A -jewelled cross hangs on her breast, and a chain -round her waist. Rings are the only possible -splendour she and her ladies are without. The -Venetian ladies and gentlemen standing behind this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span> -Queen of Cyprus and her train are hardly less -sumptuous than they, but their robes are less rigid -and uniform, and very much more gracefully worn. -The men are dressed in a splendour of brocade and -cloth of gold that gives out a rich and sober glow.</p> - -<p>We may well feel the inadequacy of words as -We attempt to revive this wonderful painting. -Bellini faithfully recorded Venice, but we cannot -so faithfully record Bellini. We can only hope to -call attention to the detail of what is undoubtedly -one of the most valuable portraits of the Venice of -the first Renaissance by one of the greatest of her -citizens. When we have paused long enough on -the site of the picture and go down the Rio San -Giovanni Laterano, immediately in front of the -Capello Palace, the high water again denies us -passage; but it gives more than it withholds in -compelling us to return to our former junction -with the Rio Pestrin and to pass out among the -coal barges making the wider circuit of the lagoon. -It is a wonderful moment when we come suddenly -from the narrow water into the wide expanse of -the lagoon; and on this December morning a -marvellous vision awaits us. The long brown line -of Sant’ Erasmo lies like a dark cloud on the -water; Burano, San Francesco and Torcello are -isolated in a strange translucency of mist; whilst<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span> -from the low tones of the water one red sail rises -like a column of flame. Above Murano the smoke -coils languidly; the cypresses over the cemetery -wall stand out in startling blackness. A flock of -gulls incessantly flickers and glitters on the surface -of lucent aquamarine that stretches away to the -shore where the mountains lie like purple shadows -crowned with a radiancy of snow. The sunlight -of the lagoon in this wintry clearness seems other -than that which falls on the waterways of the city; -this outer robe of Venice to-day is of so immaterial -a texture that we feel the material city slipping -from our grasp. We turn back into it, but by a -way that can feed the visionary sense, by the Rio -dei Mendicanti. It might seem, indeed, that all -vision would die in the dreary, plastered uniformity -of the building that stretches along the fondamenta -on our left. This building was formerly -the Scuola di San Marco; but the superb façade -erected by the Confraternity on the Campo di SS. -Giovanni e Paolo has little in common with these -white-washed walls and dreary sunless corridors. -For this most famous School is now the Hospital -of the Mendicanti, and it is as a visitor to the wards -that we are admitted. Yet amidst these chill -cloisters and corridors is kept one of the most luminous -and visionary treasures of Venice—Tintoretto’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span> -<i>Procession of St. Ursula and The Virgins</i>. It -is the more precious as being, with <i>Bacchus and -Ariadne</i> and <i>The Paradise</i>, almost the only work -of Tintoretto that we can make sure of fully seeing. -There is abundant light in the cold, grey -church to illumine a picture which is in itself a -song of light in the daybreak.</p> - -<p>This stream of wonderful maidens moves all to -one rhythm, winding with sweeping trains down -out of the misty dawn to end and centre in the -glorious figure of St. Ursula waiting the bishop’s -consecration of her mission. She is so entrancingly -radiant that the young cross-bearing bishop -who stands beside her seems, as he gazes, to be illumined -by her fire and joy. The ships in which -the company is to embark lie like phantoms on -the misty sea-line, and the long lights of dawn are -above the water—pale rose and gold and purple—while -the curtain of night is slowly withdrawn, -leaving spaces of darker blue and glowing cloud. -The early morning mists still hang about the -shadowy hulks of the huge vessels and the figures -near the shore, making as it were two spheres of -action. The grassy slope down which the travellers -come, seems in its undulations to yield itself -to their motion, to reflect and echo it, and is luminous -as all the figures are. The faint rainbow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span> -raiments of those distant companies that sweep forward -nearer to the shore are like wings lit from -the dawn and half-folded, while the foremost -ranks of the procession are in the full golden light -of day. Note with what daring Tintoretto has -placed the strong rose-robed angel with the palms -of martyrdom across the picture directly overhead. -Her figure cuts across the phantom ships; one arm -hides part of the procession; yet far from obscuring -or diverting from the central theme, she leads the -eye more directly to St. Ursula. There are no -spectators of this morning procession, unless it be -the marvellous group on the left. The central -figure is that of a woman, meditative, gathered -into herself; she scarcely seems to belong to the -procession; she is dreaming apart with downbent -face, and is very close in feeling to Carpaccio’s -sleeping St. Ursula. Beside her is a radiant youth, -his face one of Giorgione’s faces, in a helm shaped -like a shell and set with pearls. There are many -types of Venetian ladies in the procession, such as -were idealised by one and another of the painters; -all are here, in marvellous richness of raiment and -jewelled headgear. We do not question whether -they are fitly robed for a great journey; we only -share in their joy. The wine of dawn seems to -have entered into them, and to sing in every motion,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span> -every colour of the superb lyric—the intoxication -of embarking on a mystic voyage in the -pale radiance of dawn.</p> - -<p>We pass out again through the long corridors -under the great sculptured portal. On our left is -the church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, a storehouse -of Renaissance art, and before us the friend of -whom we never grow weary—Colleoni astride -of his war-horse in the centre of the square. This -paid servant, this adopted son of Venice, is not on -the Piazza where it was his wish to be; but he -stands even more fitly here upon this small campo -beside the canal. Anywhere he would be monarch; -but we are admitted here into his private presence-chamber, -while the great stirring Piazza would -seem but the crowded outer court. If, before -leaving the campo, we make a short journey on -foot along the Salizzada which passes on the south -of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, we may find a treasure -buried in dirt and neglect. None would guess its -presence; but those who care for unfrequented -paths may venture under the unattractive sotto-portico -which leads to the outer staircase of a once -beautiful Renaissance palace. It is given over to -the poor, but a sculptured doorway still surmounts -the stair; its chief beauty however is a series of delicately -sculptured arches in the brickwork below, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span> -a fine well-head half imprisoned by the chimney -of a neighbouring bakery. The wall of the bakery -is so near the staircase of the palace that we can -get no complete conception of the arches, and the -dirt and ill odours of this neglected corner are likely -to daunt all but the most enthusiastic seekers after -treasure. Yet these fragments, in elegance and -beauty of design, may rank with the worthiest remains -of the Venetian Renaissance.</p> - -<div id="i_231" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;"> - <img src="images/i_231.jpg" width="1637" height="2299" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">PALAZZO SANUDO.</div></div> - -<p>Returning to Colleoni’s square, we again embark -and continue our way down the Rio dei -Mendicanti, past courtyards flooded by still rising -water, and turn soon to the right, into the Rio -Santa Marina—a picturesque canal, ever varying -in width and angle. At the corner of the Palazzo -Pisano we are confronted again by the problem -of the high water. If we would include in our tour -the Palazzo Sanudo, with its riches of many ages, -Byzantine, early Gothic and Ogival, its two courtyards, -its beautiful garden on the fondamenta and -its dolphin-shaped knocker, we must turn to the -right along the Rio delle Erbe. But it is useless -to hope that this morning any gondola will be able -to pass under its low bridges, and in consequence -we must continue our way to the church of the -Miracoli, by skirting the other side of the lozenge-shaped -island on which it stands. We soon turn<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span> -at right angles into the Rio dei Miracoli, and in a -few moments we see the sun shining on the cupola -of the church, gilding the marbles of the circular -east tower and lighting the traceries of serpentine -and porphyry and cipollino on the west front. It -is a joyous and radiant aspect, this of the Miracoli, -with its broad spaces of Greek marbles and its -bands of Verona, its plaques of verd-antique and -porphyry, its sculptured angels and grave apostles. -It stands in quiet beauty on the brink of the canal. -From its little campo opens the beautiful inner -courtyard of the Sanudo Palace, while on another -side it is bordered by the spacious and noble Corte -delle Muneghe, formerly known as the Corte Cà -Amadi, from the family whose arms are still to be -seen on the brickwork. Close to the well in this -court stood originally the image of the Madonna, -thanks to whose miracles we now possess this most -beautiful church built in her honour. The chronicles -relate that a certain Francesco Amadi, an inhabitant -of Santa Marina, had piously set up an -image of the Virgin close by his house. The -fame of this image as a worker of wonders grew -so great that it was transferred by Angelo Amadi, -in 1480, to the Corte di Cà Amadi, and set up -there for popular veneration. In his Venetian -Annals for 1480, Malipiero thus briefly relates the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span> -occurrence: “This year began the cult of the -Madonna of Miracles which was at the door of -Corte Nuova, opposite the door of the Amai in -the narrow calle, and because of the crowd of -people it became necessary to move the image, -and carry it to the courtyard of Cà Amai, and immense -offerings have been made of wax, statues, -money and silver, insomuch that it has reached -four hundred ducats in one month. And in process -of time it amounted to three thousand ducats -of alms, and with them we bought Corte Nova -from the houses of the Bembo, Querini and Baroci, -and there was built a most beautiful temple and -convent, into which we put the nuns of Santa -Chiara of Murano.” The foundation-stone was -laid on February 25, 1481, when the image was -moved with great pomp from the court to the -little wooden shelter on the site chosen for the -church. An interesting account of the move is -contained in the <i>Memorie</i> of Angelo Amadi. It -affords a vivid verbal picture of religious festivals -in Venice at the time they were finding their most -splendid expression on canvas. “On the day of -the twenty-fifth of February,” begins Amadi, “in -the name of Messer Jesus Christ and of the glorious -Virgin Mary, we removed the image from our -house to transfer it to the hut or house of wood<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span> -where the chapel or church is to be made; at -which removal were present all the Schools or -Fraternities, the Battudi, that is, the School of -Madonna Santa Maria della Misericordia, to which -I belong, and the School of the Carità, and of San -Marco, and that lately founded of San Rocco, -whose brothers go about in sackcloth, beating -themselves continually with scourges and iron -chains.” All the Procurators of San Marco, he -says, were present, with countless cavaliers and -doctors and a great part of the Signoria, the -Patriarch in his pontificals, and a host of vicars -and canons and other clerics, all richly and splendidly -clothed. The Amadi insisted on themselves -carrying the portable stand that had been made -for the image, covered with cloth of gold, cremosine -and cloth of silver, and adorned with silver -candelabra and oriental censers. “Nor would we -allow any other to carry it, that we might demonstrate -publicly that it belonged to us and had been -made by our ancestor.” Four citizens accompanied -the image-bearers, carrying poles on which -to support the stage as it mounted bridges or -stopped in the streets. It was followed by the -dignitaries already enumerated and almost the -whole Venetian populace. The procession left -the house of the Amadi to the sound of trumpet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span> -and pipe; it made a circuit of the bridges, streets -and squares of the city as far as Santa Maria Formosa, -halting in the parish church of the Amadi -for many lauds to be sung. “And along all the -calli and in the squares of the churches all the -people kneeling on the ground prayed devoutly -with tears and hands joined on their breasts, calling -aloud and raising a great outcry.” In this -manner the procession returned to the shelter, and -the foundation-stone was laid by the Patriarch -amid the chanting of lauds. After a final <i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Te Deum</i> -the image was left to the devotions of the people -who, till night fell, continued to pour out their -offerings for the building. There is something -stirring in this ceremony with its popular outcry -and petitions for mercy. It reminds us of that -strong element of piety which in Venice went side -by side with its strong commercial instincts.</p> - -<p>The church of the Miracoli seems to belong -peculiarly to Venice in the light of these stories -of its birth. It is itself one of the miracles, this -little Roman temple; with its quadrangular-domed -choir, raised high above the nave, its marble -ambones, its dark painted roof, and walls lined -with marbles, it impresses us with a sense of sublimity. -All here is perfectly proportioned and -decorated with simple and absolute fitness. It is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span> -impossible to mount the flight of marble steps -leading from nave to choir, past the wonderful -little figures of St. Clare and St. Francis with his -profound contemplative smile, past the Annunciation -Angel and the Virgin draped like a Roman -matron, into the choir where the great cross of -porphyry and serpentine hangs in the apse, without -feeling that we are mounting to sacrifice in a -temple full of the Deity. But what part has -that marvellous little company of sea youths and -maidens in the tale of the Passion? They are the -offspring of some delicate fantasy careless of all -save itself, yet they seem to need no other passport -than beauty to their place in the temple. Work -of the same imaginative quality is to be seen on -a pillar in the nave: not here a dream of mermaids -with delicate breasts and arms and glittering tails, -but a purely naturalistic subject. The artist has -conspired with the stone to sing his delight in the -life of the fields, and he has achieved his purpose -so that the very spirit of the wild creatures lives -again. A lizard with smooth scales and lithe, -restless tail, ears of corn, a serpent holding a bird -by its look as it rears itself for a spring, birds fighting -and birds preening their breasts,—all these -delicate beings, that move amid a design of admirable -grace, are a field pilgrim’s scrip laid open for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span> -all who will read. These old artists were not -afraid. To them all things of nature appeared -symbols worthy to lay on the altar. And it is -because of this permeating imaginative vision that -the Church of the Miracoli is one of the jewels -of Venice, instinct with life, from the grave mystery -of its marble-lined walls, slab alternating -with slab, Carrara cream and white, paonazetto, -marmo greco, marbles of Verona red and almond, -to lizard and serpent, siren and infant, from the -dusky gold and colour of the ceiling to the eloquent -figures that stand in constant ministration on the -ambones.