THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 William B. Vasels
 
 THE 
 
 STONES OF VENICE: 
 
 INTRODUCTORY CHAPTERS AND LOCAL INDICES 
 
 (PRINTED SEPARATELY) 
 FOR THE USE OF TRAVELLERS 
 
 WHILE STAVING IN 
 
 VENICE AND VERONA. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN RUSKIN, LL.D., 
 
 HONORARY STUDENT OF CHRIST CHURCH, AND SLADE 1'KOFESSOR 
 OF FINE ART, OXFORD. 
 
 SELECTIONS. 
 
 NEW YORK AND SAINT PAUL: 
 
 D. D. MERRILL COMPANY.
 
 Art 
 Library 
 
 871282
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THIS volume is the first of a series designed 
 by the Author with the purpose of placing in 
 the hands of the public, in more serviceable 
 form, those portions of his earlier works which 
 he thinks deserving of a permanent place in the 
 system of his general teaching. They were at 
 first intended to be accompanied by photographic 
 reductions of the principal plates in the larger 
 volumes; but this design has been modified by 
 the Author's increasing desire to gather his past 
 and present writings into a consistent body, 
 illustrated by one series of plates, purchasable 
 in separate parts, and numbered consecutively. 
 Of other prefatory matter, once intended, 
 apologetic mostly, the reader shall be spared 
 the cumber: and a clear prospectus issued by 
 the publisher of the new series of plates, as soon 
 as they are in a state of forwardness. 
 
 ".
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 The second volume of this edition will con- 
 tain the most useful matter out of the third vol- 
 ume of the old one, closed by its topical index, 
 abridged and corrected. 
 
 BRANTWOOD, 
 
 yd May, 1879.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. The Quarry i 
 
 II. The Throne, - . . S 
 
 III. Torcello, ... 74 
 
 IV. St. Mark's, 94 
 
 V. The Ducal Palace, 195
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 [FIRST OF THE OLD EDITION.] 
 THE QUARRY. 
 
 i. SINCE the first dominion of men was as- 
 serted over the ocean, three thrones, of mark 
 beyond all others, have been set upon its sands: 
 the thrones of Tyre, Venice, and England. Of 
 the First of these great powers only the memory 
 remains; of the Second, the ruin; the Third, 
 which inherits their greatness, if it forget their 
 example, may be led through prouder eminence 
 to less pitied destruction. 
 
 The exaltation, the sin, and the punishment 
 of Tyre have been recorded for us, in perhaps 
 the most touching words ever uttered by the 
 Prophets of Israel against the cities of the 
 stranger. But we read them as a lovely song; 
 and close our ears to the sternness of their warn-
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 ing: for the very depth of the Fall of Tyre has 
 blinded us to its reality, and we forget, as we 
 watch the bleaching of the rocks between the 
 sunshine and the sea, that they were once " as 
 in Eden, the garden of God." 
 
 Her successor, like her in perfection of beauty, 
 though less in endurance of dominion, is still 
 left for our beholding in the final period of her 
 decline: a ghost upon the sands of the sea, so 
 weak so quiet, so bereft of all but her loveli- 
 ness, that we might well doubt, as we watched 
 her faint reflection in the mirage of the lagoon, 
 which was the City, and which the Shadow. 
 
 I would endeavor to trace the lines of this 
 image before it be for ever lost, and to record, 
 as far as I may, the warning which seems to me 
 to be uttered by every one of the fast-gaining 
 waves, that beat, like passing bells, against the 
 STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 ii. It would be difficult to overrate the value 
 of the lessons which might be derived from a 
 faithful study of the history of this strange and 
 mighty city: a history which, in spite of the 
 labor of countless chroniclers, remains in vague 
 and disputable outline, barred with brightness 
 and shade, like the far away edge of her own 
 ocean, where the surf and the sand-bank are 
 mingled with the sky. The inquiries in which 
 we have to engage will hardly render this out-
 
 THE QUARRY. 3 
 
 line clearer, but their results will, in some de- 
 gree, alter its aspect; and, so far as they bear 
 upon it at all, they possess an interest of a far 
 higher kind than that usually belonging to archi- 
 tectural investigations. I may, perhaps, in the 
 outset, and in few words, enable the general 
 reader to form a clearer idea of the importance 
 of every existing expression of Venetian charac- 
 ter through Venetian art, and of the breadth of 
 interest which the true history of Venice em- 
 braces, than he is likely to have gleaned from 
 the current fables of her mystery or magnifi- 
 cence. 
 
 in. Venice is usually conceived as an oli- 
 garchy: She was so during a period less than 
 the half of her existence, and that including the 
 days of her decline; and it is one of the first 
 questions needing severe examination, whether 
 that decline was owing in any wise to the change 
 in the form of her government, or altogether, as 
 assuredly in great part, to changes, in the char- 
 acter of the persons of whom it was composed. 
 
 The state of Venice existed Thirteen Hun- 
 dred and Seventy-six years, from the first estab- 
 lishment of a consular government on the island 
 of the Rialto,* to the moment when the General- 
 in-chief of the French army of Italy pronounced 
 
 * Appendix I., " Foundations of Venice."
 
 4 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the Venetian republic a thing of the past. Of 
 this period, Two Hundred and Seventy-six 
 years* were passed in a nominal subjection to the 
 cities of old Venetia, especially to Padua, and 
 in an agitated form of democracy, of which the 
 executive appears to have been entrusted to 
 tribunes,! chosen, one by the inhabitants of each 
 of the principal islands. For six hundred years, \ 
 during which the power of Venice was continu- 
 ally on the increase, her government was an elec- 
 tive monarchy, her King or doge possessing, in 
 early times at least, as much independent au- 
 thority as any other European sovereign, but an 
 authority gradually subjected to limitation, and 
 shortened almost daily of its prerogatives, while 
 it increased in a spectral and incapable magnifi- 
 cence. The final government of the nobles, 
 under the image of a king, lasted for five hun- 
 dred years, during which Venice reaped the 
 fruits of her former energies, consumed them, 
 and expired. 
 
 iv. Let the reader therefore conceive the 
 existence of the Venetian state as broadly di- 
 vided into two periods: the first of nine hundred, 
 the second of five hundred years, the separation 
 being marked by what was called the " Serrar 
 
 * Appendix II., " Power of the Doges." 
 
 f Sismondi, Hist, des Rep. Ital., vol. i. ch. v. 
 
 \ Appendix III.. " Serrar del Consiglio."
 
 THE QUARRY. 5 
 
 del Consiglio;" that is to say, the final and abso- 
 lute distinction of the nobles from the common- 
 alty, and the establishment of the government in 
 their hands to the exclusion alike of the influence 
 of the people on the one side, and the authority 
 of the doge on the other. 
 
 Then the first period, of nine hundred years, 
 presents us with the most interesting spectacle 
 of a people struggling out of anarchy into order 
 and power; and then governed, for the most 
 part, by the worthiest and noblest man whom 
 they could find among them,* called their Doge 
 or Leader, with an aristocracy gradually and 
 resolutely forming itself around him, out of 
 which, and at last by which, he was chosen; an 
 aristocracy owing its origin to the accidental 
 numbers, influence, and wealth of some among 
 the families of the fugitives from the older Vene- 
 tia, and gradually organizing itself, by its unity 
 and heroism, into a separate body. 
 
 This first period includes the rise of Venice, 
 her noblest achievements, and the circumstances 
 which determined her character and position 
 among European powers; and within its range, 
 as might have been anticipated, we find the 
 
 * " Ha saputo trovar modo che non uno, non pochi, 
 non molti, signoreggiano, ma mold buoni, pochi migliori, 
 e insiememente, un ottimo solo." (Sansovino.) Ah, well 
 done, Venice! Wisdom this, indeed.
 
 THE STOA r ES OF VENICE. 
 
 names of all her hero princes, of Pietro Urseolo, 
 Ordalafo Falier, Domenico Michieli, Sebastiano 
 Ziani, and Enrico Dandolo. 
 
 v. The second period opens with a hundred 
 and twenty years, th.e most eventful in the career 
 of Venice the central struggle of her life 
 stained with her darkest crime, the murder of 
 Carrara disturbed by her most dangerous in- 
 ternal sedition, the conspiracy of Falier op- 
 pressed by her most fatal war, the war of Chiozza 
 and distinguished by the glory of her two 
 noblest citizene (for in this period the heroism 
 of her citizens replaces that of her monarchs), 
 Vittor Pisani and Carlo Zeno. 
 
 I date the commencement of the Fall of Ven- 
 ice from the death of Carlo Zeno, 8th May, 
 1418; * the visible commencement from that of 
 another of her noblest and wisest children, the 
 Uoge Tomaso Mocenigo, who expired five years 
 later. The reign of Foscari followed, gloomy 
 with pestilence and war; a war in which large 
 acquisitions of territory were made by subtle or 
 fortunate policy in Lombardy, and disgrace, sig- 
 nificant as irreparable, sustained in the battles 
 on the Po at Cremona, and in the marshes of 
 Caravaggio. In 1454, Venice, the first of the 
 states of Christendom, humiliated herself to the 
 
 * Daru, liv. xii. ch. xii.
 