</p> - -<p>Santa Maria dei Miracoli might well mark the -limit of our tour; but if we go a short distance -further into the Rio San Canciano we shall come -on three examples of the earlier domestic architecture -of Venice, which we shall do well not to -miss. The first is a house by the Ponte Widmann, -dating from the ninth century. It is exceedingly -picturesque, with its long, low portico, and a profusion -of Byzantine ornaments of most varied device -on the walls—weird lions and birds and -oriental beasts. The capitals of the window columns -also are Byzantine, though the balconies are -Renaissance. We can also distinguish, though it -is immured, the ancient solario, or sun-terrace,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span> -which, in this house of old Venice, was evidently -of considerable beauty and extent. Passing under -another bridge after the Ponte Widmann, we come -to the Ponte Pasqualigo, and landing at the calle -on the left, we have on the right of us, only a few -steps down, one of the oldest houses in Venice. So -well cared for is it by its present owners that we -seem not to be examining a relic, but to move in a -living page of the past. On the morning we saw -it, the sun was streaming into the court and falling -on the Signora, who, in scarlet shawl, and with a -brilliant kerchief round her head, was dozing in -the sun. She rose and gave us a cordial welcome, -and we climbed the outer stair, under an immense -projecting roof, into the garden hanging above the -court, full of sunshine and flowers; higher still, on -the altana, was a bright line of clothing hung out -to dry. The structure of the ancient roof overhanging -the stair is very remarkable, with its secondary -beams that jut horizontally under a long -cross-beam running the whole length of the gallery. -The rooms, which open out of one another from -the terrace, are rich also in beams, though now -for the most part covered with a foolish uniformity -of ceiling. The floor of the reception room -is, as usual, paved with small variegated stones, -but it is remarkable for occasional little islands of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span> -mosaic, one of which, a tiny square of deep blue -and gold set diamond-wise, is a veritable gem of -colour. Worthy to rank with this hospitable, ample -house of ancient Venice, is a courtyard opening -on the water, into which we pass immediately from -the Ponte Pasqualigo. The wooden barbicans of -the projecting roof adjoining the portico rest on -pillars of fine earliest Gothic, grave and strong and -simple in their build. The sense that they are individuals -bearing the burden of the beams is increased -by the fact that it is not geometrically -adjusted to their shoulders. It rests there because -they are willing; there is an understanding, a -<i xml:lang="it" lang="it">combinazione</i> between beam and pillar, but the two -were not mechanically made to fit.</p> - -<div id="i_241" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 33em;"> - <img src="images/i_241.jpg" width="1584" height="2227" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">A SIDE CANAL.</div></div> - -<p>Returning to the Rio dei Miracoli we leave the -church on our left, and crossing the Rio Santa -Marina and the Rio San Giovanni Grisostomo, we -pass directly into the Rio del Teatro, leaving the -water-entrance to Marco-Polo’s palace on our -right. This corner is one of the most beautiful -in the canals of Venice. It is rich in palaces and -fragments of ancient ornament, and full of strange -interplay of lights from the many tortuous ways that -converge here. There is a constant fascination in -the broad sweep of water at the crossways, in the -problems of traffic, in the warning cries that herald<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">244</span> -boat or barge passing under the many bridges. -There is perhaps no spot in Venice so full of ancient -mystery, of the gloom, the light, the sound -and stillness of her waterways. A little further on -we pass into the Rio della Fava, full also of delightful -and unexpected corners; and looking back -from the Ponte di San’ Antonio we see the site of -Mansueti’s picture commemorating another miracle -of the Holy Cross; or rather we see one corner of -the picture; for Mansueti has cut away the whole -length of a calle and all the houses between this -bridge of San’ Antonio and the Campo di San Lio, -so that in his painting, for obvious artistic reasons, -the waters of the canal flow directly in front of the -campo, which he has narrowed to little more than -a fondamenta. In a sketch for this picture now in -the Uffizi at Florence, Mansueti has more faithfully -transcribed the actual surroundings of the Campo -di San Lio. His picture illustrates a miracle of -the Cross that would seem to offer small scope for -artistic treatment. A member of the Confraternity -of San Giovanni Evangelista, on being invited by -another Brother to attend the Cross in procession, -impiously replied, “I will neither accompany it, -nor do I care whether it accompanies me.” Within -a short while, continues Flamino Corner, the perverse -man died and the School assembled for his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">245</span> -burial; but when the procession reached the Ponte -di San Lio, the parish of the dead man, the Holy -Cross became so heavy that no force could avail to -move it. While all stood appalled and dismayed -by such an occurrence, the friend of the dead man -recalled the impious words he had spoken, and -made known the reason of the refusal of the Cross. -It was removed from the procession, and, the chronicler -informs us, withheld henceforth from any -but public solemnities. In Mansueti’s composition -a number of Brothers are gathered on the bridge -attempting to drag the Cross, and the clergy of -San Lio and a group of citizens are waiting on the -campo to receive it. There is much quaintness in -the rendering of this rather humorous incident, -and the picture is full of rich and homely detail, in -the houses and in the doings of their inhabitants, -the chase of a cat, the hanging of a clothes line, the -stacking of the pliant rods on which the clothes -are hung. The windows, with closed or open -gratings, are thronged with onlookers, chiefly splendid -ladies. In Bellini, the windows are unpeopled, -but here there is scarcely one uncarpeted, and without -its contingent of festive heads and shoulders; -whilst in one of the windows, in the house we -can still identify, a fascinating infant prances against -the grating and pokes a fist through the bars. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span> -bridge in the picture is obviously too low for any -gondola to pass under it; it is merely a temporary -private way thrown across the rio, which it is easy -to believe that Mansueti has substituted in order -that we may see above it the procession winding -out of the Rio del Piombo. As we look back -from the Ponte San’ Antonio we may get, in spite -of Mansueti’s changes, a distinct impression of his -scene; the sun, shining through the small circular -ogival window in the house that still bounds our -horizon, lights up a gay interior of green walls -draped in crimson and gold with singular richness -of effect.</p> - -<div id="i_247" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 34em;"> - <img src="images/i_247.jpg" width="1640" height="2182" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">THE GONDOLIERS’ SHRINE.</div></div> - -<p>The name of the Rio della Fava, the Canal -of the Bean, boasts a traditional derivation that -throws a curious light on Venetian pieties. It -appears that in 1480, the same year in which was -initiated the cult of the Madonna dei Miracoli at -the Cà Amadi, another wonder-working image, -under the patronage of the same family, was -thought worthy of a chapel in San Lio. This -chapel was named Santa Maria della Consolazione, -or della Fava, from its proximity to the Ponte -della Fava. “The ecclesiastical writers,” says -Tassini, “recount that the bridge was so named -because a man living by it, who had hidden some -contraband salt under some sacks of beans, a vegetable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span><span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span> -he dealt in, when warned that the police -were approaching threw himself at the feet of the -said miraculous image for succour and obtained -this favour—that the Justices, despite their search, -found nothing in the house but simple beans.” -This naïve faith in the willingness of the Madonna -to meet all contingencies survives among the humbler -citizens of Venice to-day. A proof is provided -by the personal experience of a friend who -had bespoken overnight a gondola for the station -in the dark early hours of the next morning. -The gondolier duly arrived and set out with his -fare from San Marco. But they had gone no further -than the church of the Salute when his lamp -gave out and he halted and asked leave to replenish -it. No place for procuring oil was apparent, but -the gondolier knew one. He went to the shrine -of the Madonna and addressed the figure thus, -“Blessed Madonna, thou thinkest harm of no man -and thou wouldst not that harm should come to -any. I turn to thee for help in my need. The -police are not like thee. They will have no pity -in their fine if they see me at the station with my -lamp unlit. I beg thy lamp for this little while.” -And, as there was-no sign of refusal, the Madonna’s -lamp was taken to the station and returned -on the homeward journey.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span></p> - -<p>Continuing our way down the Rio della Fava -we pass almost immediately, on the left, the -Palazzo Gussoni, a palace the great beauty of -which cannot be overlooked. It is a building -of the first Renaissance combining extreme richness -of detail with simplicity of general effect. -The basement is beautifully and variously sculptured -and surmounted by a band of Verona marble; -above it rises a design of leaves and ears of corn -growing and spreading like a plant, and full of -graceful and delicate fancy. The unique feature -of the palace is the richly sculptured stone barbacan -that supports the projecting portion of the -upper storey overhanging the Calle della Fava. -There is in Venice an abundance of fine wooden -barbacans, but this is the only example we remember -of the sumptuous casing in stone.</p> - -<p>A little further and we pass below a palace -of the Transition, from whose graceful balcony -keep watch a row of sculptured lions in half-relief. -As we come into the Rio della Guerra, the midday -light plays reflectively on the water, striking -out of it a thousand fitful diamonds, and the now -ebbing tide washes with a soft caressing sound -against the houses. At the juncture of the Rio -della Guerra with the Rio del Palazzo is the Casa -dell’ Angelo so named from the beautiful sculptured<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span> -angel on the wall that faces us. It stands -erect, with wings spread, holding in the left hand -a globe signed with the Cross, which it seems in -the act of blessing. The lower part of its body -is covered with two shields bearing, according to -Tassini, the arms of the Narni family. It is -sheltered by a pent-roof, supported on graceful -pillars, most delicately and nobly worked. In the -lunette above the angel, in the immediate shadow -of the roof, is discernible a painting of the Madonna -and Child between two kneeling angels, -which still retain traces of soft and beautiful colouring. -But the most precious possessions of this -palace front are the remnants of fresco under the -broad projecting roof at the further end of the -building. The beautiful figure of a woman, with -head resting on her hand and braided golden hair, -is still intact. There is another fine figure between -the windows, and there are many fading fragments -in the plaster below. Tradition unanimously attributes -these frescoes to Tintoretto, and it is difficult -to believe that the lovely woman could have -come from any other hand.</p> - -<p>The Ponte Canonica, which adjoins our first -Capello Palace, now allows us an easy passage, and -we can take our way on the ebbing tide down the -Rio del Palazzo. Below the sombre weight of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span> -the Bridge of Sighs, between the palace and the -prison, we pass again into the aureole of Venice. -Within the brilliant bay formed by the Riva degli -Schiavoni the gulls are making festa, and away -towards the city they whirl and drift like shining -snowflakes in the radiance of the Grand Canal. -As we pass the Piazzetta to land at the Molo, the -golden sword of Justice gleams superbly luminous -in the blue above San Marco. Venice has put on -her glory.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_253" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Nine">Chapter Nine<br /> - -<span class="subhead vspace">VENETIAN WATERWAYS<br /> -<span class="smaller">(PART II)</span></span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">The</span> centre of our second tour is an ancient -and comparatively unfrequented region -in the north of Venice—that part of -Cannaregio over which watches the Campanile of -the Madonna dell’ Orto, with its crowning image -of snowy stone and four solemn apostles looking -out over city and lagoon. The beautiful figure -of the Madonna, round whose feet, between the -tiles of her ruddy cupola, spring little plants the -birds have sown, rises day after day triumphant -out of the duel between sun and mist, a pledge of -the victory of light; and through all vicissitudes -of weather she is seen, sometimes in dazzling outline -upon the deep blue, or against a canopy of -grey, sometimes herself tempered to shadowy -greyness by the brilliance of the cumuli that out-rival -even her snowy purity.