 THE QUARRY. ^ 
 
 Turk: in the same year was established the In- 
 quisition of State,* and from this period her 
 government takes the perfidious and mysterious 
 form under which it is usually conceived. In 
 1477, tne g rea t Turkish invasion spread terror 
 to the shores of the lagoons; and in 1508 the 
 league of Cambrai marks the period usually as- 
 signed as the commencement of the decline of 
 the Venetian power; f the commercial prosperity 
 of Venice in the close of the fifteenth century 
 blinding her historians to the previous evidence 
 of the diminution of her internal strength. 
 
 vi. Now there is apparently a significative 
 coincidence between the establishment of the 
 aristocratic and oligarchical powers, and the 
 diminution of the prosperity of the state. But 
 this is the very question at issue; and it appears 
 to me quite undetermined by any historian, or 
 determined by each in accordance with his own 
 prejudices. It is a triple question: first, whether 
 the oligarchy established by the efforts of indi- 
 
 * Daru, liv. xvi. cap. xx. We owe to this historian 
 the discovery of the statutes of the tribunal and date of 
 its establishment. 
 
 f Ominously signified by their humiliation to the Papal 
 power (as before to the Turkish) in 1 509, and their aban- 
 donment of their right of appointing the clergy of their 
 territories.
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 vidual ambition was the cause, in its subsequent 
 operation, of the Fall of Venice; or (secondly) 
 whether the establishment of the oligarchy itself 
 be not the sign and evidence, rather than the 
 cause, of national enervation; or (lastly) whether, 
 as I rather think, the history of Venice might 
 not be written almost without reference to the 
 construction of her senate or the prerogatives of 
 her Doge. It is the history of a people emi- 
 nently at unity in itself, descendants of Roman 
 race, long disciplined by adversity, and com- 
 pelled by its position either to live nobly or to 
 perish: for a thousand years they fought for 
 life; for three hundred they invited death: their 
 battle was rewarded, and their call was heard. 
 
 vii. Throughout her career, the victories of 
 Venice, and, at many periods of it, her safety, 
 were purchased by individual heroism; and the 
 man who exalted or saved her was sometimes 
 (oftenest) her king, sometimes a noble, some- 
 times a citizen. To him no matter, nor to her: 
 the real question is, not so much what names 
 they bore, or with what powers they were en- 
 trusted, as how they were trained; how they 
 were made masters of themselves, servants of 
 their country, patient of distress, impatient of 
 dishonor; and what was the true reason of the 
 change from the time when she could find sav- 
 iours among those whom she had cast into prison,
 
 THE QUARRY. 9 
 
 to that when the voices of her own children 
 commanded her to sign covenant with Death.* 
 
 VIIL On this collateral question I wish the 
 reader's mind to be fixed throughout all our sub- 
 sequent inquiries. It will give double interest to 
 every detail: nor will the interest be profitless; 
 for the evidence which I shall be able to deduce 
 from the arts of Venice will be both frequent 
 and irrefragable, that the decline of her political 
 prosperity was exactly coincident with that of 
 domestic and individual religion. 
 
 I say domestic and individual; for and this 
 is the second point which I wish the reader to 
 keep in mind the most curious phenomenon in 
 all Venetian history is the vitality of religion in 
 private life, and its deadness in public policy. 
 Amidst the enthusiasm, chivalry, or fanaticism 
 of the other states of Europe, Venice stands, 
 from first to last, like a masked statue; her cold- 
 ness impenetrable, her exertion only aroused by 
 the touch of a secret spring. That spring was her 
 commercial interest, this the one motive of all 
 her important political acts, or enduring national 
 animosities. She could forgive insults to her 
 honor, but never rivalship in her commerce; she 
 calculated the glory of her conquests by their 
 value, and estimated their justice by their facility. 
 
 * The senate voted the abdication of their authority by 
 a majority of 512 to 14. (Alison, ch. xxiii.)
 
 IO THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 The fame of success remains, when the motives 
 of attempt are forgotten; and the casual reader 
 of her history may perhaps be surprised to be 
 reminded, that the expedition which was com- 
 manded by the noblest of her princes, and whose 
 results added most to her military glory, was one 
 in which while all Europe around her was wasted 
 by the fire of its devotion, she first calculated 
 the highest price she could exact from its piety 
 for the armament she furnished, and then, for 
 the advancement of her own private interests, at 
 once broke her faith* and betrayed her religion. 
 ix. And yet, in the midst of this national 
 criminality, we shall be struck again and again 
 by the evidences of the most noble individual 
 feeling. The tears of Dandolo were not shed 
 in hypocrisy, though they could not blind him 
 to the importance of the conquest of Zara. The 
 habit of assigning to religion a direct influence 
 over all his own actions, and all the affairs of 
 his own daily life, is remarkable in every great 
 Venetian during the times of the prosperity of 
 the state; nor are instances wanting in which 
 the private feeling of the citizens reaches the 
 sphere of their policy, and even becomes the 
 guide of its course where the scales of expe- 
 diency are doubtfully balanced. I sincerely trust 
 
 * By directing the arms of the Crusaders against a 
 Christian prince. (Daru, liv. iv. ch. iv. viii.)
 
 THE QUARRY. II 
 
 that the inquirer would be disappointed who 
 should endeavor to trace any more immediate 
 reasons for their adoption of the cause of Alex- 
 ander III. against Barbarossa, than the piety 
 which was excited by the character of their 
 suppliant, and the noble pride which was pro- 
 voked by the insolence of the emperor. But 
 the heart of Venice is shown only in her hastiest 
 councils; her worldly spirit recovers the ascen- 
 dency whenever she has time to calculate the 
 probabilities of advantage, or when they are 
 sufficiently distinct to need no calculation; and 
 the entire subjection of private piety to national 
 policy is not only remarkable throughout the 
 almost endless series of treacheries and tyran- 
 nies by which her empire was enlarged and 
 maintained, but symbolized by a very singular 
 circumstance in the building of the city itself. 
 I am aware of no other city of Europe in which 
 its cathedral was not the principal feature. But 
 the principal church in Venice was the chapel 
 attached to the palace of her prince, and called 
 the " Chiesa Ducale." The patriarchal church,* 
 inconsiderable in size and mean in decoration, 
 stands on the outermost islet of the Venetian 
 group, and its name, as well as its site, is prob- 
 ably unknown to the greater number of travel- 
 
 * Appendix 4, " San Pietro di Castello."
 
 12 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 lers passing hastily through the city. Nor is it 
 less worthy of remark, that the two most im- 
 portant temples of Venice, next to the ducal 
 chapel, owe their size and magnificence, not to 
 national effort, but to the energy of the Francis- 
 can and Dominican monks, supported by the 
 vast organization of those great societies on the 
 mainland of Italy, and countenanced by the 
 most pious, and perhaps also, in his generation, 
 the most wise, of all the princes of Venice,* who 
 now rests beneath the roof of one of those very 
 temples, and whose life is not satirized by the 
 images of the Virtues which a Tuscan sculptor 
 has placed around his tomb. 
 
 x. There are, therefore, two strange and 
 solemn lights in which we have to regard almost 
 every scene in the fitful history of the Rivo Alto. 
 We find, on the one hand, a deep and constant 
 tone of individual religion characterizing the 
 lives of the citizens of Venice in her greatness; 
 we find this spirit influencing them in all the 
 familiar and immediate concerns of life, giving 
 a peculiar dignity to the conduct even of their 
 commercial transactions, and confessed by them 
 with a simplicity of faith that may well put to 
 shame the hesitation with which a man of the 
 world at present admits (even if it be so in 
 
 * Tomaso Mocenigo, above named, v.
 
 THE QUARRY. 1 3 
 
 reality) that religious feeling has any influence 
 over the minor branches of his conduct. And 
 we find as the natural consequence of all this, 
 a healthy serenity of mind and energy of will 
 expressed in all their actions, and a habit of 
 heroism which never fails them, even when the 
 immediate motive of action ceases to be praise- 
 worthy. With the fulness of this spirit the 
 prosperity of the state is exactly correspondent, 
 and with its failure her decline, and that with a 
 closeness and precision which it will be one of 
 the collateral objects of the following essay to 
 demonstrate from such accidental evidence as 
 the field of its inquiry presents. And, thus far, 
 all is natural and simple. But the stopping 
 short of this religious faith when it appears 
 likely to influence national action, correspond- 
 ent as it is, and that most strikingly, with sev- 
 eral characteristics of the temper of our pres- 
 ent English legislature, is a subject, morally and 
 politically, of the most curious interest and 
 complicated difficulty; one, however, which the 
 range of my present inquiry will not permit me 
 to approach, and for the treatment of which I 
 must be content to furnish materials in the light 
 I may be able to throw upon the private tenden- 
 cies of the Venetian character. 
 
 xi. There is, however, another most inter- 
 esting feature in the policy of Venice which
 
 14 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 will be often brought before us; and which a 
 Romanist would gladly assign as the reason of 
 its irreligion; namely, the magnificent and suc- 
 cessful struggle which she maintained against 
 the temporal authority of the Church of Rome. 
 It is true that, in a rapid survey of her career, the 
 eye is at first arrested by the strange drama to 
 which I have already alluded, closed by that ever 
 memorable scene in the portico of St. Mark's,* 
 the central expression in most men's thoughts 
 of the unendurable elevation of the pontifical 
 power; it is crue that the proudest thoughts 
 of Venice, as well as the insignia of her prince, 
 and the form of her chief festival, recorded the 
 service thus rendered to the Roman Church. 
 But the enduring sentiment of years more than 
 balanced the enthusiasm of a moment; and the 
 
 * " In that temple porch, 
 (The brass is gone, the porphyry remains,) 
 Did BARBAROSSA fling his mantle off, 
 And kneeling, on his neck receive the foot 
 Of the proud Pontiff thus at last consoled 
 For flight, disguise, and many an aguish shake 
 On his stony pillow." 
 
 I need hardly say whence the lines are taken: Rogers' 
 " Italy" has, I believe, now a place in the best beloved 
 compartment of all libraries, and will never be removed 
 from it. There is more true expression of the spirit of 
 Venice in the passages devoted to her in that poem, than 
 in all else that has been written of her.
 
 THE QUARRY. 1 5 
 
 bull of Clement V., which excommunicated the 
 Venetians and their doge, likening them to 
 Dathan, Abiram, Absalom, and Lucifer, is a 
 stronger evidence of the great tendencies of the 
 Venetian government than the umbrella of the 
 doge or the ring of the Adriatic. The humil- 
 iation of Francesco Dandolo blotted out the 
 shame of Barbarossa, and the total exclusion of 
 ecclesiastics from all share in the councils of 
 Venice became an enduring mark of her knowl- 
 edge of the spirit of the Church of Rome, and 
 of her defiance of it. 
 
 To this exclusion of Papal influence from her 
 councils, the Romanist will attribute their irre- 
 ligion, and the Protestant their success.* The 
 first may be silenced by a reference to the char- 
 acter of the policy of the Vatican itself; and the 
 second by his own shame, when he reflects that 
 the English legislature sacrificed their principles 
 to expose themselves to the very danger which 
 the Venetian senate sacrificed theirs to avoid. 
 
 xn. One more circumstance remains to be 
 noted respecting the Venetian government, the 
 singular unity of the families composing it, 
 unity far from sincere or perfect, but still ad- 
 mirable when contrasted with the fiery feuds, the 
 
 * At least, such success as they had. Vide Appendix 5> 
 " The Papal Power in Venice."
 