</p> - -<p>We will enter from the Grand Canal by the -Rio San Marcuola, nearly opposite the Correr -Museum, and pass below the Ponte dell’ Anconetta<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span> -on the Strada Nuova, or more properly the Corso -Vittorio Emanuele, which in its broad and ungracious -uniformity is one of the most forbidding -streets in Venice. It seems at first to have no reserves -into which by a little tact or sympathy we -may ingratiate ourselves; yet many activities generally -to be encountered in other raiment and -under other auspices, lurk behind its mask. On -this very Rio San Marcuola is a workshop where -antiquities are fabricated for the show-rooms of -the Grand Canal. We see them here in their -early stages, a rude stone well-head awaiting an -ancient sculpture, a Renaissance chimney-piece, a -Byzantine lion in Verona marble; and the forger -is no villain but an honest, genial workman skilled -to do better, but content to supply what he is -asked for. A little beyond the bridge we come -on one of the oldest squeri or boat-building yards -of Venice. Black sprites of boys pass to and fro, -plunging their torches into cauldrons of burning -pitch, to draw them in the wake of flaming -branches along the upturned sides of the gondolas; -and men, with something of the fire and of the -blackness in their eyes and faces, swink like the -skilled demons in Spenser’s cave of Mammon. It -is outside, on the squero, that this coarser work -with pitch and cauldron goes on; in the inner<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span> -workshop are the frames of gondolas in making, -exquisite skeletons with subtle apportioning of -oak, elm, nut and larch, and long unbroken sides -of beech. Opposite the squero, on our right, is -the ugly new brick wall of Paolo Sarpi’s convent. -Above it may be seen a weed-grown fragment of -the ancient building with its relief above the door. -Boni has suggested that a more appropriate memorial -to Sarpi’s memory than the erection of a -bronze statue might have been the preservation or -renewal in its original beauty of the old convent -with which he was so closely and intimately -connected.</p> - -<div id="i_257" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 54em;"> - <img src="images/i_257.jpg" width="2597" height="1474" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">ENTRANCE OF GRAND CANAL.</div></div> - -<p>We strike almost immediately into the Rio -della Misericordia, and as we look down the long -vista to right and left of us, under the low bridges, -we begin to realise the peculiar character of this -district. It is entirely different from that of our -first tour; long parallel canals run from east to -west, cutting the land into narrow strips and giving -the strips a curious effect of isolation. These -canals are bounded on the west by the lagoon, and -the effect of sunset light flooding the long waterways -is strikingly beautiful. If we were to follow -the Rio della Misericordia to the left, we should -come to the curious wedge-shaped island of the -Ghetto Nuovo and the tall deserted houses of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span> -Ghetto Vecchio. But we will tend only slightly -to the left, and passing under a low bridge continue -our former course into the Rio della Sensa. -This name has in it echoes of historic festivals; it -originated in the fact that the stalls for the great -Ascension fête on the Piazza were stored in the -warehouses that stood on its banks. As late as the -last celebration of this famous offshoot of the Sposalizio -festival, in the year 1776, fifty-seven thousand -ducats were spent on erecting the enclosure -in which the stalls were set up. The Rio della -Sensa has many links with the past. Above a -door in a humble wall on the fondamenta hangs -a shield on which is sculptured an arm cased -in steel. This shield belonged to the Brazzo -(Braccio) family, of Tuscan origin, who had -settled in Venice and acquired much land in this -district. The name is worthy of preservation; -for one at least of the family has left an enduring -mark in the annals of the city. “In 1437,” we -read in Tassini’s <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">Curiosità Veneziane</i>, “a Geoffrey -da Brazzo, with some companions, founded, in -the Campo di SS. Giovanni e Paolo, the Scuola -di San Marco of which he was the Grand Guardian.” -Within the unpaved court the house of -the worthy Geoffrey is still standing, and it preserves -its early Gothic and Byzantine features but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span> -little obscured by later additions. It is not altogether -gloomy though evidently inhabited by very -poor people; little gardens still blossom from the -leads and window boxes, and tables and chairs are -set out under the vine in the yard below. In the -seventeenth century the family became extinct, its -history being closed by a rather sordid domestic -tragedy; and it is pleasanter to revert to the earlier -days of this simple, dignified citizen’s dwelling -when Geoffrey and his associates discussed in it the -hopes and fears of their School. Another page of -Venetian history lies open for us at the Campo dei -Mori further along the same rio to the right. -Our attention is attracted at once by a curious -figure in oriental turban, with a pack upon its -head, at the corner of the square which strikes the -fondamenta. Two more figures in the same style -of dress are stationed at other corners of the -square. The crowd of urchins who throng round -us the instant we alight will tell us that these are -Sior Rioba and his brothers. The key to these -figures is to be found in a palace, the inner court -of which opens on our right hand as we turn inwards -from the canal. It belonged to three -Greek brothers, by name Rioba, Sandi and Afani, -of the family Mastelli, who leaving the Morea in -the twelfth century, on account of disturbances<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span> -there, came with great wealth to Venice and built -themselves this house by the campo which has -preserved their origin in its name. This family -also has a noble record in Venetian annals. It -took part in the Crusade of 1202, and received -citizenship for its reward. Later it rested from -its labours and set up a spice shop in Cannaregio -at the sign of the Camel. From these avocations -it passed to a more reposeful existence on the -banks of the Brenta, and, like the da Brazzo -family, it became extinct in the seventeenth century. -The courtyard of the palace, known now -as the Palazzo Camello, possesses many fascinating -reminders of its past, though some of its old beauties -have been taken from it even in recent years. -The open arches of the sotto-portico have been -filled in, and a corkscrew stair is now only recognisable -by the pillars we see immured in a circular -tower. The pillars that once supported the arches -of the entrance portico, now half buried in the -ground from the constant raising of its level, are -fine and uncommon examples of the transition -from Gothic to Renaissance. Above the portico -are two striking projections of carved stone, once -serving perhaps to support a lantern or coat of -arms, and in the angle of this wall and the main -building are the relics of a Gothic pedestal on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span> -which, without doubt, some image has stood. -The low-beamed court to the water is still intact -with its finely-carved architraves and early Gothic -pillars; but beyond the point of its present habitation -it has been allowed to fall into decay from -the invading damp. If we venture along this -outer court to the water’s edge, we shall find ourselves -in the Rio della Madonna dell’ Orto almost -opposite the campo and church. By the help of -a barge which we may reasonably hope to find -moored alongside the water-door of the court, we -obtained a view of the most characteristic aspect -of the Palazzo Camello. The passer-by on the -fondamenta cannot fail to be impressed by its -beautiful decorative balcony and windows and the -Byzantine frieze in a lower storey, but above all -by a camel and driver sculptured in admirable -relief on the wall.</p> - -<p>Returning to the Campo dei Mori, we make -our way again to the Fondamenta della Misericordia, -where we disembarked. Almost immediately -on our left, backing the Palazzo Camello, and -perhaps originally forming a part of it, is the house -of Tintoretto. It is still unspoiled of its ancient -decorations of small sculptured figures and formal -designs; and, above all, it is interesting architecturally -for its elaborate carved wooden cornice on<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span> -the two upper storeys to which time has given the -appearance of stone. Howells, in his description -of Tintoretto’s house, conveys an impression of -sordid desolation in the building and its inmates. -It may lately have fallen on better days; for there -is now nothing forbidding about it, and indeed it -is a welcome refuge from the swarms of dirty and -discordant children whom the presence of a stranger -on this campo seems to have a peculiar power of -attracting. Its upper windows look out across the -rio on a garden with a majestic cypress tree, and -down the long canal to the wide waters of the -lagoon. And some of the inmates of the house -still have a share in the ancient, though humbler, -arts of Venice. There are beadmakers working, -as usual in almost total darkness, in an airless room -in the basement. After we have seen these rows -of patient, crouching workers, bending hour after -hour over their gas jets, the beads of the lamp-lit -Merceria will call up irresistibly the low benches, -the glittering wires, the glazed and darkened -windows. For there seems a strange irony in the -birth of these shining toys out of the gloom. -Many unacknowledged artists have worked upon -these beads; much, no doubt, of their workmanship -is mechanical; but if we look into them we -shall find many little originalities in the gradation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span> -of line and colour, many touches of taste and feeling -in their graceful and various designs. The -house is much as it might have been in Tintoretto’s -day, but the walls seem empty and unresponsive -and to have less part in him than those palace -fronts in which some faded fresco bears witness to -the magic of his hand. But there is a building -near by that may rightly be called the house of -Tintoretto, where we may more faithfully commune -with his mind—the Church of the -Madonna dell’ Orto, in which, Ridolfi tells us, -Tintoretto worked for his keep alone “because his -fertile brain was constantly boiling with new -thoughts,” and thereby roused the wrath of his -fellow artists. It was here that Meissonier, coming -in his old age to Venice, set himself down at -the feet of the master and copied Tintoretto’s <i>Last -Judgment</i> in the choir. But it is not primarily for -the artist’s great works in the choir that we return -again and again to the Madonna dell’ Orto. It is -for a painting no less the work of a giant, but of a -giant gifted with tenderness equal to his strength. -The <i>Presentation of the Virgin</i> has been moved -from its original place on the organ to a side -chapel in which both light and space are inadequate, -so that, coming on it first out of the daylight, -we receive only a vague impression of its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span> -greatness. It is only gradually that it breaks on -us in its combination of vigorous motion and life -with sublime repose, and that we come to distinguish -the elements that make up its power and to -appreciate the singleness and intensity of vision -which, amid all its wealth of resource, never -wavers in loyalty to the central idea. In Titian’s -<i>Presentation</i>, the mountain background, the crowd -of Venetian citizens, the old egg woman, the -Virgin, the High Priest, appear as separate interests; -in Tintoretto’s <i>Presentation</i> all the elements -are unified; there is but one moment, one point, -to which everything tends. The lovely women -in the foreground, the mighty figures reclining on -the stair, the mysterious trio behind in the shadow -of the balustrade, all subserve the quiet, yet passionate -drama enacted above in the meeting of the -High Priest and Virgin. At last, as at first, these -two figures fill our mind; their mutual contemplation -is compelling. The Virgin is set against the -sky, near the top of the stair she is ascending with -blithe and childlike confidence, her right hand -over her heart. She has no eyes except for the -High Priest. She moves up to him without hesitation -or drawing back. And he is bent on her -entirely. From the height of his great stature, -with the supreme majesty of his office about him,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span> -the High Priest, between his robe-bearers, extends -his hands above the ascending childish figure—a -world of thought, of awe, of worship, in that -mysterious and lofty benediction.</p> - -<p>We will go back again along the Rio della -Sensa to the point where we entered it, turning -now to the right under the Ponte Rosso into the -Rio dei Trasti which soon Widens into a broad -way of unbridged water leading out to the lagoon -and dividing the island of the Madonna dell’ Orto -from that of Sant’ Alvise. The rio into which -we have now come is the third long parallel waterway -we have struck in our journey through this -district. It stretches on either side of us, spanned -by wooden bridges, between the west lagoon and -the Sacca della Misericordia. We will follow it -for a short distance to the left to the little campo -of Sant’ Alvise from which it takes its name. -Here, in the church hangs that series of strange -little canvases that Ruskin did not hesitate to attribute -to Carpaccio. They are hung on a wall -near the entrance door without order or precaution, -signed in great sprawling childish characters Vetor -Carpacio. Perhaps our pleasure at penetrating the -by-ways of the city to this remote little island -makes us at first uncritically appreciative of the -quaint square canvases. Ruskin thought them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span> -the works of Carpaccio at eight or nine years of -age, but he was confessedly writing from memory, -and face to face with the reality might have reconsidered -his verdict. The paintings seem too -sophisticated for a young Carpaccio, too feeble for -an older one. The architectural details belong in -many respects to a period of the Renaissance later -than that which Carpaccio knew, and though, -behind their technical incompetence and absurd -anachronisms, we seem to catch glimpses of the -masterful imaginativeness of Carpaccio, we shall -probably feel Molmenti’s verdict against their -authenticity to be more substantial than Ruskin’s -reminiscence which was framed in the enthusiasm -of his discovery of one of the greatest of Venetian -artists. One of the paintings, <i>The Meeting of -Solomon and the Queen of Sheba</i>, has an interest -apart from its quaint fancy. We may conjecture -that the artist was drawing on a memory of some -work from the east; for the wooden bridge and -the figures wavering at each end of it, the winding -river, the little round Renaissance building to -symbolise Jerusalem, and, above all, the swans in -the stream below, and the tall blue peaks in the -background, remind us of nothing so much as -the willow pattern plate familiar to our childhood. -We will leave on one side the scenes from Christ’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span> -Passion by Tiepolo, which by some incongruous -chance also are preserved in this humble aisleless -church, merely remarking that it is necessary to -arrive here early; for the sacristan, whose duties -extend to both the churches on the two neighbouring -islands, hurries off at half-past nine for -the office at the Madonna dell’ Orto, and Sant’ -Alvise is shut.