 1 6 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 almost daily revolutions, the restless successions 
 of families and parties in power, which fill the 
 annals of the other states of Italy. That rival- 
 ship should sometimes be ended by the dagger, 
 or enmity conducted to its ends under the mask 
 of law, could not but be anticipated where the 
 fierce Italian spirit was subjected to so severe 
 a restraint: it is much that jealousy appears us- 
 ually unmingled with illegitimate ambition, and 
 that, for every instance in which private passion 
 sought its gratification through public danger, 
 there are a thousand in which it was sacrificed 
 to the public advantage. Venice may well call 
 upon us to note with reverence, that of all the 
 towers which are still seen rising like a branchless 
 forest from her islands, there is but one whose 
 office was other than that of summoning to 
 prayer, and that one was a watch-tower only: f 
 from first to last, while the palaces of the other 
 cities of Italy were lifted into sullen fortitudes 
 of rampart, and fringed with forked battlements 
 for the javelin and the bow, the sands of Venice 
 never sank under the weight of a war tower, 
 and her roof terraces were wreathed with Ara- 
 bian imagery, of golden globes suspended on the 
 leaves of lilies.* 
 
 f [Thus literally was fulfilled the promise to St. Mark, 
 Pax e.] 
 
 * The inconsiderable fortifications of the arsenal are no
 
 THE QUARRY. I/ 
 
 | xni. These, then, appear to me to be the 
 points of chief general Interest in the character 
 and fate of the Venetian people. I would 
 next endeavor to give the reader some idea of 
 the manner in which the testimony of Art bears 
 upon these questions, and of the aspect which 
 the arts themselves assume when they are re- 
 garded in their true connection with the history 
 of the state. 
 
 ist. Receive the witness of Painting. 
 
 It will be remembered that I put the com- 
 mencement of the Fall of Venice as far back as 
 1418. 
 
 Now, John Bellini was born in 1423, and 
 Titian in 1480. John Bellini, and his brother 
 Gentile, two years older than he, close the line 
 of the sacred painters of Venice. But the most 
 solemn spirit of religious faith animates their 
 works to the last. There is no religion in any 
 work of Titian's: there is not even the smallest 
 evidence of religious temper or sympathies either 
 in himself, or in those for whom he painted. 
 His larger sacred subjects are merely themes 
 for the exhibition of pictorial rhetoric, com- 
 position and color. His minor works are gen- 
 erally made subordinate to purposes of portrait- 
 exception to this statement, as far as it regards the city 
 itself. They are little more than a semblance of precau- 
 tion against the attack of a foreign enemy.
 
 1 8 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 ure. The Madonna in the church of the Frari 
 is a mere lay figure, introduced to form a link of 
 connection between the portraits of various mem- 
 bers of the Pesaro family who surround her. 
 
 Now this is not merely because John Bellini 
 was a religious man and Titian was not. Titian 
 and Bellini are each true representatives of the 
 school of painters contemporary with them; and 
 the difference in their artistic feeling is a conse- 
 quence not so much of difference in their own 
 natural characters as in their early education: 
 Bellini was brought up in faith; Titian-in for- 
 malism. Between the years of their births the 
 vital religion of Venice had expired. 
 
 xiv. The vital religion, observe, not the for- 
 mal. Outward observance was as strict as ever; 
 and doge and senator still were painted, in al- 
 most every important instance, kneeling before 
 the Madonna or St. Mark; a confession of faith 
 made universal by the pure gold of the Venetian 
 sequin. But observe the great picture of Titian's 
 in the ducal palace, of the Doge Antonio Gri- 
 mani kneeling before Faith: there is a curious 
 lesson in it. The figure of Faith is a coarse 
 portrait of one of Titian's least graceful female 
 models: Faith had become carnal. The eye is 
 first caught by the flash of the Doge's armor. 
 The heart of Venice was in her wars, not in her 
 worship.
 
 THE QUARRY. 19 
 
 The mind of Tintoret, incomparably more 
 deep and serious than that of Titian, casts the 
 solemnity of its own tone over the sacred sub- 
 jects which it approaches, and sometimes forgets 
 itself into devotion; but the principle of treat- 
 ment is altogether the same as Titian's: absolute 
 subordination of the religious subject to pur- 
 poses of decoration or portraiture. 
 
 The evidence might be accumulated a thou- 
 sandfold from the works of Veronese, and of 
 every succeeding painter, that the fifteenth 
 century had taken away the religious heart of 
 Venice. 
 
 xv. Such is the evidence of Painting. To 
 collect that of Architecture will be our task 
 through many a page to come; but I must here 
 give a general idea of its heads. 
 
 Philippe de Commynes, writing of his entry 
 into Venice in 1495, says, 
 
 " Chascun me feit seoir au meillieu de ces 
 deux ambassadeurs qui est 1'honneur d'ltalie 
 que d'estre au meillieu; et me menerent au long 
 de la grant rue, qu'ilz appellent le Canal Grant, 
 et est bien large. Les gallees y passent a travers 
 et y ay veu navire de quatre cens tonneaux ou 
 plus pres des maisons: et est la plus belle rue 
 que je croy qui soit en tout le monde, et la 
 mieulx maisonnee, et va le long de la ville. Les 
 maisons sont fort grandes et haultes, et de bonne
 
 20 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 pierre, et les anciennes toutes painctes; les aul 
 tres faictes depuis cent ans: toutes ont le devant 
 de marbre blanc, qui leur vient d'Istrie, a cent 
 mils de la, et encores maincte grant piece de 
 porphire et de sarpentine sur le devant. . . . 
 C'est la plus triumphante cite que j'aye jamais 
 veue et qui plus faict d'honneur a ambassadeurs 
 et estrangiers, et qui plus saigement se gouverne, 
 et oii le service de Dieu est le plus sollempnelle- 
 ment faict: et encores qu'il y peust bien avoir 
 d'aultres faultes, si croy je que Dieu les a en 
 ayde pour la reverence qu'ilz portent au service 
 de 1'Eglise."* 
 
 xvi. This passage is of peculiar interest, for 
 two reasons. Observe, first, the impression of 
 Commynes respecting the religion of Venice: of 
 which, as I have above said, the forms still, re- 
 mained with some glimmering of life in them, 
 and were the evidence of what the real life had 
 been in former times. But observe, secondly, 
 the impression instantly made on Commynes' 
 mind by the distinction between the elder pal- 
 aces and those built " within this last hundred 
 years; which all have their fronts of white mar- 
 ble brought from Istria, a hundred miles away, 
 and besides, many a large piece of porphyry and 
 serpentine upon their fronts." 
 
 *Memoiresde Commynes, liv. vii.. ch. xviii.
 
 THE QUARRY. 21 
 
 On the opposite page I have given two o. the 
 ornaments of the palaces which so struck the 
 French ambassador.* He was right in his notice 
 of the distinction. There had indeed come a 
 change over Venetian architecture in the fif- 
 teenth century; and a change of some impor- 
 tance to us moderns: we English owe to it our 
 St. Paul's Cathedral, and Europe in general 
 owes to it the utter degradation or destruction of 
 her schools of architecture, never since revived. 
 But that the reader may understand this, it is 
 necessary that he should have some general idea 
 of the connection of the architecture of Venice 
 with that of the rest of Europe, from its origin 
 forwards. 
 
 xvn. All European architecture, bad and 
 good, old and new, is derived from Greece 
 through Rome, and colored and perfected from 
 the East. The history of architecture is noth- 
 ing but the tracing of the various modes and 
 directions of this derivation. Understand this, 
 once for all: if you hold fast this great connect- 
 ing clue, you may string all the types of succes- 
 sive architectural invention upon it like so many 
 beads. The Doric and the Corinthian orders 
 are the roots, the one of all Romanesque, massy - 
 capitaled buildings Norman, Lombard, Byzan- 
 
 * Appendix 6, " Renaissance Ornaments."
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 tine, and what else you can name of the kind; 
 and the Corinthian of all Gothic, Early English, 
 French, German, and Tuscan. Now observe: 
 those old Greeks gave the shaft; Rome gave the 
 arch; the Arabs pointed and foliated the arch. 
 The shaft and arch, the frame-work and strength 
 of architecture, are from the race of Japhethi 
 the spirituality and sanctity of it from Ismael, 
 Abraham, and Shem. 
 
 9 xvni. There is high probability that the 
 Greek received his shaft system from Egypt; 
 but I do not care to keep this earlier derivation 
 in the mind of the reader. It is only necessary 
 that he should be able to refer to a fixed point 
 of origin, when the form of the shaft was first 
 perfected. But it may be incidently observed, 
 that if the Greeks did indeed receive their Doric 
 from Egypt, then the three families of the earth 
 have each contributed their part to its noblest 
 architecture: and Ham, the servant of the others, 
 furnishes the sustaining or bearing member, the 
 shaft; Japheth the arch; Shem the spiritualiza- 
 tion of both. 
 
 xix. I have said that the two orders, Doric 
 and Corinthian, are the roots of all European 
 architecture. You have, perhaps, heard of five 
 orders; but there are only two real orders, and 
 there never can be any more until doomsday. 
 On one of these orders the ornament is convex:
 
 THE QUARRY. 2$ 
 
 those are Doric, Norman, and what else you 
 recollect of the kind. On the other the orna- 
 ment is concave: those are Corinthian, Early 
 English, Decorated, and what else you recollect 
 of that kind. The transitional form, in which 
 the ornamental line is straight, is the centre or 
 root of both. All other orders are varieties of 
 those, or phantasms and grotesques altogether 
 indefinite in number and species.* 
 
 xx. This Greek architecture, then, with its 
 two orders, was clumsily copied and varied by 
 the Romans with no particular result, until they 
 begun to bring the arch into extensive practical 
 service; except only that the Doric capital was 
 spoiled in endeavors to mend it, and the Corinth- 
 ian much varied and enriched with fanciful, and 
 often very beautiful imagery. And in this state 
 of things came Christianity: seized upon the arch 
 as her own; decorated it, and delighted in it; 
 invented a new Doric capital to replace the 
 spoiled Roman one: and all over the Roman 
 empire set to work, with such materials as were 
 nearest at hand, to express and adorn herself as 
 best she could. This Roman Christian architect- 
 ure is the exact expression of the Christianity 
 of the time, very fervid and beautiful but very 
 imperfect; in many respects ignorant, and yet 
 
 * Appendix 7, "Varieties of the Orders."
 
 24 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 radiant with a strong, childlike light of imagina- 
 tion, which flames up under Constantine, illu- 
 mines all the shores of the Bosphorus and the 
 ygean and the Adriatic Sea, and then gradu- 
 ally, as the people give themselves up to idola- 
 try, becomes Corpse-light. The architecture 
 sinks into a settled form a strange, gilded, and 
 embalmed repose: it, with the religion it ex- 
 pressed; and so would have remained for ever, 
 so does remain, where its languor has been un- 
 disturbed.* But rough wakening was ordained 
 xxi. This Christian art of the declining 
 empire is divided into two great branches, west- 
 ern and eastern; one centred at Rome, the other 
 at Byzantium, of which the one is the early 
 Christian Romanesque, properly so called, and 
 the other, carried to higher imaginative perfec- 
 tion by Greek workmen, is distinguished from it 
 as Byzantine. But I wish the reader, for the 
 present, to class these two branches of art to- 
 gether in his mind, they being, in points of main 
 importance, the same; that is to say, both of 
 them a true continuance and sequence of the art 
 of old Rome itself, flowing uninterruptedly down 
 
 *The reader will find the weak points of Byzantine 
 architecture shrewdly seized, and exquisitely sketched, in 
 the opening chapter of the most delightful book of travels 
 I ever opened, Curzon's " Monasteries of the Levant." 
 for it.
 
 THE QUARRY. 2$ 
 
 from the fountain-head, and entrusted always to 
 the best workmen who could be found Latins 
 in Italy and Greeks in Greece; and thus both 
 branches may be ranged under the general term 
 of Christian Romanesque, an architecture which 
 had lost the refinement of Pagan art in the deg- 
 radation of the empire, but which was elevated 
 by Christianity to higher aims, and by the fancy 
 of the Greek workmen endowed with brighter 
 forms. And this art the reader may conceive as 
 extending in its various branches over all the 
 central provinces of the empire, taking aspects 
 more or less refined, according to its proximity 
 to the seats of government; dependent for all its 
 power on the vigor and freshness of the religion 
 which animated it; and as that vigor and purity 
 departed, losing its own vitality, and sinking into 
 nerveless rest, not deprived of its beauty, but 
 benumbed and incapable of advance or change. 
 xxii. Meantime there had been preparation 
 for its renewal. While in Rome and Constanti- 
 nople, and in the districts ander their immediate 
 influence, this Roman art of pure descent was 
 practised in all its refinement, an impure form of 
 it a patois of Romanesque was carried by in- 
 ferior workmen into distant provinces; and still 
 ruder imitations of this patois were executed by 
 the barbarous nations on the skirts of the empire. 
 But these barbarous nations were in the strength
 
 26 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 of their youth; and while, in the centre of Eu- 
 rope, a refined and purely descended art was 
 sinking into graceful formalism, on its confines 
 a barbarous and borrowed art was organizing it- 
 self into strength and consistency. The reader 
 must therefore consider the history of the work 
 of the period as broadly divided into two great 
 heads: the one embracing the elaborately languid 
 succession of the Christian art of Rome; and 
 the other, the imitations of it executed by na- 
 tions in every conceivable phase of early organi- 
 zation, on the edges of the empire, or included 
 in its now merely nominal extent. 
 
 xxin. Some of the barbaric nations were, of 
 course, not susceptible of this influence; and 
 when they burst over the Alps, appear, like the 
 Huns, as scourges only, or mix, as the Ostro- 
 goths, with the enervated Italians, and give 
 physical strength to the mass with which they 
 mingle, without materially affecting its intellect- 
 ual character. But others, both south and north 
 of the empire, had felt its influence, back to the 
 beach of the Indian Ocean on the one hand, and 
 to the ice creeks of the North Sea on the other. 
 On the north and west the influence was of the 
 Latins; on the south and east, of the Greeks. 
 Two nations, pre-eminent above all the rest, 
 represent to us the force of derived mind on 
 either side. As the central power is eclipsed,
 
 THE QUARRY. 2 7 
 
 the orbs of reflected light gather into their ful- 
 ness; and when sensuality and idolatry had done 
 their work, and the religion of the empire was 
 laid asleep in a glittering sepulchre, the living 
 light rose upon both horizons, and the fierce 
 swords of the Lombard and Arab were shaken 
 over its golden paralysis. 
 
 xxiv. The work of the Lombard was to 
 give hardihood and system to the enervated; 
 body and enfeebled mind of Christendom; that 
 of the Arab was to punish idolatry, and to pro- 
 claim the spirituality of worship. The Lombard 
 covered every church which he built with the 
 sculptured representations of bodily exercises 
 hunting and war.* The Arab banished all im- 
 agination of creature form from his temples, and 
 proclaimed from their minarets, " There is no 
 god but God." Opposite in their character and 
 mission, alike in their magnificence of energy, 
 they came from the North, and from the South, 
 the glacier torrent and the lava stream: they 
 met and contended over the wreck of the Ro- 
 man empire; and the very centre of the strug- 
 gle, the point of pause of both, the dead water 
 of the opposite eddies, charged with embayed 
 fragments of the Roman wreck, is VENICE. 
 
 The Ducal palace of Venice contains the 
 three elements in exactly equal proportions 
 * Appendix 8, " The Northern Energy."
 
 28 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the Roman, Lombard, and Arab. It is the cen- 
 tral building of the world. 
 
 xxv. The reader will now being to under- 
 stand something of the importance of the study 
 of the edifices of a city which includes, within 
 the circuit of some seven or eight miles, the field 
 of contest between the three pre-eminent archi- 
 tectures of the world: each architecture ex- 
 pressing a condition of religion ; each an errone- 
 ous condition, yet necessary to the correction 
 of the others, and corrected by them. 
 
 xxvi. It will be part of my endeavor, in 
 the following work, to mark the various modes 
 in which the northern and southern architect- 
 ures were developed from the Roman: here I 
 must pause only to name the distinguishing 
 characteristics of the great families. The Chris- 
 tian Roman and Byzantine work is round-arched, 
 with single and well-proportioned shafts; capi- 
 tals imitated from classical Roman; mouldings 
 more or less so; and large surfaces of walls en- 
 tirely covered with imagery, mosaic, and paint- 
 ings, whether of scripture history or of sacred 
 symbols. 
 
 The Arab school is at first the same in its 
 principal features, the Byzantine workmen being 
 employed by the caliphs; but the Arab rapidly 
 introduces characters half Persepolitan, half 
 Egyptian, into the shafts and capitals: in his in-
 
 THE QUARRY. 2Q 
 
 tense love of excitement he points the arch and 
 writhes it into extravagant foliations; he ban- 
 ishes the animal imagery, and invents an orna- 
 mentation of his own (called Arabesque) to re- 
 place it: this not being adapted for covering 
 large surfaces, he concentrates it on features of 
 interest, and bars his surfaces with horizontal 
 lines of color, the expression of the level of the 
 Desert. He retains the dome, and adds the 
 minaret. All is done with exquisite refinement. 
 
 xxvii. The changes effected by the Lom- 
 bard are more curious still, for they are in the 
 anatomy of the building, more than its decora- 
 tion. The Lombard architecture represents, as 
 I said, the whole of that of the northern bar- 
 baric nations. And this I believe was, at first, 
 an imitation in wood of the Christian Roman 
 churches or basilicas. Without staying to ex- 
 amine the whole structure of a basilica, the 
 reader will easily understand thus much of it: 
 that it had a nave and two aisles, the nave 
 much higher than the aisles; that the nave was 
 separated from the aisles by rows of shafts, 
 which supported, above, large spaces of flat or 
 dead wall, rising above the aisles, and forming 
 the upper part of the nave, now called the clere- 
 story, which had a gabled wooden roof. 
 
 These high dead walls were, in Roman work, 
 built of stone; but in the wooden work of the
 
 30 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 North, they must necessarily have been made of 
 horizontal boards or timbers attached to up- 
 rights on the top of the nave pillars, which were 
 themselves also of wood.* Now, these uprights 
 were necessarily thicker than the rest of the tim- 
 bers, and formed vertical square pilasters above 
 the nave piers. As Christianity extended and 
 civilization increased, these wooden structures 
 were changed into stone; but they were literally 
 petrified, retaining the form which had been 
 made necessary by their being of wood. The 
 upright pilaster above the nave pier remains in 
 the stone edifice, and is the first form of the 
 great distinctive feature of Northern architect- 
 ure the vaulting shaft. In that form the 
 Lombards brought it into Italy, in the seventh 
 century, and it remains to this day in St. Am- 
 brogio of Milan, and St. Michele of Pavia. 
 
 xxvin. When the vaulting shaft was intro- 
 duced in the clerestory walls, additional mem- 
 bers were added for its support to the nave piers. 
 Perhaps two or three pine trunks, used for a 
 single pillar, gave the first idea of the grouped 
 shaft. Be that as it may, the arrangement of 
 the nave pier in the form of a cross accom- 
 panies the superimposition of the vaulting shaft; 
 together with corresponding grouping of minor 
 
 * Appendix 9, "Wooden Churches of the North."
 
 THE QUARRY. 31 
 
 shafts in doorways and apertures of windows. 
 Thus, the whole body of the Northern architect- 
 ure, represented by that of the Lombards, may 
 be described as rough but majestic work, round- 
 arched, with grouped shafts, added vaulting 
 shafts, and endless imagery of active life and 
 fantastic superstitions. 
 
 xxix. The glacier stream of the Lombards, 
 and the following one of the Normans, left their 
 erratic blocks, wherever they had flowed; but 
 without influencing, I think, the Southern na- 
 tions beyond the sphere of their own presence. 
 But the lava stream of the Arab, even after it 
 ceased to flow, warmed the whole of the North- 
 ern air; and the history of Gothic architecture is 
 the history of the refinement and spiritualization 
 of Northern work under its influence. The no- 
 blest buildings of the world, the Pisan-Roman- 
 esque, Tuscan (Giottesque) Gothic, and Vero- 
 nese Gothic, are those of the Lombard schools 
 themselves, under its close and direct influence; 
 the various Gothics of the North are the origi- 
 nal forms of the architecture which the Lom- 
 bards brought into Italy, changing under the 
 less direct influence of the Arab. 
 
 xxx. Understanding thus much of the for- 
 mation of the great European styles, we shall 
 have no difficulty in tracing the succession of 
 architectures in Venice herself. From what I
 
 32 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 said of the central character of Venetian art, 
 the reader is not, of course, to conclude that 
 the Roman, Northern, and Arabian elements 
 met together and contended for the master)' at 
 the same period. The earliest element was the 
 pure Christian Roman; but few, if any, remains 
 of this art exist at Venice; for the present city 
 was in the earliest times only one of many set- 
 tlements formed on the chain of marshy islands 
 which extend from the mouths of the Isonzo to 
 those of the Adige, and it was not until the be- 
 ginning of the ninth century that it became the 
 seat of government; while the cathedral of Tor- 
 cello, though Christian Roman in general form, 
 was rebuilt in the eleventh century, and shows 
 evidence of Byzantine workmanship in many of 
 its details. This cathedral, however, with the 
 church of Santa Fosca at Torcello, San Giacomo 
 di Rialto at Venice, and the crypt of St. Mark's, 
 forms a distinct group of buildings, in which the 
 Byzantine influence is exceedingly slight; and 
 which is probably very sufficiently representative 
 of the earliest architecture on the islands. 
 
 xxxi. The Ducal residence was removed to 
 Venice in 809, and the body of St. Mark was 
 brought from Alexandria twenty years later. 
 The first church of St. Mark's was, doubtless, 
 built in imitation of that destroyed at Alexan- 
 dria, and from which the relics of the saint had
 
 THE QUARRY. 33 
 
 been obtained. During the ninth, tenth, and 
 eleventh centuries, the architecture of Venice 
 seems to have been formed on the same model, 
 and is almost identical with that of Cairo under 
 the caliphs,* it being quite immaterial whether 
 the reader chooses to call both Byzantine or 
 both Arabic; the workmen being certainly 
 Byzantine, but forced to the invention of new 
 forms by their Arabian masters, and bringing 
 these forms into use in whatever other parts of 
 the world they were employed. 
 