</p> - -<p>We will return along the rio, past the Madonna -dell’ Orto and the Palazzo Camello to the Sacca -della Misericordia. We shall have occasion elsewhere -to speak at length of this unfrequented -square of water. It looks out to Murano and the -mountains, and is bounded on the south and west -by the Abazia della Misericordia and the garden -of the Casa degli Spiriti. The Abazia della Misericordia -is one of the most beautiful ruins in all -Venice. It has its roots far back in the past; for -the abbey church was built in 939 and handed -over to hermits and, later, to Augustinian Brothers, -who added to it a convent. A school was erected -beside the church in 1308, and this was later enlarged -and extended by a hospital and chapel. In -the sixteenth century the old hospice was given -over to the silk-weavers, and another, more spacious -and magnificent, was substituted. On the Fondamenta -dell’ Abazia, close beside the Scuola di<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span> -Santa Maria della Misericordia, is a wonderful relief, -over the entrance to the hospice for poorer -members of the confraternity, bearing the date -1505. It represents the Virgin with robes outspread -to enclose and shelter a little company of -hooded Brothers who kneel around her; the relief -is beautiful in workmanship, and there are traces -of lovely colour in the folds of the Virgin’s garments. -An exquisite square campanile rises in the -part of the abbey buildings that is still inhabited -by Franciscan Brothers, but the northern front -which overlooks the Sacca is a long, roofless, -two-storeyed wall of brick with closed shutters—the -façade of a weed-grown ruin. This isolated -northern wall is exquisite in colouring: its pink -plaster has been partly worn away to the red -bricks, partly tempered to soft coral where it still -lies on the hoary stone. Sparse weeds cover the -top, outlined against the sky, and plants which no -hand of man has sown spring from the crevices in -the brick. In the early morning the Abazia is in -shade, and its image in the smooth, shining water -is gifted with a new beauty and strength. Looking -back upon the east wall, part of which is in -ruins, we see the broad Rio di Noale branching in -two smaller channels right and left of the garden -wall of the police station. This wall has a central<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span> -window looking out to the lagoon, and often -towards evening two figures may be seen through -it, framed against the green and taking their pleasure -in the garden as in some old picture.</p> - -<div id="i_269" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 46em;"> - <img src="images/i_269.jpg" width="2211" height="1554" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">VIEW ON GRAND CANAL.</div></div> - -<p>The Sacca della Misericordia has a majestic -corner-stone in the Casa degli Spiriti, the long garden -of which is joined to the island of the Abazia -by the Ponte della Sacca, a beautiful bridge of pale -rose stone bound and lined with white marble. -To those who live overlooking the Sacca, the -House of the Spirits becomes an inseparable part -of the landscape of the lagoon. Modern incredulity -has preferred to talk of smugglers instead of -spirits, or to find in the weird echoes which inhabit -the Sacca and the neighbouring waterways an -explanation of its name. Others maintain that it -owes it to the companies of wit and intellect that -gathered there in the days of Titian and Aretino; -no proofs, however, have been offered in support -of this alluring suggestion. But if modernity has -driven out the spirits, the house itself has become -a ghost. In the midst of the thunderstorms which -from time to time break over the lagoon the Casa -degli Spiriti stands out a ghostly landmark, framed -suddenly by a sickle of gold or flashing silver, or -illuminated by a level flood of purple, a place of -revel for the spirits of the storm. In the calm<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span> -moonlight it appears more pallid than the moon -herself; in the black starless night still the huge -corner-stone looms out on the edge of the lagoon. -And there is no watch-tower to equal the Casa -degli Spiriti for the spectacle of dawn upon the -mountains. Those who wake within Venice under -a glimmering grey sky, with rifts of remote, transparent -blue, hear talk of coming rain. But the -House of Spirits which kept watch all night upon -the north lagoon, has had its day already in one -short hour of dawn. It has seen the Alps rise blue -and clear behind the low green line of the mainland; -it has seen the ruby fire drawn from them -by the dawn; it has seen the crystal path of the -lagoon fade to the dove’s neck with its waves of -peacock green; it has seen the fishing-boats come -pressing with their many-coloured sails against the -sunrise, each, as it turned before the wind, sealed -with a golden blessing from the god of day.</p> - -<p>But the House of the Spirits which dominates -these, the immaterial glories of the lagoon, rules -over a domain of vivid colour and activity. For -from the early hours of the morning there is -continual traffic down the Sacca of fruit barges -bound for Rialto from Sant’ Erasmo, the garden -of Venice, and of milk barges from the mainland. -It is not always an easy life, that of the feeders of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span> -the city—in which, as Sansovino says, nothing -grows, but everything is found. There are many -days when cold and rain and adverse winds mean real -suffering to the sellers of fruit and milk. Again -and again one is reminded of T. E. Brown’s wonderful -description of the fishing-boat, with its -dirt, its noise, its foul-mouthed crew transformed -beneath “the broad benediction of the west” as -one sees a milk barge toiling up the channel -against wind and tide, with its crowd of men -and women. The men begin to hoist the sail -with loud excited cries; the women crouch low -for shelter, smoking or munching their crusts. -They seem lumpish leaden combatants in the -lists against the elements, with small hope of -conquest. Then, suddenly, as it rounds the corner -of the Casa degli Spiriti, the ponderous boat with -its dejected crew spreads its sails like a bird, a -thing of swift delight lifted into the strong hand -of the wind.</p> - -<p>If we halt but for an hour in the shadow of the -Abazia, we may have a glimpse of many aspects -of the city’s floating life; joy and mourning -follow in unplanned succession, strong passion -and the merchandise of every day jostle each -other. Now there passes down the Sacca a gondola -bearing a coffin to San Michele, now a slow-creeping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span> -barge under a mountain of planks, now -a little company of lowing calves who can have -but one destination in this city without pasture, -now a barge of necklaces from Murano that lie -coiled together like shining fish of many colours.</p> - -<p>There is a moment of late August when all -seasons seem to meet and lavish their brightest -colours on Rialto, and on the many fruit-stalls of -Venice and on the barges that creep leisurely up -and down the canals. If we turn again to the -heart of the city in the wake of one of those -fruit barges, we may imagine ourselves sharing in -ancient pomps and festivals. For their tapestry is -gorgeous; pyramids of peaches bound about with -green leaves, of tomatoes and brilliant pepper -pods, huge watermelons cut open to show the crisp, -rosy pulp; piles of figs, brown and green; pears, -apples, grapes; and choicest of all, the delicious -red <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">fragola</i> or strawberry-grape. All these and -many more make up the brilliant burden of the -barges from Sant’ Erasmo. We may follow them -as they wind through the lesser waterways, now in -sun, now in shadow, till the pageant is welcomed -in the full flowing day of the Grand Canal and -the barges empty themselves at Rialto.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_275" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Ten">Chapter Ten<br /> - -<span class="subhead">ARTISTS OF THE VENETIAN RENAISSANCE</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap"><span class="smcap1">It</span> can be no matter for wonder that colour -was the elected medium of expression for -Venice: endowed, by reason of her water, -with a twofold gift of light, she was also perhaps -more splendid than any other city in the details of -her daily life. Colour was its substance. Everything -was pictorial and rich and festive. Even on -a dark day the rooms of the Accademia seem full -of sunshine from the treasure they hold of ancient -Venice. If Bellini’s <i>Procession of the Cross</i> on the -Piazza of San Marco were missing from its place, -we should feel that a light had been put out. -The Venetians had always been decorators. The -pictures of the first masters—Vivarini, d’Alemagna, -Jacobello del Fiore and many others—seem -literally spun out of the furnaces of Murano. -They are no primitives in their mastery of colour. -Consider for a moment the <i>Madonna and Saints</i> -of Vivarini and d’Alemagna in the Sala della Presentazione. -The natural life of the fields has been -made to serve a design of amazing richness. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span> -Virgin’s golden throne is carved With acorns and -roses, and luxuriant oak foliage forms its decorative -fringe; the fruits of the garden in which she sits -are lavished round her; the grass is gemmed with -countless tiny flowers, trefoil and strawberry, milkwort -and potentilla, and the infant Christ has burst -open a golden pomegranate, displaying its burden -of rich crimson seeds. There is scarcely a harmony -of colour unattempted, scarcely a jewel unset, -from the rainbow of the angels’ wings, and the -rim of fluctuating colours on the Virgin’s green -robe folded back over peacock blue, to the mosaics -in the burning gold of the angels’ haloes, in the -Virgin’s crown, and in the mitres of the Fathers. -There too is the very vermilion of Veronese, that -wonderful salvia scarlet to which the <i>Feast in Levi’s -House</i> owes so much of its decorative significance. -We shall be better equipped for understanding the -early colour-masters if we realise that their dowry -came to them not only from the lagoon. The -marvellous rainbow of Venice the “Ambiguous -One” was not their only light nor the deep azure -and emerald and gold, which she hung about her, -the only jewels they knew. The garment of -Venetian art is inwoven with threads of mountain -glory, of rich harvests of grape and golden grain: -we must go up into the mainland of Venice to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">277</span> -understand the art of the first masters no less than -that of Giorgione, Titian, Tintoretto and Veronese, -whose conceptions were penetrated with the very -sunshine of earth, a warmer-bodied, fuller sunshine -than Venice of the waters could know, full of -secret throbbings of the hidden springing life for -light and ripening. Autumn is the loom on which -was woven the robe of Venetian art, autumn with -its indomitable splendours of gold and silver, green -and cremoisin and the supreme scarlet of the salvia. -These colours are steeped in an impermeable dye: -they seem saturated with the light, burning out -the more gloriously, the more intensely, as their -allotted span grows less. The passion of the spring -is of another kind; it needs the present magic of -the sun to draw out its exquisite, incipient radiance; -it cannot lavish glory except when his countenance -is bent upon it. But in the radiance of -autumn foliage there is a daring that darkness is -impotent to quell: it is like a shout of triumph in -the face of death, a procession of all the glory of -earth into the kingdom of the dead, not reluctant, not -made fearful by the rumours that have floated to it -in the grey-mantled dawn, in the fierce trumpeting -of rain and wind; boldly, gloriously it marches, -scattering joyfully the gems it cannot hold, that -nothing shall be saved. We sing no dirge, but a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">278</span> -triumph song, as the golden trophies fall—a gold -more refulgent than Bellini’s façade of San Marco, -though this was gold of the purest even Venice, -the golden city, could win from her furnaces. -We may still see these mainland autumns where -the colour-masters gathered their treasures; on the -borders of the mountains we may sit in such a -garden of the Madonna as Vivarini and his fellows -record. In the late autumn the sun is slow to win -his way; but when he comes there is no splendour -to rival the fire of the salvia-beds, round cups of -concentrated light springing up into spires and -tongues of flame among the arrow-shaped green -leaves. No words can describe the brilliance of -this leaping flame, devouring the sunshine like fuel, -and scattering it abroad in myriad gems of penetrating -brightness. In the long luminous grass of -the lawn will be scattered here and there a rose-bush -of the Madonna’s crimson, and tall gold-edged -lilies may be seen through the close-hung -flaps of the medusa leaves. This splendid tapestry -is spread upon a poplar background of flickering -gold and green, the steadier gold of low mulberries, -and grey-bodied autumn apple-trees on which the -leaves glow blood-red, while behind all rise the -grassy slopes of the mountain outposts crossed by -the shadow of some jutting rock.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">279</span></p> - -<p>Often among the humbler Venetian painters, -less versed in the deeper significance of human life -and religious symbol, we find a singular mastery -of perspective and many signs of familiarity with -the interplay of light and shade among the mountains. -We are reminded again and again of their -apprenticeship to nature as we see one of the countless -ruined towers on the outposts of the Alps rising -against the golden sunset light within its threadbare -rampart of dusky branches. The face of the -mountains was a vital and intimate fact to them, -not an accepted piety. We are, for instance, often -tempted to consider the persons of Cima’s sacred -themes less as the essential interest than as a finely -designed harmony of colour in the foreground of -a landscape. In his native city of Conegliano he -stored his mind with mountain wonders, and in -his wide and delicate horizons there are many -touches inspired by a living memory of the scene. -We have known the joy of that limpid atmosphere -after days of mist and rain, those floating sunlit -clouds upon the transparent blue, that jewel-like -gleam of a deep pool, the delicacy of autumn trees -passing into gold, the foretaste of an untrodden -stronghold in the winding paths that lose themselves -and come again to view as they coil up the -castled heights. The landscape is conventionalised<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">280</span> -of course, but its spirit is there—its rare shades of -colour, its marvellous varieties of depth; and ever -behind, there is the vision of the mountains cutting -into the sky in a sharp, clear, azure coldness, -or with a luminous haze round their base in the -mellowness of an autumn day. As backgrounds -we see them only, for Venice had other needs than -of mountains; but many of these painters knew -them as near realities; they had stept home in the -glory of an autumn sunset amid the revel of the vintage, -their whole being intoxicated with the wine -and the splendour of life; they had drunk that fresh-trodden, -unfermented juice, the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">vino mosto</i>, sufficient -to stir those whose senses are alert and in whom -the passion of the world runs high. It needed -indeed a Titian to transform the vintage of Cadore -into the bacchic rout of his <i>Ariadne</i>, but it is there, -in the wooded mountain slopes, in the pageantry -of evening, when the fancy soars to Ariadne’s -crown faintly dawning in the warm blue, and -sweeps round some mist-clad inland lake to float -among the turreted heights.