 To this first manner of Venetian architecture, 
 together with such vestiges as remain of the 
 Christian Roman, I shall devote the first division 
 of the following inquiry. The examples remain- 
 ing of it consist of three noble churches (those 
 of Torcello, Murano, and the greater part of 
 St. Mark's), and about ten or twelve fragments 
 of palaces. 
 
 xxxii. To this style succeeds a transitional 
 one, of a character much more distinctly Ara- 
 bian: the shafts become more slender, and the 
 arches consistently pointed, instead of round; 
 certain other changes, not to be enumerated in a 
 sentence, taking place in the capitals and mould- 
 ings. This style is almost exclusively secular. 
 It was natural for the Venetians to imitate the 
 
 * Appendix 10, " Church of Alexandria."
 
 34 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 beautiful details of the Arabian dwelling-house, 
 while they would with reluctance adopt those of 
 the mosque for Christian churches. 
 
 I have not succeeded in fixing limiting dates 
 for this style. It appears in part contemporary 
 with the Byzantine manner, but outlives it. Its 
 position is, however, fixed by the central date, 
 1 1 80, that of the elevation of the granite shafts 
 of the Piazetta, whose capitals are the two most 
 important pieces of detail in this transitional 
 style in Venice. Examples of its application to 
 domestic buildings exist in almost every street 
 of the city, and will form the subject of the 
 second division of the following essay. 
 
 xxxin. The Venetians were always ready 
 to receive lessons in art from their enemies (else 
 had there been no Arab work in Venice). But 
 their especial dread and hatred of the Lombards 
 appears to have long prevented them from re- 
 ceiving the influence of the art which that peo- 
 ple had introduced on the mainland of Italy. 
 Nevertheless, during the practice of the two 
 styles above distinguished, a peculiar and very 
 primitive condition of pointed Gothic had arisen 
 in ecclesiastical architecture. It appears to be 
 a feeble reflection of the Lombard- Arab forms, 
 which were attaining perfection upon the conti- 
 nent, and would probably, if left to itself, have 
 been soon merged in the Venetian-Arab school,
 
 THE QUARRY, 35 
 
 with which it had from the first so close a fellow- 
 ship, that it will be found difficult to distinguish 
 the Arabian ogives from those which seem to 
 have been built under this early Gothic influ- 
 ence. The churches of San Giacopo dell' Orio, 
 San Giovanni in Bragora, the Carmine, and one 
 or two more, furnish the only important exam- 
 ples of it. But, in the thirteenth century, the 
 Franciscans and Dominicans introduced from 
 the continent their morality and their architect- 
 ure, already a distinct Gothic, curiously devel- 
 oped from Lombardic and Northern (German?) 
 forms; and the influence of the principles exhib- 
 ited in the vast churches of St. Paul and the 
 Frari began rapidly to affect the Venetian-Arab 
 school. Still the two systems never became 
 united; the Venetian policy repressed the power 
 of the church, and the Venetian artists resisted 
 its example; and thenceforward the architecture 
 of the city becomes divided into ecclesiastical 
 and civil: the one an ungraceful yet powerful 
 form of the Western Gothic, common to the 
 whole peninsula, and only showing Venetian 
 sympathies in the adoption of certain character- 
 istic mouldings; the other a rich, luxuriant, and 
 entirely original Gothic, formed from the Vene- 
 tian-Arab by the influence of the Dominican and 
 Franciscan architecture, and especially by the 
 engrafting upon the Arab forms of the most
 
 36 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 novel feature of the Franciscan work, its tra- 
 ceries. These various forms of Gothic, the dis- 
 tinctive architecture of Venice, chiefly repre- 
 sented by the churches of St. John and Paul, 
 the Frari, and San Stefano, on the ecclesiasti- 
 cal side, and by the Ducal palace, and the other 
 principal Gothic palaces, on the secular side, 
 will be the subject of the third division of the 
 essay. 
 
 xxxiv. Now observe. The transitional (or 
 especially Arabic) style of the Venetian work is 
 centralized by the date 1180, and is transformed 
 gradually into the Gothic, which extends in its 
 purity from the middle of the thirteenth to the 
 beginning of the fifteenth century; that is to 
 say, over the precise period which I have de- 
 scribed as the central epoch of the life of Ven- 
 ice. I dated her decline from the year 1418; 
 Foscari became doge five years later, and in his 
 reign the first marked signs appear in architect- 
 ure of that mighty change which Philippe de 
 Commynes notices as above, the change to which 
 London owes St. Paul's, Rome St. Peter's, Ven- 
 ice and Vicenza the edifices commonly supposed 
 to be their noblest, and Europe in general the 
 degradation of every art she has since practised. 
 
 xxxv. This change appears first in a loss of 
 truth and vitality in existing architecture all over 
 the world. (Compare " Seven Lamps," chap, ii.)
 
 THE QUARRY. 37 
 
 All the Gothics in existence, southern or north- 
 ern, were corrupted at once: the German and 
 French lost themselves in every species of ex- 
 travagance; the English Gothic was confined, in 
 its insanity, by a strait -waistcoat of perpendicu- 
 lar lines; the Italian effloresced on the main 
 land into the meaningless ornamentation of the 
 Certosa of Pavia and the Cathedral of Como, 
 (a style sometimes ignorantly called Italian 
 Gothic), and at Venice into the insipid confu- 
 sion of the Porta della Carta and wild crockets 
 of St. Mark's. This corruption of all architect- 
 ure, especially ecclesiastical, corresponded with, 
 and marked the state of religion over all Eu- 
 rope, the peculiar degradation of the Romanist 
 superstition, and of public morality in conse- 
 quence, which brought about the Reforma- 
 tion. 
 
 xxxvi. Against the corrupted papacy arose 
 two great divisions of adversaries, Protestants in 
 Germany and England, Rationalists in France 
 and Italy; the one requiring the purification of 
 religion, the other its destruction. The Protes- 
 tant kept the religion, but cast aside the here- 
 sies of Rome, and with them her arts, by which 
 last rejection he injured his own character, 
 cramped his intellect in refusing to it one of its 
 noblest exercises, and materially diminished his 
 influence. It may be a serious question how
 
 38 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 far the Pausing of the Reformation has been a 
 consequence of this error. 
 
 The Rationalist kept the arts and cast aside 
 the religion. This rationalistic art is the art 
 commonly called Renaissance, marked by a re- 
 turn to pagan systems, not to adopt them and 
 hallow them for Christianity, but to rank itself 
 under them as an imitator and pupil. In Paint- 
 ing it is headed by Giulio Romano and Nicolo 
 Poussin; in Architecture by Sansovino and Pal- 
 ladio. 
 
 xxxvii. Instant degradation followed in 
 every direction, a flood of folly and hypocrisy. 
 Mythologies ill understood at first, then per- 
 verted into feeble sensualities, take the place of 
 the representations of Christian subjects, which 
 had become blasphemous under the treatment 
 of men like the Caracci. Gods without power, 
 satyrs without rusticity, nymphs without inno- 
 cence, men without humanity, gather into idiot 
 groups upon the polluted canvas, and scenic 
 affectations encumber the streets with prepos- 
 terous marble. Lower and lower declines the 
 level of abused intellect; the base school of 
 landscape* gradually usurps the place of the his- 
 torical painting, which had sunk into prurient 
 pedantry, the Alsatian sublimities of Salva- 
 
 * Appendix ii, "Renaissance Landscape."
 
 THE QUARRY. 39 
 
 tor, the confectionery idealities of Claude, the 
 dull manufacture of Gaspar and Canaletto, south 
 of the Alps, and on the north the patient devo- 
 tion of besotted lives to delineation of bricks 
 and fogs, fat cattle and ditchwater. And thus 
 Christianity and morality, courage, and intellect, 
 and art all crumbling together into one wreck, 
 we are hurried on to the fall of Italy, the revo- 
 lution in France, and the condition of art in 
 England (saved by her Protestantism from se- 
 verer penalty) in the time of George II. 
 
 xxxviii. I have not written in vain if I have 
 heretofore done anything towards diminishing 
 the reputation of the Renaissance landscape 
 painting. But. the harm which has been done 
 by Claude and the Poussins is as nothing when 
 compared to the mischief effected by Palladio, 
 Scamozzi, and Sansovino. Claude and the 
 Poussins were weak men, and have had no seri- 
 ous influence on the general mind. There is 
 little harm in their works being purchased at 
 high prices: their real influence is very slight, 
 and they may be left without grave indignation 
 to their poor mission of furnishing drawing- 
 rooms and assisting stranded conversation. Not 
 so the Renaissance architecture. Raised at once 
 into all the magnificence of which it was capable 
 by Michael Angelo, then taken up by men of 
 real intellect and imagination, such as Scamozzi,
 
 40 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 Sansovino, Inigo Jones, and Wren, it is impossi- 
 ble to estimate the extent of its influence on the 
 European mind; and that the more, because few 
 persons are concerned with painting, and, of 
 those few, the larger number regard it with 
 slight attention; but all men are concerned with 
 architecture, and have at some time of their 
 lives serious business with it. It does not much 
 matter that an individual loses two or three hun- 
 dred pounds in buying a bad picture, but it is to 
 be regretted that a nation should lose two or three 
 hundred thousand in raising a ridiculous building. 
 Nor is it merely wasted wealth or distempered 
 conception which we have to regret in this 
 Renaissance architecture: but we shall find in it 
 partly the root, partly the expression, of certain 
 dominant evils of modern times over-sophisti- 
 cation and ignorant classicalism ; the one de- 
 stroying the healthfulness of general society, the 
 other rendering our schools and universities use- 
 less to a large number of the men who pass 
 through them. 
 