</p> - -<div id="i_281" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 36em;"> - <img src="images/i_281.jpg" width="1729" height="2438" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">PALAZZO REZZONICO.</div></div> - -<p>Or if we take our stand on the keep of the -ruined Roman citadel of Asolo, when the evening -light streaming down into the shadowy undulations -of the valley, which tosses in ceaseless waves round -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">282</span>the mountain’s base, illuminates a land of rich and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">283</span> -golden peace, we feel again the painters of Venice -at our side; the vague, rich spirit of the winding -valleys, allied with the solemn grandeur of the -mountains, above whose dark barrier we have -glimpses of remote and shining peaks, the tiny -citadels half gathered into the folding mist, the -alternate radiance and keen obscurity of the lower -peaks now visited and now forsaken by the inconstant -sunset light, the sudden illumination of a -solitary peasant or a single tree in sharp relief -against the twilight—all these have passed into -the canvas of Giorgione: in him, above all, we -seem to drink that wondrous potion compact of -evening vapour and golden light which the sunset -pours into the dim goblet of the mountain valleys. -And we may record here, how, in the last period -of the Venetian Renaissance, the great decorator -Veronese found a field of activity under the shadow -of Asolo. When Marcantonio Barbaro, Procurator -of San Marco, and his brother the Patriarch -of Aquileja, bade Palladio build their villa at the -little village of Maser, they called on their friend -Paolo to decorate it within. And this perfect -villa is one of the happiest monuments to the two -artists; the excellent skill of both is brought into -congenial play, and to the courtly old patrician -Barbaro we owe a debt which perhaps we partly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">284</span> -cancel in the coin of our pleasure. The simple -yet sumptuous villa lies so dexterously disposed -below its cypress hill, that it seems almost to -consist of the loggia alone as we climb up the -garden slope from the road, through the judicious -mingling of smooth lawn and scythe-cut grass full -of scabious and delicate Alpine flowers. Delicious -scents float down from the late roses along the -terrace and the brilliant flower-beds in the grass; -the medusa tree stands luminous against the evergreen -shrubs and cypress, and against the yellow -wall a huge cactus raises its mysterious purple -sword-blade. The villa is spacious and full of air -and light; the suite of rooms above the loggia, -containing the great part of Paolo’s work, open -one out of the other, and each has a glass door -that leads directly to the lawn and grotto in the -cleft of the hill behind, while the central hall lies -open on each side to wide stretches of mountain -country. There were no stern censors here to ask -Paolo if his homely details were quite in keeping -with the gravity of his theme; the artist was working -for a friend in a house that was full of light -and sunshine and the clear mountain air, and he -has put his soul with most lucid fantasy into the -allegories of autumn and springtime, of Cybele -and Juno, Vulcan and Apollo, of dogs and boys<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">285</span> -and girls at play among the mimic balconies, -of sprays of fig and vine leaf; into the figures of -Michelangelesque strength reclining above the -doors, and the tiny processions of men and beasts -in chiaroscuro on the friezes; into the clear, radiant -faces of women and sinewy forms of men; the -eloquent dogs and lions; and not least into the -lithe and gallant figure of himself, advancing from -the mimic door at one end of the long vista to -meet the lady who trips out from the opposite end, -<i xml:lang="it" lang="it">l’amica dell’ artista</i>—or, as the guide-book discreetly -says—his wife. The portrait of himself -is done with much imagination and even pathos. -He was a dreamer, too, this Veronese. These figures -of the painter and his dog give us pause; they -make us feel that he would have been good to -walk the mountains with; that if he could step -out now from the room where he keeps continual -watch, on to the exquisite grass plot, with its happy -tuft of white anemone and pale Michaelmas daisy, -we might win from him some mountain confidence -which he has not entrusted to canvas or fresco. It -is a pleasure to picture Veronese at his work upon -Marcantonio’s villa. Every midday he must have -had good progress to show; for these blithe works -that have kept their colour so fresh and strong are -executed with a few brave master strokes: they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">286</span> -are no less potent in their swift presentment than -in their conception. We can see him dismounting -from his scaffold at the summons of Barbaro, returned -from his morning round among his stables -or his orchards; we can see him still keen and -stirred by the creative impulse, full of that excited -pleasure which accompanies expression, standing a -little aside while Barbaro bears his admiration to -and fro—now confessing that time and office have -rusted his mythology and asking the meaning of -some emblem; now on the lookout for a freak -of his friend, some beast or bird put in perhaps to -give him joy; now in raptures over the old shoes -and broom, which he swears he has just thrashed -the maid for leaving on the cornice, while Paolo -stands by brimming with mirth at the deception; -now called upon to guess the significance of the -fair lady bridled by her lord, which the guide-book -ungallantly interprets as the victory of virtue over -vice, but which to Marcantonio no doubt seemed -capable of less abstract explanation. With all their -nobility of design and execution, there is something -about these frescoes so intimate and sympathetic as -to impart to us the actual joy and health of spirit -which conceived them. Given the skill and the -robust and prodigal genius of Veronese, how should -they not be joyous in these halls full of light and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">287</span> -air and sunshine, the song of birds and of trickling -water, the sounds of meadow and mountain. We -may take leave of the mountains in the midst of -one of those brave companies which must often -have gathered in this earthly Paradise of Marcantonio -Barbaro round the long table spread in the -loggia—such a loggia as Paolo himself so often -painted—looking out, through the arches to the -vista of creepered wall and over the green meadows -studded with golden fruit-trees, to the undulating -country and tracts of woodland, now bathed in -liquid sunshine, now gathered into a soft-enfolding -haze—a wide ocean from which the campaniles -rise like masts of ships, and over which the distant -villas are scattered like shining fishing-boats.</p> - -<p>“These workmen,” says d’Annunzio of the -Venetian artists of the Renaissance, “create in a -medium that is itself a joyous mystery—in colour, -the ornament of the world, in colour, which seems -to be the striving of the spirit to become light. -And the entirely new, musical understanding they -have of colour acts in such a way that their creation -transcends the narrow limits of the symbols it represents -and assumes the lofty, revealing faculty of an -infinite harmony.” Colour—which seems to be -the striving of the spirit to become light. These -words recur to us again and again face to face with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">288</span> -the Venetian masters. By the primitives the colours -are laid on as accessory to the scene, as it were fine -enamel; in the Renaissance painters, they are not -only woven into the fabric of the picture, it grows -and moves through them. We may choose, in illustration, -Giovanni Bellini’s small picture of the -<i>Madonna with St. Catherine and the Magdalen</i> in the -Accademia, because, though it is in one sense less -completely representative of the distinguishing features -of the Venetian school than, for instance, his -masterpiece of the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">Frari</i>, it realises perhaps more -fully than any that “new and musical understanding -of colour” which was the peculiar gift of the -Venetians. It is literally informed with radiance; -flesh itself has become spirit, no longer a covering, -but an atmosphere—a directly perfect expression. -There is no denial or emaciation of the flesh; the -forms are strong, the habitations of a potent earth-spirit. -The faces are pondering, penetrating, profound, -and withal extremely individual; they might -seem impassive, were it not that every feature is -kindled by the pervading colour till we seem to -feel it as a sensuous presence. It is a quality of -colour that so subtly determines the poise of their -hands, that makes their touch so sensitively penetrating -that feeling seems to flow from it without -pressure. The solemn harmony of red and green<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">289</span> -and blue, and of the diffused radiance of the flesh -tints, is not only lit from without by the sunlight, -it seems literally to burn from within, depth -behind depth, with light.</p> - -<p>The peculiarly luminous treatment of the flesh -perfected by Bellini in repose, it remained for -Tintoretto to realise in motion; this we may venture -to illustrate from a work too immense for our -discussion in any but a limited aspect—his last -great work, <i>The Paradise</i>, in the Ducal Palace. -The quality we are seeking in it becomes the more -remarkable on account of its loss of superficial -colour, so that at first it seems cold and faded as if -a mist had fallen upon it; then, very slowly, like -day breaking out of the veil, colour reveals itself -as a fresh property in the forms. We cannot penetrate -the depth of it; rank behind rank the luminous -faces define themselves like mysterious shapes -of the atmosphere, some mere ghosts in the depths -which daylight cannot pierce, some radiant already -with the light; and across and through them all, -through the flame-winged throng of Cherubim, -piercing all companies and ranks of being to the -extremes of the vast canvas, shoot the rays from -the central source of light in the seat of Christ. -It is a symphony of colour become almost vocal; -we perceive it not only with the eye but in all<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">290</span> -our senses, this music of the spheres which one -man has dared to gather into a single canvas. Who -but Tintoretto could have dreamed of achieving -this perspective built solely of human forms and -faces? Into all the mysteries of life—those -echoes of experience which we touch but faintly, -those substances with which we feel inexplicable -correspondencies—into these Tintoretto has -looked: the rays from behind the Son of God -have poured into the heart of the universe, and -from it has grown his Paradise. Joy is the heart -of this great symphony; it works upon us rather -as a creative force than as a thing created, sounding -continually some new note or rarer harmony of -colour. At times it overpowers us, and then amid -the maze of divine musicians and Cherubim and -Seraphim and Thrones and Principalities and -Powers, some single harmonious human form, -strong in beauty, with wings of light, some tender, -lovely face of youth or woman, the solemn gesture -of saint or bishop, the rainbow of an angel’s -wing, gives our intellect a resting-place. For it is -not through obscuring of outlines that this wonder -of music in colour is accomplished; the human -form, on which all the notes are played, is become -indeed a perfect instrument, but not by forfeiting -its material strength or substance; the structure is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">293</span> -massive, solid—if to our notion of solidity we -may unite the gift of perfect ease within an element -whose progress only is by flight, where each -moment is poised but slightly in its passage to the -next, where there is no time because no stable unit -to serve as pedestal for time. In this great picture, -that faculty of the Venetian painters which -we are now illustrating, found perhaps its completest -realisation—the power of winging flesh -with colour so that it is endowed with the very -properties of atmosphere.</p> - -<div id="i_291" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 33em;"> - <img src="images/i_291.jpg" width="1595" height="2151" alt="" /> - <div class="captionl"><i>By permission of Arnold Mitchell, Esq.</i></div> - <div class="caption"> - <p>TOWARDS THE RIALTO, SAN ANGELO.</p></div> -</div> - -<p>This luminous quality of the Venetian painters -is realised by them in many more general ways -than in the treatment of the human form. We -may consider it in Carpaccio in relation to the significance -of landscape in his compositions. It is -his power of treating a scene atmospherically that -supplies one chief charm of his work. It is never -on a day of splendour that either he or Gentile -Bellini depicts Venice; but constantly on a cold, -colourless day of late autumn the waters of Carpaccio -seem to live again for us as we have seen -them through the perspective of his arches or in -the background of a city picture. We may see the -Grand Canal wind into the dark city under the -pale familiar gold of his Rialto sunset, and scattered -sails on the cold, clear lagoon in weird contrast<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">294</span> -of orange with the steely waters or with the -pale rose or white of buildings. There is a peculiar -fascination in this clear neutrality of light in -sky and water and buildings; it is no less a property -of Venice than her more refulgent harmonies. -Whatever hour of day it comes, it has the -strange revelation of the dawn about it, a curious -remoteness in which the works of men arrest -attention as if fraught with a new purport. The -emotional significance of landscape was understood -by Carpaccio in a wonderful degree. How -much depends, for instance, in the scene where -Ursula’s father dismisses the English ambassadors, -on the vista of canal across which lights fall from -dividing waterways! It is the narrowest strip; but -the sunlight on the houses, the exquisite arch of -pale blue sky fading into white above the distant -buildings, give a new value to the interior; the -outside world, on which the sun is shining, seems -to look into the room with the streaming light. -A still more beautiful illustration of Carpaccio’s -understanding of light is to be found in the room -where St. Ursula lies asleep. It seems, in fact, -scarcely an indoor room; through its open doors -and windows it is in close touch with the air and -sky; and the effect of contact with wind and sky -is heightened by the real plumage of the angel’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">295</span> -grey wings, while the back-sweep of his robe -suggests a sudden alighting after flight with the -current of air still about him. We know of no -picture to surpass this of Carpaccio in conveying -the atmosphere of a room into which the first -light is breaking—the exhilaration of an illumined -wall, the waking of colour on window-ledge, -chair and bedcover, the blending of luminous and -shadowy. It is the light of the first dawn, the -infancy of day, with a suggestion of unillumined -sky, just creeping out of shadow in the expanse of -open, untrellised window behind the plants, a soft, -wonderful stealing green, that has not yet come -into its kingdom. Even buildings are made by -Carpaccio to serve an atmospheric effect. We -might illustrate from almost every picture in San -Giorgio degli Schiavoni, but confining ourselves to -the St. Ursula series, we shall find a notable illustration -in the buildings seen through the water-gate -in the <i>Return of the Embassy</i>, and in the great -Renaissance loggia which fills so conspicuous a -place in the foreground, and to which airiness and -light have been imparted by its great arches, by -the water washing round its base, and by the -spring of the bridge that connects it with the -campo where the King sits under his canopy. -Most striking of all, perhaps, is the subtle architectural<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">296</span> -treatment by which, in the great threefold -scene of the Prince’s departure, his meeting with -Ursula and their blessing by the King, Carpaccio -has bestowed an atmosphere of remoteness, almost -of fairy strangeness on the English harbour with -its castles and walls and motley buildings soaring -far up the rocky hillside into the sky, an atmosphere -entirely distinct from the upper-world light -and joyousness of the contrasting court of Ursula’s -father.