 Now Venice, as she was once the most relig- 
 ious, was in her fall the most corrupt, of Euro- 
 pean states; and as she was in her strength the 
 centre of the pure currents of Christian archi- 
 tecture, so she is in her decline the source of the 
 Renaissance. It was the originality and splendor 
 of the palaces of Vicenza and Venice which gave
 
 THE QUARRY. 41 
 
 this school its eminence in the eyes of Europe; 
 and the dying city, magnificent in her dissipation, 
 and graceful in her follies, obtained wider wor- 
 ship in her decrepitude than in her youth, and 
 sank from the midst of her admirers into the 
 grave. 
 
 xxxix. It is in Venice, therefore, and in 
 Venice only that effectual blows can be struck 
 at this pestilent art of the Renaissance. Destroy 
 its claims to admiration there, and it can assert 
 them nowhere else. This, therefore, will be the 
 final purpose of the following essay. I shall not 
 devote a fourth section to Palladio, nor weary 
 the reader with successive chapters of vitupera- 
 tion; but I shall, in my account of the earlier 
 architecture, compare the forms of all its leading 
 features with those into which they were cor- 
 rupted by the Classicalists; and pause, in the 
 close, on the edge of the precipice of decline, 
 so soon as I have made its depths discernible. 
 In doing this I shall depend upon two distinct 
 kinds of evidence: the first, the testimony borne 
 by particular incidents and facts to a want of 
 thought or of feeling in the builders; from which 
 we may conclude that their architecture must 
 be bad: the second, the sense, which I doubt 
 not I shall be able to excite in the reader, of a 
 systematic ugliness in the architecture itself. Of 
 the first kind of testimony I shall here give two
 
 42 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 instances, which may be immediately useful in 
 fixing in the reader's mind the epoch above indi- 
 cated for the commencement of decline. 
 
 XL. I must again refer to the importance 
 which I have above attached to the death of 
 Carlo Zeno and the doge Tomaso Mocenigo. 
 The tomb of that doge is, as I said, wrought by 
 a Florentine; but it is of the same general type 
 and feeling as all the Venetian tombs of the 
 period, and it is one of the last which retains it. 
 The classical element enters largely into its de- 
 tails, but the feeling of the whole is as yet un- 
 affected. Like all the lovely tombs of Venice 
 and Verona, it is a sarcophagus with a recumbent 
 figure above, and this figure is a faithful but ten- 
 der portrait, wrought as far as it can be without 
 painfulness, of the doge as he lay in death. He 
 wears his ducal robe and bonnet his head is 
 laid slightly aside upon his pillow his hands are 
 simply crossed as they fall. The face is ema- 
 ciated, the features large, but so pure and lordly 
 in their natural chiselling, that they must have 
 looked like marble even in their animation. 
 They are deeply worn away by thought and 
 death; the veins on the temples branched and 
 starting; the skin gathered in sharp folds; the 
 brow high-arched and shaggy; the eye-ball mag- 
 nificently large; the curve of the lips just veiled 
 by the light mustache at the side; the beard
 
 THE QUARRY. 43 
 
 short, double, and sharp-pointed: all noble and 
 quiet; the white sepulchral dust marking like 
 light the stern angles of the cheek and brow. 
 
 This tomb was sculptured in 1424, and is thus 
 described by one of the most intelligent of the 
 recent writers who represent the popular feeling 
 respecting Venetian art. 
 
 " Of the Italian school is also the rich but ugly (ricco 
 ma non bel) sarcophagus in which repose the ashes of 
 Tomaso Mocenigo. It may be called one of the last links 
 which connect the declining art of the Middle Ages with 
 that of the Renaissance, which was in its rise. We will 
 not stay to particularize the defects of each of the seven 
 figures of the front and sides, which represent the cardinal 
 and theological virtues; nor will we make any remarks 
 upon those which stand in the niches above the pavilion, 
 because we consider them unworthy both of the age and 
 reputation of the Florentine school, which was then with 
 reason considered the most notable in Italy."* 
 
 It is well, indeed, not to pause over these de- 
 fects; but it might have been better to have 
 paused a moment beside that noble image of a 
 king's mortality. 
 
 XLI. In the choir of the same church, St. 
 Giov. and Paolo, is another tomb, that of the 
 Doge Andrea Vendramin. This doge died in 
 1478, after a short reign of two years, the most 
 disastrous in the annals of Venice. He died of 
 a pestilence which followed the ravage of the 
 
 * Selvatico, " Architettura di Venezia," p. 147.
 
 44 THE STONES OF VENICE, 
 
 Turks, carried to the shores of the lagoons. He 
 died, leaving Venice disgraced by sea and land, 
 with the smoke of hostile devastation rising in 
 the blue distances of Friuli; and there was 
 raised to him the most costly tomb ever be- 
 stowed on her monarchs. 
 
 XLII. If the writer above quoted was cold 
 beside the statue of one of the fathers of his 
 country, he atones for it by his eloquence be- 
 side the tomb of the Vendramin. I must not 
 spoil the force of Italian superlative by transla- 
 tion. 
 
 " Quando si guarda a quella corretta eleganza di profili 
 e di proporzioni, a quella squisitezza d'ornamenti, a quel 
 certo sapore antico che senza ombra d' imitazione tras- 
 pareda tutta 1' opera" &c. " Sopra ornatissimo zoccolo 
 fornito di squisiti intagli s* alza uno stylobate " &c. 
 ' ' Sotto le colonne, il predetto stilobate si muta leggia- 
 dramente in piedistallo, poi con bella novita di pensiero 
 e di effetto va coronato da un fregio il piu gentile che 
 veder si possa" &c. "Non puossi lasciar senza un 
 cenno 1' area dove sta chiuso il doge ; capo lavoro di pen- 
 siero e di esecuzione," etc. 
 
 There are two pages and a half of closely 
 printed praise, of which the above specimens 
 may suffice; but there is not a word of the statue 
 of the dead from beginning to end. I am my- 
 self in the habit of considering this rather an 
 important part of a tomb, and I was especially
 
 THE QUARRY. 45 
 
 interested in it here, because Selvatico only 
 echoes the praise of thousands. It is unani- 
 mously declared the chef d'oeuvre of Renaissance 
 sepulchral work, and pronounced by Cicognara 
 (also quoted by Selvatico). 
 
 " II vertice a cui 1' arti Veneziane si spinsero col minis- 
 tero del scalpello," "The very culminating point to 
 which the Venetian arts attained by ministry of the chisel." 
 
 To this culminating point, therefore, covered 
 with dust and cobwebs, I attained, as I did to 
 every tomb of importance in Venice, by the min- 
 istry of such ancient ladders as were to be found 
 in the sacristan's keeping. I was struck at first 
 by the excessive awkwardness and want of feel- 
 ing in the fall of the hand towards the specta- 
 tor, for it is thrown off the middle of the body 
 in order to show its fine cutting. Now the Moce- 
 nigo hand, severe and even stiff in its articu- 
 lations, has its veins finely drawn, its sculptor 
 having justly felt that the delicacy of the vein- 
 ing expresses alike dignity and age and birth. 
 The Vendramin hand is far more laboriously 
 cut, but its blunt and clumsy contour at once 
 makes us feel that all the care has been thrown 
 away, and well it may be, for it has been entirely 
 bestowed in cutting gouty wrinkles about the 
 joints. Such as the hand is, I looked for its 
 fellow. At first I thought it had been broken
 
 46 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 off, but, on clearing away the dust, I saw the 
 wretched effigy had only one hand, and was a 
 mere block on the inner side. The face, heavy 
 and disagreeable in its features, is made mon- 
 strous by its semi-sculpture. One side of the 
 forehead is wrinkled elaborately, the other left 
 smooth; one side only of the doge's cap is 
 chased; one cheek only is finished, and the 
 other blocked out and distorted besides; finally^ 
 the ermine robe, which is elaborately imitated 
 to its utmost lock of hair and of ground hair on 
 the one side, is blocked out only on the other: 
 it having been supposed throughout the work 
 that the effigy was only to be seen from below, 
 and from one side. 
 
 XLIII. It was indeed to be seen by nearly 
 every one; and I do not blame I should, on the 
 contrary, have praised the sculptor for regu- 
 lating his treatment of it by its position; if that 
 treatment had not involved, first, dishonesty, in 
 giving only half a face, a monstrous mask, when 
 we demanded true portraiture of the dead; and, 
 secondly, such utter coldness of feeling, as could 
 only consist with an extreme of intellectual and 
 moral degradation: Who, with a heart in his 
 breast, could have stayed his hand as he drew 
 the dim lines of the old man's countenance 
 unmajestic once, indeed, but at least sanctified 
 by the solemnities of death could have stayed
 
 THE QUARRY. 47 
 
 his hand, as he reached the bend of the grey 
 forehead, and measured out the last veins of it 
 at so much the zecchin. 
 
 I do not think the reader, if he has feeling, 
 will expect that much talent should be shown in 
 the rest of his work, by the sculptor of this base 
 and senseless lie. The whole monument is one 
 wearisome aggregation of that species of orna- 
 mental flourish, which, when it is done with a 
 pen, is called penmanship, and when done with 
 a chisel, should be called chiselmanship; the 
 subject of it being chiefly fat-limbed boys sprawl- 
 ing on dolphins, dolphins incapable of swim- 
 ming, and dragged along the sea by expanded 
 pocket-handkerchiefs. 
 
 But now, reader, comes the very gist and 
 point of the whole matter. This lying monu- 
 ment to a dishonored doge, this culminating 
 pride of the Renaissance art of Venice, is at 
 least veracious, if in nothing else, in its testi- 
 mony to the character of its sculptor. He was 
 banished from Venice for forgery in 1487.* 
 
 XLIV. I have more to say about this con- 
 vict's work hereafter; but I pass at present, to 
 the second, slighter, but yet more interesting 
 piece of evidence, which I promised. 
 
 The ducal palace has two principal facades; 
 
 * Selvatico, p. 221.
 