</p> - -<p>There is an element of his native landscape that -Carpaccio incorporated with singular felicity, and -which is peculiarly prominent in his pictures—namely -the shipping of Venice. In the great -trilogy of the Prince’s departure the vessels are -a masterpiece: there is nothing to surpass them in -this kind. Carpaccio seems to have realised to the -full their varied elements of beauty: their static -properties, their weight and substance and the -symmetry of their frame, combined with all the -radiant light and spring of swelling sail and rigging -and flag and countless trappings: all that goes to -make a sailing ship a thing of music. And it is -not only vessels rigged and ready to float in triumph -on the high seas that Carpaccio depicts: there is a -vessel also <em>in squero</em>, with all the song gone from it, -one might think, lying uneasily on its side with its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">297</span> -huge mast aslant across the harbour tower. It is -noteworthy that all the vessels of the English King -seem in course of repair; there is something in -their semi-skeleton condition which singularly -reinforces the dream effect that we have noticed in -this portion of the picture, and the triumphant -vessel that would seem to belong to the gay town -on our right is united in feeling to the shadow city -on the left by the exceeding mystery and beauty -of its reflection. This picture supplies us with -another instance of the way in which Venice operated -as an inspiration in the work of Carpaccio, -even when he was not directly portraying the city -itself. The beautiful effect of a drawbridge over -a great water, such as he knew familiarly in Venice, -had impressed itself on his mind: adapting it to -the requirements of his scene, he reproduces the -bridge of Rialto in the city of the English King, -not forgetting the significance of a crowning figure -in white at the apex of the arch. We cannot -indeed afford to miss a detail in Carpaccio: there -is never any crowding nor taking refuge in vagueness. -The varieties of shipping, the flags hung -from the windows, the most distant figures, are -all treated with the same clearness and precision: -to each its value is assigned. This fulness of -meaning is one of the sources of his fascination<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">298</span> -for us: the fact that he has done a little thing -means sometimes more to us, if we can come at -the prompting purpose, than a pageant of main -figures. It is like the side-flash of light which -a seemingly irrelevant act casts sometimes on a -personality.</p> - -<p>The fidelity of Bellini and Carpaccio to the facts -of Venice fills us continually with fresh wonder: -it is not the fidelity of copyists standing outside -the scene they paint; their very heart is in its -stones. As we watch Gentile’s gorgeous procession -sweep like a stream from the gate of the Ducal -Palace round the border of the Piazza, with the -sound of trumpets, the rustle and swing of noble -garments and the gleam of banners, we feel that -the painter had heard and felt the triumph of the -music, so marvellously has he conveyed its influence -in these moving figures; we too hear the -jubilation of it as the long tubes pass out and in. -With the pictures of Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini -before us we may do more than conjecture what -manner of men they were who filled the foreground -of contemporary Venice. We have not -masses or dispositions of colour merely: we seem -to move through a crowd of living beings or a -gallery of portraits. No one could paint loungers -as Carpaccio paints them; there is no monotony<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">299</span> -in their inaction; the faces are as various as the -men—wonderful faces, some coarse, some refined, -but almost all with that indefinable quality of -pathos in their strength which is one of the essentials -of beauty. There are perhaps comparatively -few among them that would satisfy a conventional -canon of beauty: their fascination lies in the rich -combination of whimsical humour and strength, -melancholy and wit; so eloquent are they, so quick -with intelligence that we are little disposed to -question their material perfection or imperfection. -These citizens of Gentile Bellini, Mansueti and -above all Carpaccio—since in him are realised a -far greater variety of types—impress us profoundly -as men of calm and steady purpose, who have lived, -felt and prevailed. They are men of action, yet -they are dreamers. And this was not from incapacity -in Carpaccio to express vivid motions in -feature or form. When he is more freely composing, -as in the <i>Death of St. Ursula</i>, it would be -hard to rival the brilliance and vivacity with which -he has treated the turmoil of the one-sided fray. -But these citizens—whether of Venice or of Ursula’s -court is immaterial—seem to be governed -by some internal harmony; there is a rhythm in -their motions and in their standing still, which reflects -the spirit of their time. We have only to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">300</span> -compare them with the characters in Longhi’s -eighteenth-century interiors to understand that a -great change has taken place. Imagine Carpaccio -and Bellini set to paint as primary interests the -choosing of a dress, the stopping of a tooth, the -guessing of a riddle, a dancing lesson, a toilette. -These things were part of life, and superbly they -would have done it; they painted lesser acts than -these in the corner of their pictures, for every -detail of the city life so jealously guarded by its -rulers was precious to them. But the difference -lies in the centre of interest. In the eighteenth -century, the detail, the side light, the accessory of -life has swelled into the principal subject, and the -faces of the actors are vacant as never in Carpaccio. -It is not so much that they are less beautiful, that -they are often witless; but they are lacking in purpose, -in subordination to a common control. The -pulse of a great civic life no longer beats in them.</p> - -<p>We have considered hitherto the manner in -which Venice used her elected medium of expression, -how her painters had understood and interpreted -the life of the city. We will turn now to -ask what attitude towards the facts of life is reflected -in their canvases. And here we will attempt -again to illustrate, by certain examples, what -aspects of life found most ready acceptance by the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">301</span> -Venetian artists of the Renaissance. We may venture -to seek an illustration of two of its broader -aspects—one foreign, the other native to the mind -of Venice as reflected in her life and in her art—in -two sculptured figures by Antonio Rizzo in the -courtyard of the Ducal Palace. These two figures, -of Adam and Mars, are most original in conception. -Adam holds the apple in his hand; it seems that -he has just partaken of it and that, partaking, he -has been initiated into a new vision. His beautiful -clear-cut face is upturned; his lips are open; his -hand seems to hold in the tumult of his heart. -There is as yet no shame, no contrition, no sense -of sin in Adam’s look, nor in his attitude, but the -immense wonder of a new experience with its yet -undetermined import; and through the ecstasy of -his vision there breaks that strange pain of the -mortal man whose body can scarcely support its -spiritual burden. It seems almost as if Adam were -receiving now that vision of the ages at whose -threshold he stood; he has opened a door which -can never again be shut; he has let in a flood -which is beyond his control, and he is rapt in the -contemplation. The other figure who fills with -Adam a niche in the Arco Foscari is Mars, the god -of war. His body is grandly moulded, stalwart and -disciplined and ready for action; but there are no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">302</span> -tempests in his look; there is no herculean development -of muscle nor trampling vehemence as in -the fresco of Veronese. Rizzo’s war-god is young, -full of grace and beauty, with the dream also of a -poet on his sensuous lips. He is majestic; his -face is grave and thoughtful, with a strange sadness -in its vigilant wisdom. He and Adam seem to -strike together the accord of the Renaissance, the -union of a great expectancy, an uncomprehended -newness, with controlled and ordered purpose and -the conviction of conquest. It is the latter aspect -which seems to find reflection in the mind of -Venice not the mystic promise, the troubled vision, -which the Renaissance held for some of those on -whom its influence fell. In the Venetians of the -first Renaissance there is always the note of calm -and assured knowledge; we may find it again and -again in their artistic annals. In the Casa Civran—the -so-called Casa dell’ Otello beside the Campo -dei Carmini—we again recognise Rizzo’s hand in -one of the most lovely and characteristic figures of -the first Renaissance, which has fortunately survived -the various restorations and spoliations of the house -and stands still intact in its lonely niche on the -plastered wall. It is impossible to convey in words -the vivacity, the nobility and grace of this young -warrior: the proud and magnificent control governing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">303</span> -each motion of his spirited form, the -rhythm in response to which each member of him -moves, so that the effect on us is indeed that of -a song, a victorious, joyful melody. Again and -again we may meet them, Mars and his young disciple, -and others of their kin, in Carpaccio’s crowds. -The young Civran warrior might have stept on to -his niche from the <i>Death of St. Ursula</i>; moreover, -the life that thrills in him is felt not in single figures -only, but in the entire conception of series -after series of Carpaccio, in Bellini’s <i>Procession of -the Cross</i>, in Tintoretto’s <i>St. Ursula and the Virgins</i> -in the Church of the Mendicanti.</p> - -<p>It was thus the Venetians confronted life. In -portrait, allegory or story, realised in varying -degrees of naïvety, splendour and refinement, with -more or less penetration and psychological insight, -we find the same balance and control—a unique -harmony of strength, grace and serenity. And if -we turn to the religious art of Venice we shall be -struck by a lack of anything like mystic rapture -or absorption in the sufferings of Christ. We have -but two examples in Venice of Bellini’s portrayal -of the facts of Christ’s mature life, but he has -treated the theme of the Madonna and Child with -a unique profundity. The mystery of life seems -to be shadowed in the face of his Madonnas; his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">304</span> -saints and apostles, so striking in their individuality, -so virile in their piety, have a significance beyond -their perfect act of worship. No Venetian religious -painter before Tintoretto equalled Bellini in solemnity -and depth of conception; but in all we find -the same pervading calm, the same absence of -tumult or the disturbing element of pain or agony. -We will choose an example from Basaiti—the -most perfect, perhaps, of all his works—in illustration -of what seems to us a prevailing characteristic -of the Venetian mind both for strength -and weakness—his <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">Gesu morto con due Angeli</i>. It -is striking in its originality of conception and full -of noble and tender sentiment. There are no -weeping women, no agonised apostles round the -body of Jesus; only the very young keep watch -beside him, two winged infants, at his head and at -his feet. They have found him here, this young -dead god, laid out as if asleep upon the flat stone -by the rock—no blasted rock, its crags are covered -with living shrubs and plants. And he is in the -light: there is no ghostly pallor in his face upturned -to the sky, upon his long, dark hair; so -beautiful a brow, such tender cheeks, so strong -and brave a neck they have never seen. And he -is so still, he lies without fear, not heeding them. -They must not wake him from his sleep. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">307</span> -infant at his head, whose exquisitely moulded face -is full of that strangely pathetic, antique wisdom -of the very young, half-elfish, half-infantile, feels -the burden of his sagacity upon him. Why had -that brow a crown of thorns instead of flowers -about it? This youth to whom they will now -bear company had not chosen well his pillow or -his crown—though he is so beautiful he was not -wise enough to know that thorns are not for those -who would be at rest. In the picture the wise -infant has taken off the prickly crown that it may -not pierce and rend the dream that holds the -sleeper there so long; he is full of the knowledge -of his triumph, half-fearful lest it should not be -complete. The crown of thorns hangs on his -own left arm, which he raises half in warning, half -in wonder, feeling as his elbow bends the thorns -upwards on his arm from what pain he has saved -that beautiful but foolish youth. And with his -right hand he fondles the hair of Jesus, drawing it -a little back from his forehead to be sure that in -his stealthy theft he has not left some scratch, -some mark of pain. But there are no traces of -the crown in any sign of pain, only a faint, faint -band beneath the hair he has drawn back—a -shadow, as it were, of Christ’s regality. <em>He saved -others, Himself He cannot save.</em> Now with this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">308</span> -little Saviour, this guardian of his pillow, he can at -last sleep in peace. The infant at the feet is more -babylike, less wise, more gleefully wondering. He -has found no thorns on that beautiful, still body, -but he has found another wonder at the feet. The -toes of one he holds in his tiny hand, stroking it -in his delight: he has found, it seems, a little hole -upon the instep bone that the feet of humans are -not wont to wear, and he points in musing, half-delighted -wonder to the other foot, where he spies -the same strange mark. It is a game to this curly -headed cherub. He has not yet dreamed of contact -with something beyond the reach of his baby -wisdom. There is not yet in his chubby face that -look which has stolen into the face of his brother -and which now seems to put a world between -them, a look that amid all its elfish aloofness is -akin to the solicitude of human love. What -dream was this of Basaiti—the figure of this -young God of Light—perfect in form, luminous -and strong, unspoiled and untroubled in his sleep -of death? His eyes if they were open would be -fountains fed from the beauty of the world, but he -has borne no burden of humanity. There is power -to suffer in that strong and beautiful young face, -but it is not the power of the Man of Sorrows. -This is not Jesus who agonised in the garden, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">309</span> -who wrote upon the ground; it is not the man -from whom Pilate turned away his face.</p> - -<div id="i_305" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 41em;"> - <img src="images/i_305.jpg" width="1941" height="1471" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">BRONZE WELL-HEAD BY ALBERGHETTI, COURTYARD OF PALAZZO DUCALE.</div></div> - -<p>There is one only—the last and greatest of the -Venetians of the Renaissance—who could sound -all notes of tragedy and pathos as well as notes of -joy. Tintoretto, the supreme Venetian, the greatest -exponent of the essential spirit of Venice, is -the son of a wider kingdom than hers and of a -greater age than the Renaissance. Unsurpassed as -designer and colourist, he is endowed throughout -with the peculiar gifts of Venice; but during those -years of passionate study, in which he was winning -here and there the secrets of his art, hungry for -knowledge, careless of gain, and bargaining only -for material in which to realise his conceptions—during -those years in which he lived alone in continual -meditation on some fresh labour, he was -probing the deep and passionate things of humanity -as no Venetian artist had ever probed them before. -The streets and churches of the city seem to echo -still to the steps of this genius at once so robust, so -tender, so profound and so joyous. Ridolfi laments -the lavishness of his production, arguing that -restraint of his overflowing fantasy would have -strengthened his conceptions. But Tintoretto had -to work in his own way; the instinct that flowered -in the Scuola di San Rocco, the <i>Bacchus and Ariadne</i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">310</span> -and the <i>Paradiso</i>, might be trusted to -choose the manner of its relaxation as well as of its -labour. No painter, perhaps, has so wonderfully -combined the dramatist and lyrist; for Tintoretto -with all his vast imaginative strength had power -also over the tenderest springs of melody. There -is hardly a picture of his in which some exquisite -face of youth or woman will not strike a note of -tenderness, and we need only call to mind the -<i>Visitation</i> in the Scuola di San Rocco, to know -what Tintoretto’s tenderness could be. He had -that power, the gift only of the greatest, so -intensely to imagine his central theme that the -most perfectly executed and conspicuous detail -does not divert us into lesser issues. It is exactly -here that his distinguishing greatness reveals itself -He is completely sincere. His vision is too comprehensive -to overlook what really filled the foreground; -his skill of hand too great to allow its -inclusion to be other than an element in the realisation -of his central theme; his concentration too -intense to make him fear lest an accessory should -become a primary interest. We may pause for a -moment in consideration of his greatest tragic -triumph, the <i>Crucifixion</i>, in the Scuola di San -Rocco. The theme is immense, and, like the -<i>Death of Abel</i>, it is treated in a great elemental<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">311</span> -spirit. Amid all the throes of nature and the -sufferings of the Son of Man, the world goes on its -way. The ghostly figure of the Arab on his camel, -and the caravan winding down from the city to -depart into the desert, the two splendid knights -who gaze without pity or understanding on this -spectacle of the death of slaves, the man who leans -from his donkey behind the Cross of Christ, all are -as prominent to their little circle as they would be -in life; and they have just that prominence for us—the -immediate participators in the tragedy—that -they would have in life. As always in Tintoretto, -the horizon is vast. Wide ranges of blue, -undulating country extend to the mountains, above -which breaks his peculiar, tender, yellow light of -dawn; he has made them recede into unimagined -distance by setting across the mountains and the -light the raised arm of a mounted figure. There -is a great calm in this horizon, while in the middle -distance above the Arab the wind has set the leaves -quivering on a tree whose thin and twisted branches -sway wildly against the blackness of the storm. -The most impressive light for this picture is -obtained when the setting sun illuminates the -marvellous group of mourners at the foot of the -Cross, so that they stand out in startling brightness -against the heightened depths of the vast background,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">312</span> -while Christ hangs above them dark -within the darkness.</p> - -<div id="i_313" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 51em;"> - <img src="images/i_313.jpg" width="2426" height="1507" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">EVENING IN THE PIAZZETTA.</div></div> - -<p>The Scuola di San Rocco is the supreme monument -to Tintoretto’s poetic, as to his plastic genius. -If we are justified in feeling that his understanding -of the life of Christ may be a true touchstone -of a man’s philosophy, it will become a matter of -first interest to us to know how so profound a -thinker as Tintoretto approached the subject. -There is no lack here indeed of tragic depth. <i>The -Temptation of Christ</i> is sufficient alone to vindicate -Tintoretto as gifted with understanding above his -fellows. Another might have compassed the tumultuous, -beautiful earth-spirit, with muscular, -proud, uplifted arms, and face burning with desire; -but who else could have added that touch of -impotence to his restless, aspiring gesture, or have -dreamed the tenderness in the lovely, sorrowful face -of Christ that looks down on this radiant creature -of desire, entirely without judgment or stern denial, -but as if too remote from the appeal to make -reply? The exceeding pathos of this picture -would have been missed if Lucifer, the brightest -of the spirits that fell, were a whit less radiant; if -Christ’s face had one shade less of compassion in -its wondering aloofness. And for our last example -we may choose a picture in which the strength of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">315</span> -Tintoretto is realised in quietness so complete that -a hush seems to lie about it. No painting of his -is greater in conception than that of <i>Christ before -Pilate</i>. The moment he has chosen is that in -which Pilate performs his vain ablution before the -multitude who lightly accept the guilt he attempts -to transfer, in the awful cry, “His blood be on us -and on our children.” Tintoretto has set Pilate’s -face in shadow: a single ray falls across the pillar -behind his head. He looks away from Christ but -not towards the crowd: he has spoken: he would -fain make an end of this drama. It is the fine, -thoughtful, astute face of a Venetian councillor -that Tintoretto has depicted. Christ stands before -him in the full light—removed only by a single -step—a motionless white figure above the restless -crowd, complete in control, gathered into himself -and folded in a great silence and calm; yet not -now more alone than when the crowds cried after -him day and night for a sign. His head is bowed -upon his breast: his closely folded robe follows -the slight curve of his body: his bound hands lie -nerveless in their cords: yet beside the strength of -this bound prisoner the animation of the foreground -figure who grips the cord is impotence -indeed. Most wonderful of all perhaps is the -contrast of a busy scribe at his table below the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">316</span> -judgment-seat, pausing with suspended pen for the -words that shall convict, with the majestic, motionless -figure of Christ. We seem to hear the words -proceeding from those closed lips: he would utter -them so, not moving. It is less the originality of -this picture that impresses us than its profound directness -and truth, comparable only to the story it -illustrates. In understanding none has surpassed -the conception of that single, solitary figure, face -to face with the vast fabric of the judgment-hall, -weighted with its burden of custom and tradition; -none has more profoundly imagined the tragic -triumph in that entire loneliness of the great and -good before the tribunal of man.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div id="toclink_317" class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">317</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Chapter_Eleven">Chapter Eleven<br /> - -<span class="subhead">THE SOUL THAT ENDURES</span></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap b"><span class="smcap1">On </span> an evening of late September Venice revealed -herself to one of her lovers amidst -a spectacle beyond any range of dreams. -Evening was closing in upon the city with cloud -and breeze. In the church of San Giorgio Maggiore -the Tintorettos gleamed dimly from the -walls; daylight was gone. But in the tower high -overhead, clear of the shadows of confining buildings, -the day had still a course to run. The tide -was low, and land and water stretched out in interchanging -coils of olive and azure beneath a purple -storm-cloud, whilst ever against the bar of the -Lido rolled the sea, dyed with that celestial blue -that sometimes steals from the Adriatic into the -basin of San Marco to prostrate itself at the conquering -Lion’s feet. And there lay Venice, her -form outlined against a flood of pearl, the water -bending in a tender, luminous bow behind her -towers. Far away, across the mysterious expanse -of low lagoon, Torcello and Burano gleamed out -in startling pallor against the storm, amid a wild<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">318</span> -confusion of dark earth and glittering water. -The Northern Alps were hidden in darkness at -the horizon, but westward across the mainland -the clear, sharp peaks of the Euganean hills rose -up behind the city’s pearly halo, behind the deep -blue of the surging lowlands, in almost unearthly -outline against the sunset sky. In front of them a -livid fire rolled sullenly along the valley, sending -up purple smoke into the cloud. The storm -genie, summoned by nether powers, was descending -to his fearful tryst behind the Euganeans, but, -as he sank, he bent his face upon the pale form of -Venice, his enchantress, and the fire of his wonder -and of his adoration kindled in all her slumbering -limbs a glow of responsive life. A flood of crimson -suffused the pallor of her pearly diadem, and -her maidens, sleeping grey among the waters round -her, unfolded rosy petals upon the surface of the -lagoon.</p> - -<p>It is this power of living communion with the -daily pageant in which sun and moon are doge -and emperor, and the stars and the clouds their -retinue—this it is which, finding expression once -at Venice in a temporal glory that has passed -away, is the abiding assurance of her immortality. -This is the spirit which, if once it helped to make -her great, still makes her great to-day, the spirit<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">319</span> -that endures. For Venice is not a dead body: -she is a living soul. Overflowing all moulds in -which we may think to contain her, she reveals -herself continually in new mystery, new wonder. -We spoke of Venice as being paved with sky, and -every day there is cast upon her pavement a fresh -revelation of changefulness and beauty. A thousand -forms and patterns move in procession over the -water, passing each instant into something “rich -and strange,” a fleeting succession of aerial designs -drawn with tremulous pencil in colours which -never lived on the palette of a mortal artist. There -is a body of truth at the root of the old fancy which -gifted water-maidens with subtler, more perilously -powerful allurements than their sisters of the land. -Their element is mutability, but they are not soulless, -as men have said: it is only that their soul is -as the soul of water—luminous, flowing, mutable, -reflective, musical, profound: for, though they -are mutable, they are not shallow; it is a part of -their being that they should be susceptible of -change. They cannot tire their victims, they -whose beauty is continually renewed; and yet it -may be that men do well to fear them, for they -have secret communings with things men do not -dream of. Venice has held men, she holds them -still, with the fascination of a water spirit; they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">320</span> -yield to her, they grasp her, but she is still before -them, never mastered, never fully known. Let -those for whom conquest is the ideal in love beware -of Venice the incomparable, the uncompassable: -they who would win her must have power -to worship what they cannot comprehend, they -must desire to leave her spirit free. Then she -will unfold her heart to them, she will give herself -in a moment when the pursuit is still. And -to those who can receive the gift, she will give -herself again and yet again; only they must come -freshly expectant of each fresh revelation, not -clinging to past impressions, not claiming a memory -to be revived. For each renewal is a transformation, -and we must bring new senses to -receive it, senses alive and fresh as earth each -morning to the touch of the old sun ever new.</p> - -<p>Venice, when she was most glorious, did but -catch and imprison in her stones those matchless -harmonies of fleeting colour which the sun still -lavishes upon her waters. And there is a season -of the year which, with sun and mist co-operating, -hangs once again her pale walls with their -ancient splendour, and plays a noble part in the -revival of the past. With the first days of autumn -the scirocco begins to wind about the heart of her -plants and creepers, and to steal into their veins.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">321</span> -Swiftly they yield to the intoxication. Under the -folds of the grey mist-mantle, they drink draught -after draught of her brave wine. But another -touch is needed to draw out the virtues of that -liquor: after Circe, Apollo. He bends his look -upon them, and they yield their stores, decking -once more the walls of Venice with frescoes of -scarlet, green and gold, paving once more her -waterways with their old-accustomed pomp. In -the Sacca della Misericordia this natural fresco has -a peculiarly beautiful effect; for upon the spaces -of water between the rafts that float there, the -rich creepers, interwoven among the trees of the -garden of the Spiriti, fling an enchanted carpet of -chequered crimson and green upon a pale rose -ground, covering the whole expanse, save for one -space whereon is set the pale blue watermark of -the sky. One may make rare studies here of the -carpets and bright mats that are to be seen hung -out in the pictures of the old Venetian masters. -They did not copy from the East alone, or rather -they copied from a greater East, whose treasures -travel through a rarer element than water day -after day to the shores of the western world. -The complete stillness of the pools in the Sacca, -undisturbed by any passing steamboat, and even -unruffled by the motion of a gondola, through the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">322</span> -protection of the intervening rafts, gives the rich -pattern a durability unattainable in the waters of -the canals. There is only, as it were, a faint -breathing of the surface, enough to give perpetual -interchange and commerce among the bold brush-strokes -of colour—incessant, subtle weaving of -new harmonies upon the ground-bass—the shadows -deepening or relaxing, when sometimes an insect -dips or a fish rises and starts a fairy circle at -a touch that spreads among the colours until its -delicate life is lost.