 48 THE STONES OF VENICE, 
 
 one towards the sea, the other towards the Piaz- 
 zetta. The seaward side, and, as far as the 
 seventh main arch inclusive, the Piazzetta side, 
 is work of the early part of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury, some of it perhaps even earlier; while the 
 rest of the Piazzetta side is of the fifteenth. 
 The difference in age has been gravely disputed 
 by the Venetian antiquaries, who have examined 
 many documents on the subject, and quoted 
 some which they never examined. I have my- 
 self collated most of the written documents, and 
 one document more, to which the Venetian anti- 
 quaries never thought of referring, the masonry 
 of the palace itself. 
 
 XLV. That masonry changes at the centre 
 of the eighth arch from the sea angle on the 
 Piazzetta side. It has been of comparatively 
 small stones up to that point; the fifteenth cen- 
 tury work instantly begins with larger stones, 
 "brought from Istria, a hundred miles away."* 
 The ninth shaft from the sea in the lower arcade, 
 and the seventeenth, which is above it, in the 
 upper arcade, commence the series of fifteenth 
 century shafts. These two are somewhat thicker 
 than the others, and carry the party-wall of the 
 Sala del Scrutinio. Now observe, reader. The 
 
 * The older work is of Istrian stone also, but of dif- 
 ferent quality.
 
 THE QUARRY. 49 
 
 face of the palace, from this point to the Porta 
 della Carta, was built at the instance of that 
 noble Doge Mocenigo beside whose tomb you 
 have been standing; at his instance, and in the 
 beginning of the reign of his successor, Foscari; 
 that is to say, circa 1424. This is not disputed; 
 it is only disputed that the sea fa9ade is ear- 
 lier; of which, however, the proofs are as simple 
 as they are incontrovertible: for not only the 
 masonry, but the sculpture, changes at the ninth 
 lower shaft, and that in the capitals of the 
 shafts both of the upper and lower arcade: the 
 costumes of the figures introduced in the sea 
 fa9ade being purely Giottesque, correspondent 
 with Giotto's work in the Arena Chapel at 
 Padua, while the costume on the other capitals 
 is Renaissance-Classic: and the lions' heads 
 between the arches change at the same point. 
 And there are a multitude of other evidences in 
 the statues of the angels, with which I shall 
 not at present trouble the reader. 
 
 XLVI. Now, the architect who built under 
 Foscari, in 1424 (remember my date for the 
 decline of Venice, 1418), was obliged to follow 
 the principal forms of the older palace. But 
 he had not the wit to invent new capitals in the 
 same style; he therefore clumsily copied the old 
 ones. The palace has seventeen main arches 
 on the sea fagade, eighteen on the Piazzetta
 
 50 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 side, which in all are of course carried by thirty- 
 six pillars; and these pillars I shall always num- 
 ber from right to left, from the angle of the 
 palace at the Ponte della Paglia to that next 
 the Porta della Carta. I number them in this 
 succession, because I thus have the earliest 
 shafts first numbered. So counted, the ist, the 
 1 8th, and the 36th, are the great supports of the 
 angles of the palace; and the first of the fif- 
 teenth century series, being, as above stated, 
 the pth from the sea on the Piazzetta side, is 
 the 26th of the entire series, and will always in 
 future be so numbered, so that all numbers 
 above twenty-six indicate fifteenth century work, 
 and all below it, fourteenth century, with some 
 exceptional cases of restoration. 
 
 Then the copied capitals are: the 28th, copied 
 from the ;th; the 2pth, from the gih; the 3oth, 
 from the xoth; the 3ist, from the 8th; the 33d, 
 from the i2th; and the 34th, from the nth; 
 the others being dull inventions of the i5th 
 century, except the 36th, which is very nobly 
 designed. 
 
 XLVII. The capitals thus selected from the 
 earlier portion of the palace for imitation, to- 
 gether with the rest, will be accurately de- 
 scribed hereafter; the point I have here to no- 
 tice is in the copy of the ninth capital, which 
 was decorated (being, like the rest, octagonal)
 
 THE QUARRY. 5 1 
 
 with figures of the eight Virtues: Faith, Hope. 
 Charity, Justice, Temperance, Prudence, Humil- 
 ity (the Venetian antiquaries call it Humanity !)> 
 and Fortitude. The Virtues of the fourteenth 
 century are somewhat hard-featured; with vivid 
 and living expression, and plain every-day 
 clothes of the time. Charity has her lap full 
 of apples (perhaps loaves), and is giving one to 
 a little child, who stretches his arm for it across 
 a gap in the leafage of the capital. Fortitude 
 tears open a lion's jaws; Faith lays her hand on 
 her breast, as she beholds the Cross; and Hope 
 is praying, while above her a hand is seen emerg- 
 ing from sunbeams the hand of God (accord- 
 ing to that of Revelations, "The Lord God 
 giveth them light"); and the inscription above 
 is, " Spes optima in Deo." 
 
 XLVIII. This design, then, is, rudely and with 
 imperfect chiselling, imitated by the fifteenth 
 century workmen: the Virtues have lost their 
 hard features and living expression; they have 
 now all got Roman noses, and have had their 
 hair curled. Their actions and emblems are, 
 however, preserved until we come to Hope: she 
 is still praying, but she is praying to the sun 
 only: The hand of God is gone. 
 
 Is not this a curious and striking type of the 
 spirit which had then become dominant in the 
 world, forgetting to see God's hand in the light
 
 52 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 He gave; so that in the issue, when the light 
 opened into the Reformation on the one side, 
 and into full knowledge of ancient literature on 
 the other, the one was arrested and the other 
 perverted ? 
 
 XLIX. Such is the nature of the accidental 
 evidence on which I shall depend for the proof 
 of the inferiority of character in the Renaissance 
 workmen. But the proof of the inferiority of 
 the work itself is not so easy, for in this I 
 have to appeal to judgments which the Renais- 
 sance work has itself distorted. I felt this diffi- 
 culty very forcibly as I read a slight review of 
 my former work, " The Seven Lamps," in " The 
 Architect:" the writer noticed my constant praise 
 of St. Mark's: " Mr. Ruskin thinks it a very 
 beautiful building! We," said the Architect, 
 " think it a very ugly building." I was not 
 surprised at the difference of opinion, but at the 
 thing being considered so completely a subject 
 of opinion. My opponents in matters of paint- 
 ing always assume that there is such a thing as 
 a law of right, and that I do not understand it: 
 but my architectural adversaries appeal to no' 
 law, they simply set their opinion against mine; 
 and indeed there is no law at present to which 
 either they or I can appeal. No man can speak 
 with rational decision of the merits or demerits of 
 buildings: he may with obstinacy; he may with
 
 THE QUARRY. 53 
 
 resolved adherence to previous prejudices; but 
 never as if the matter could be otherwise decided 
 than by a majority of votes, or pertinacity of 
 partisanship. I had always, however, a clear 
 conviction that there was a law in this matter: 
 that good architecture might be indisputably 
 discerned and divided from the bad; that the 
 opposition in their very nature and essence was 
 clearly visible; and that we were all of us just 
 as unwise in disputing about the matter without 
 reference to principle, as we should be for de- 
 bating about the genuineness of a coin, without 
 ringing it. I felt also assured that this law must 
 be universal if it were conclusive; that it must 
 enable us to reject all foolish and base work, 
 and to accept all noble and wise work, without 
 reference to style or national feeling; that it 
 must sanction the design of all truly great nations 
 and times, Gothic or Greek or Arab; that it 
 must cast off and reprobate the design of all 
 foolish nations and times, Chinese or Mexican, 
 or modern European: and that it must be easily 
 applicable to all possible architectural inven- 
 tions of human mind. I set myself, therefore, 
 to establish such a law, in full belief that men 
 are intended, without excessive difficulty, and 
 by use of their general common sense, to know 
 good things from bad; and that it is only be- 
 cause they will not be at the pains required for
 
 54 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the discernment, that the world is so widely 
 encumbered with forgeries and basenesses. I 
 found the work simpler than I had hoped; 
 the reasonable things ranged themselves in the 
 order I required, and the foolish things fell 
 aside, and took themselves away so soon as 
 they were looked in the face. I had then, with 
 respect to Venetian architecture, the choice, 
 either to establish each division of law in a 
 separate form, as I came to the features with 
 which it was concerned, or else to ask the read- 
 er's patience, while I followed out the general 
 inquiry first, and determined with him a code 
 of right and wrong, to which we might together 
 make retrospective appeal. I thought this the 
 best, though perhaps the dullest way; and in 
 these first following pages I have therefore en- 
 deavored to arrange those foundations of criti- 
 cism, on which I shall rest in my account of 
 Venetian architecture, in a form clear and sim- 
 ple enough to be intelligible even to those who 
 never thought of architecture before. To those 
 who have, much of what is stated in them will 
 be well known or self-evident; but they must 
 not be indignant at a simplicity on which the 
 whole argument depends for its usefulness. 
 From that which appears a mere truism when 
 first stated, they will find very singular conse- 
 quences sometimes following, consequences
 
 THE QUARRY, 55 
 
 altogether unexpected, and of considerable im- 
 portance; I will not pause here to dwell on 
 their importance, nor on that of the thing itself 
 to be done; for I believe most readers will at 
 once admit the value of a criterion of right and 
 wrong in so practical and costly an art as archi- 
 tecture, and will be apt rather to doubt the 
 possibility of its attainment than dispute its 
 usefulness if attained. I invite them, there- 
 fore, to a fair trial, being certain that even if 
 I should fail in my main purpose, and be un- 
 able to induce in my reader the confidence of 
 judgment I desire, I shall at least receive his 
 thanks for the suggestion of consistent reasons, 
 which -may determine hesitating choice, or jus- 
 tify involuntary preference. And if I should 
 succeed, as I hope, in making the Stones of Ven- 
 ice touchstones, and detecting, by the mould- 
 ering of her marble, poison more subtle than 
 ever was betrayed by the rending of her crystal; 
 and if thus I am enabled to show the baseness 
 of the schools of architecture and nearly every 
 other art, which have for three centuries been 
 predominant in Europe, I believe the result of 
 the inquiry may be serviceable for proof of a 
 more vital truth than any at which I have 
 hitherto hinted. For observe: I said the Prot- 
 estant had despised the arts, and the Rationalist 
 corrupted them. But what has the Romanist
 
 $6 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 done meanwhile? He boasts that it was the 
 papacy which raised the arts; why could it not 
 support them when it was left to its own 
 strength? How came it to yield to Classical- 
 ism which was based on infidelity, and to oppose 
 no barrier to innovations, which have reduced 
 the once faithfully conceived imagery of its wor- 
 ship to stage decoration? * Shall we not rather 
 find that Romanism, instead of being a promoter 
 of the arts, has never shown itself capable of a 
 single great conception since the separation of 
 Protestantism from its side? 1 So long as, cor- 
 rupt though it might be, no clear witness had 
 been borne against it, so that it still included in 
 its ranks a vast number of faithful Christians, 
 so long its arts were noble. But the witness was 
 borne the error made apparent; and Rome, 
 refusing to hear the testimony or forsake the 
 
 * Appendix XII., " Romanist Modern Art." 
 1 [Perfectly true: but the whole vital value of the truth 
 was lost by my sectarian ignorance. Protestantism (so 
 far as it was still Christianity, and did not consist merely 
 in maintaining one's own opinion for gospel) could not 
 separate itself from the Catholic Church. The so-called 
 Catholics became themselves sectarians and heretics in 
 casting them out; and Europe was turned into a mere 
 cockpit, of the theft and fury of unchristian men of both 
 parties; while innocent and silent on the hills and fields, 
 God's people in neglected peace, everywhere and for ever 
 Catholics, lived and died.]
 