</p> - -<div id="i_323" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 29em;"> - <img src="images/i_323.jpg" width="1401" height="1908" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">A PALACE DOOR.</div></div> - -<p>And if at times we may thus see the past in the -present, at other times we may dream the present -back into the past. Night, the worker of so many -miracles, holds a key with which we may unlock -in Venice the secret of bygone times. There are -hours on the lagoons when even in daylight the -forgotten ages live again and we may keep company -with whom we will, but in the heart of the -city it is by night that we may lay hand on the -pulse of her ancient life, and feel it warm to our -touch, beating slow but constant behind the commotion, -often the desecration, of later times. The -flow of the Grand Canal is less troubled than by -day: it has intervals of peace in which it may sink -into the broad, dark calm of Carpaccio’s waters. -Palace after palace, in fearless and unstudied alternations<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">325</span><span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">324</span> -of Byzantine, Gothic, Ogival, Renaissance, -Barocco, tower above us, their pillars and balconies -gleaming in faint light of moon or lamp: we seem -almost to trace upon their surface the forms of men -and beasts, and to clothe them once more in the -gold and colour which Venice learned of her lagoons. -By day we feast upon the tints still left to -fall upon the waters, we praise the aged snow of -crumbling stone or the shades of twisted columns, -or the rich profusion of the pale Cà d’Oro. But -what do we know of Venice when she shone upon -the waters in true regality, a monument of all the -glory that the heart or eye of man could conceive? -No one has left us any detailed record of the frescoed -façades of the Venetian palaces, whether on -the Grand Canal or in the remoter waterways; -only here and there we catch a glimpse of them on -the canvases of contemporary painters. It is provokingly -general among the travellers or native-lovers -of Venice, who set themselves to praise her -in words, to find that they have chosen a medium -incapable of achieving what it was asked to do, -and to throw down their weapon in the moment -of trial, struck dumb by the immense wonder of -their theme. They cease from their task before, -it seems to us, they have well begun it, always -anticipating the stinging tongue of the dragon,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">326</span> -Incredulity. We could well forgive them their -inadequacy, so frankly recognised, had they but -attempted a mere catalogue of some of the frescoes -on the walls. Now, it is at night alone that we -can repeople them; that, as we pass along, we can -look up and read into the shadowy spaces those -brilliant chronicles of beauty, power and pride. It -is, indeed, a heavy fate that awaits in Venice the -artist who must work in words; colour and music -can draw nearer, can almost attain to the reality -itself; and yet by words also there is something to -be conveyed of her enduring beauty. The fact -which words can compass may be so told that -there is born from it a sentiment of that rich atmosphere -which is beyond the reach of words; -they may remind or may awaken wonder, itself a -new sense with which to apprehend. Even words -may tell of the water snake of green and gold that -writhes and gleams hour after hour in the faintly -stirred depths of the canal, a creature that in the -world above is a dull grey upright pole; or of -golden treasures, once the refuse of the calli, transformed -to splendour as they float out over the -lagoon; or of the sudden lapping of the water -under the wind down the north lagoon at midnight, -that breaks the smooth image of the moon -into a thousand ripples and passes in a wave that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">327</span> -makes the dim lamps tremble into the narrow -waterways of the city.</p> - -<p>But it is not only the waterways of Venice that -at night are eloquent of the past, that seem to take -once more their ancient shape and venture near -for colloquy: the streets and squares and churches -are full of spirits, not unkindly, not afraid, less silent -and secretive than in the busy day, when they -are lonely among a people careless of them, with -other thoughts, other needs and other destinies. -Many a porch or gable or wide-projecting roof, -or sculpture of fantastic beast or naïve saint or -kneeling angel, seems to step out and call upon us -in the night, catching in us perhaps as we pass by -some touch of sympathy with the enduring soul -of the past. One must be late indeed in Venice -to secure untroubled peace. Ever and again, even -after midnight, the silence of the great white -campos is broken by a group scattered here and -there before the door of a café; voices in eager -talk will echo under a low portico, a sleepy child -will clatter by in wooden pattens. But in the low-beamed, -dimly lighted courts, or on the dark steps -at the water-side, under some deserted sotto-portico, -the sounds of the present strike across us like distant -voices in a dream. The one night that lies -over all the ages draws our spirit into harmony<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">328</span> -with these stones and lapping waters, that have -stood through change and stress of time, that -have outlived solemnity and joyous festival and have -passed from gentle usage and glorious vesture into -the custody of the poorest, into neglect and decay. -What talk have not these courtyards overheard, -what rich vesture has not swept through them, -what noble thoughts and high hopes have not -confided in their silence? And on the dirty steps -where the children sit and play and throw their -refuse into the water, what carpets have not -been spread, what proud feet have not pressed to -pass into the gondola and join the triumphant -processional of Venice in her prime?</p> - -<p>But what of ancient Venice? We sometimes -despair of re-creating her. We ponder on Rialto, -we watch her lights from the lagoons, we go in -and out among her calli, peering into door and -courtyard, climbing an outer stair, penetrating the -recesses of sotto-portico or cellar; and many records -we find of the life which once she lived, but all -belong to the Venice of that second age, when she -was already an established city. We cannot depopulate -her and see again that company of islands -gathered together in the lagoon, of various shapes -and sizes, some covered with wood and undergrowth, -others rising with bare backs from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">329</span> -water, with large and lonely outposts lying at -greater distance here and there. Yet now and -again come days when the spirit even of this remoter -period returns to its well-nigh forgotten -grave, the days when Venice lies under the rule -of the rain-clouds. The inner waterways of the -city lie dead like opaque marble under the dancing -drops; but down the ways that lead from the -lagoons the wind pours strong and restless from -the sea, beating the water against the walls and -into the damp vaults, a challenge from the sea to -the city, from the sea unbridled and insurgent—yet -not insurgent, for it has never submitted to -her sway. Within Venice, along the slippery -streets, there is gloom and desolation; the sun is -the only visitor to whom her heart stands ever -open; she would shut her gates if she could to -these wild beings of cloud and wind, these houseless, -grey pilgrims that, at no bidding of hers, -come and claim lodging with her as they take -their nomad way. I know not what of the old, -wild fisher heart comes to visit Venice in these -days; phantoms of old time are borne in on the -gusty winds from the sea and the lagoon, and -the commanding voice of the sea wind they must -have known so well seems to clothe them with -substantial life. Into the mist vanishes the frescoed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">330</span> -Venice of high pomp and festival, the Venice -of regal Bucintoro and banqueting of kings, of -brilliant policy and stem civic control. A still -deeper oblivion receives the Venice of small joys -and small sorrows, of Longhi and Goldoni; and -the excitement of the formless past creeps into us, -when yet the future was to make—the hard life -of the first dwellers upon the islands, acute and -mobile in their hourly traffic with wind and sea.</p> - -<div id="i_331" class="figcenter" style="max-width: 30em;"> - <img src="images/i_331.jpg" width="1412" height="2008" alt="" /> - <div class="caption">ZATTERE.</div></div> - -<p>There is a corner of Venice little known to the -stranger, or even to Venetians themselves, except -as a passage to the cemetery of San Michele, but -not less loved on that account by those who are -happy enough to have their lot cast there. The -breezes blow with a freshness that is rare in the -more confined spaces of the city or on the Grand -Canal; the tide sets into the Sacca della Misericordia -full and fresh from the northern lagoon, -still beating with the pulse of the open sea. This -favoured, this unique corner of Venice is a large -square basin of water, open on one side to the -lagoon. Venice, at one time, could boast of many -such, but one by one they have been filled in with -earth, and in the sixteenth century, when the -neighbouring Fondamente Nuove were built, the -Sacca della Misericordia itself narrowly escaped -inclusion in the paved parade that was to unite<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">333</span> -the whole of North Venice from Santa Giustina -to Sant’ Alvise. The fiat had gone forth, but -happily it remains as yet unfulfilled, and the Sacca -is still a harbour for the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">zattere</i>, the timber rafts -that are brought down from the mountains, and -set here to season awhile, in sight of their old -home, till at last they are borne away to do service -in the works of man. A tiny hut of planks without -a door is set up here and there upon the rafts, -and a couple of dogs are continually upon the -prowl. Something in this woodyard, the building -of the rafts, the lapping of the inflowing tide -against them, its waves twisted in some angle into -a petulant restlessness, seems to carry us back to -the primeval days before the historic settlement of -the fugitives from the great mainland cities, back -to the manners of the humble fishermen who lived -a hard and frugal life among the low islands of -the Adriatic, in constant commerce with their -patron the sea, in constant vigilance against his -aggression.</p> - -<p>The night-lapping of the waves against the -Sacca della Misericordia calls to mind the two -toiling fishermen of Theocritus, whose life must -have been strangely like that of the first dwellers -on the Rivo Alto. Let us quote from Mr. Andrew -Lang’s translation. “Two fishers on a time together<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">334</span> -lay and slept: they had strown the dry sea-moss -for a bed in their wattled cabin, and there they -lay against the leafy wall. Beside them were -strewn the instruments of their toilsome hands, -the fishing-creels, the rods of reed, the hooks, the -sails bedraggled with sea-spoil, the lines, the weels, -the lobster-pots woven of rushes, the seines, two oars -and an old coble upon props. Beneath their heads -was a scanty matting, their clothes, their sailor’s -caps. Here was all their toil, here all their wealth. -The threshold had never a door, nor a watch-dog: -all things, all to them seemed superfluity, for -Poverty was their sentinel. They had no neighbour -by them, but ever against their narrow cabin gently -floated up the sea.” This is a page for the history -of Venice in her infancy, or rather for the history -of that earlier time when Venice was as yet unborn. -Out among the islands of the lagoon, which on a -calm, vague day of summer seem to hover in the -atmosphere upon a silver haze, among those luminous -paths of chrysophrase and porphyry, mother-of-pearl -and opal, we shall still find some footsteps -of these first Venetians unerased by tract of time.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it is at Sant’ Erasmo that the print is -clearest; there are few materials that we cannot -find here for reconstruction of the primeval settlement. -There are the rush-roofed shelters of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">335</span> -boats and the rude landing-stages; there are the -low, white <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">capane</i> roofed with thatch or tiles, -the long, narrow, stagnant waterways, the high, -grassy levels bordering the water; there are fields -of reeds, and thickets or fringes of rustling poplars; -there are <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">valli</i> where the fish stir and leap and -gleam continuously, breaking the smooth water -into a thousand ripples; there is the broad, central -waterway, and countless lesser channels and pools -among the reeds, where one may see a boat slowly -winding, guided perhaps by children, their little -figures standing out against the desolate landscape, -the silence broken by no voice but theirs. Thus -must Venice have been in her infancy. And if -from among these lonely waterways and grassy -flats of Sant’ Erasmo we look forward into the -future, we can anticipate the gradual evolution of -a city such as Venice was afterwards to be. The -building of the first mud-huts; the driving of the -first close-set clumps of piles to support more solid -structures; the filling of marsh-pools and strengthening -of foundations; the light wooden bridges -thrust across the water, as one may see them on the -Lido to-day; the transition from houses of wood to -houses of brick and stone, from thatch to tiles; the -building of churches on the higher ground, each -with its plot of grass about it; the paving of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">336</span> -the most frequented ways, the construction of -wells and chimneys, of paved campo and fondamenta; -till we reach at last the city of palaces, of -temples and of towers, the city of sumptuous and -varied colour, the <i xml:lang="it" lang="it">Venezia nobilissima</i> of Carpaccio -and Gentile Bellini.</p> - -<div class="chapter"><div class="transnote"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber’s Notes</h2> - -<p>Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made -consistent when a predominant preference was found -in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.</p> - -<p>Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced -quotation marks were remedied when the change was -obvious, and otherwise left unbalanced.</p> - -<p>Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned -between paragraphs and outside quotations. 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