 THE QUARRY. 57 
 
 falsehood, has been struck from that instant 
 with an intellectual palsy, which has not only 
 incapacitated her from any further use of the 
 arts which once were her ministers, but has 
 made her worship the shame of its own shrines, 
 and her worshippers their destroyers. Come, 
 then, if truths such as these are worth our 
 thoughts; come, and let us know, before We 
 enter the streets of the Sea city, whether we are 
 indeed to submit ourselves to their undistin- 
 guished enchantment, and to look upon the last 
 changes which were wrought on the lifted forms 
 of her palaces, as we should on the capricious 
 towering of summer clouds in the sunset, ere 
 they sank into the deep of night; or, whether, 
 rather, we shall not behold in the brightness of 
 their accumulated marble, pages on which the 
 sentence of her luxury was to be written until the 
 waves should efface it, as they fulfilled " God 
 has numbered thy kingdom, and finished it."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 [FIRST OF SECOND VOLUME IN OLD EDITION.] 
 THE THRONE. 
 
 i. IN the olden days of travelling, now to 
 return no more, in which distance could not be 
 vanquished without toil, but in which that toil 
 was rewarded, partly by the power of deliberate 
 survey of the countries through which the jour- 
 ney lay, and partly by the happiness of the even- 
 ing hours, when, from the top of the last hill he 
 had surmounted, the traveller beheld the quiet 
 village where he was to rest, scattered among 
 the meadows beside its valley stream; or, from 
 the long-hoped-for turn in the dusty perspective 
 of the causeway, saw, for the first time, the 
 towers of some famed city, faint in the rays of 
 sunset hours of peaceful and thoughtful pleas- 
 ure, for which the rush of the arrival in the rail- 
 way station is perhaps not always, or to all men, 
 an equivalent, in those days, I say, when there 
 was something more to be anticipated and re- 
 
 58
 
 THE THRONE. 59 
 
 rnembered in the first aspect of each successive 
 halting-place, than a new arrangement of glass 
 roofing and iron girder, there were few moments 
 of which the recollection was more fondly cher- 
 ished by the traveller than that which, as I en- 
 deavored to describe in the close of the last 
 chapter, brought him within sight of Venice, as 
 his gondola shot into the open lagoon from the 
 canal of Mestre. Not but that the aspect of 
 the city itself was generally the source of some 
 slight disappointment, for, seen in this direction, 
 its buildings are far less characteristic than those 
 of the other great towns of Italy; but this inferi- 
 ority was partly disguised by distance, and more 
 than atoned for by the strange rising of its 
 walls and towers out of the midst, as it seemed, 
 of _the deep sea, for it was impossible that the 
 mind or the eye could at once comprehend the 
 shallowness of the vast sheet of water which 
 stretched away in leagues of rippling lustre to 
 the north and south, or trace the narrow line of 
 islets bounding it to the east. The salt breeze, 
 the white moaning sea-birds, the masses of black 
 weed separating and disappearing gradually, in 
 knots of heaving shoal, under the advance of 
 the steady tide, all proclaimed it to be indeed 
 the ocean on whose bosom the great city rested 
 so calmly; not such blue, soft, lake-like ocean 
 as bathes the Neapolitan promontories, or sleeps
 
 60 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 beneath the marble rocks of Genoa, but a sea 
 with the bleak power of our own northern waves, 
 yet subdued into a strange spacious rest, and 
 changed from its angry pallor into a field of 
 burnished gold, as the sun declined behind the 
 belfry tower of the lonely island church, fitly 
 named "St. George of the Seaweed." As the 
 boat drew nearer to the city, the coast which the 
 traveller had just left sank behind him into one 
 long, low, sad-colored line, tufted irregularly with 
 brushwood and willows: but, at what seemed its 
 northern extremity, the hills of Arqua rose in a 
 dark cluster of purple pyramids, balanced on the 
 bright mirage of the lagoon; two or three smooth 
 surges of inferior hill extended themselves about 
 their roots, and beyond these, beginning with 
 the craggy peaks above Vicenza, the chain of 
 the Alps girded the whole horizon to the north 
 a wall of jagged blue, here and there showing 
 through its clefts a wilderness of misty preci- 
 pices, fading far back into the recesses of Cadore, 
 and itself rising and breaking away eastward, 
 where the sun struck opposite upon its snow, 
 into mighty fragments of peaked light, standing 
 up behind the barred clouds of evening, one 
 after another, countless, the crown of the Adrian 
 Sea, until the eye turned back from pursuing 
 them, to rest upon the nearer burning of the 
 campaniles of Murano, and on the great city,
 
 THE THRONE. 6 1 
 
 where it magnified itself along the waves, as the 
 quick silent pacing of the gondola drew nearer 
 and nearer. And at last; when its walls were 
 reached, and the outmost of its untrodden 
 streets was entered, not through towered gate or 
 guarded rampart, but as a deep inlet between; 
 two rocks of coral in the Indian sea; when first 
 upon the traveller's sight opened the long ranges 
 of columned palaces, each with its black boat 
 moored at the portal, each with its image cast 
 down, beneath its feet, upon that green pave- 
 ment which every breeze broke into new fanta- 
 sies of rich tessellation; when first, at the extrem- 
 ity of the bright vista, the shadowy Rialto threw 
 its colossal curve slowly forth from behind the 
 palace of the Camerlenghi; that strange curve, 
 so delicate, so adamantine, strong as a mountain 
 cavern, graceful as a bow just bent; when first, 
 before its moonlike circumference was all risen, 
 the gondolier's cry, "Ah! Stall,"* struck sharp 
 upon the ear, and the prow turned aside under 
 the mighty cornices that half met over the 
 narrow canal, where the plash of the water fol- 
 lowed close and loud, ringing along the marble 
 by the boat's side, and when at last that boat 
 darted forth upon the breadth of silver sea, across 
 which the front of the Ducal palace, flushed 
 
 *Appendix i, "The Gondolier's Cry "
 
 62 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 with its sanguine veins, looks to the snowy 
 dome of Our Lady of Salvation,* it was no mar- 
 vel that the mind should be so deeply entranced 
 by the visionary charm of a scene so beautiful 
 and so strange, as to forget the darker truths of 
 its history and its being. Well might it seem 
 that such a city had owed her existence rather 
 to the rod of the enchanter, than the fear of the 
 fugitive; that the waters which encircled her had 
 been chosen for the mirror of her state, rather 
 than the shelter of her nakedness; and that all 
 which in nature was wild or merciless, Time and 
 Decay, as well as the waves and tempests, had 
 been won to adorn her instead of to destroy, 
 and might still spare, for ages to come, that 
 beauty which seemed to have fixedfor its throne 
 the sands of the hour-glass as well as of the sea. 
 II. And although the last few eventful years, 
 fraught with change to the face of the whole 
 earth, have been more fatal in their influence on 
 Venice than the five hundred that preceded 
 them; though the noble landscape of approach 
 to her can now be seen no more, or seen only by a 
 glance, as the engine slackens its rushing on the 
 iron line; and though many of her palaces are for 
 ever defaced, and many in desecrated ruins, there 
 is still so much of magic in her aspect, that the 
 
 * Appendix II, "Our Lady of Salvation."
 
 THE THRONE, 63 
 
 hurried traveller, who must leave her before the 
 wonder of that first aspect has been worn away, 
 may still be led to forget the humility of her ori- 
 gin, and to shut his eyes to the depth of her des- 
 olation. They, at least, are little to be envied, in 
 whose hearts the great charities of the imagina- 
 tion lie dead, and for whom the fancy has no 
 power to repress the importunity of painful im- 
 pressions, or to raise what is ignoble, and dis- 
 guise what is discordant, in a scene so rich in 
 its remembrances, so surpassing in its beauty. 
 But for this work of the imagination there must 
 be no permission during the task which is be- 
 fore us. The impotent feeling of romance, so 
 singularly characteristic of this century, may 
 indeed gild, but never save the remains of those 
 mightier ages to which they are attached like 
 climbing flowers; and they must be torn away 
 from the magnificent fragments, if we would see 
 them as they stood in their own strength. Those 
 feelings, always as fruitless as they are fond, are 
 in Venice not only incapable of protecting, but 
 even of discerning, the objects of which they 
 ought to have been attached. The Venice of 
 modern fiction and drama is a thing of yesterday, 
 a mere efflorescence of decay, a stage dream 
 which the first ray of daylight must dissipate 
 into dust. No prisoner, whose name is worth 
 remembering, or whose sorrow deserved sympa-
 
 64 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 thy, ever crossed that " Bridge of Sighs," which 
 is the centre of the Byronic ideal of Venice; no 
 great merchant of Venice ever saw that Rialto 
 under which the traveller now passes with breath- 
 less interest: the statue which Byron makes 
 Faliero address as of one of his great ancestors 
 was erected to a soldier of fortune a hundred 
 and fifty years after Faliero's death; and the 
 most conspicuous parts of the city have been so 
 entirely altered in the course of the last three 
 centuries, that if Henry Dandolo or Francis 
 Foscari could be summoned from their tombs, 
 and stood each on the deck of his galley at the 
 entrance of the Grand Canal, that renowned en- 
 trance, the painter's favorite subject, the novel- 
 ist's favorite scene, where the water first narrows 
 by the steps of the Church of La Salute, the 
 mighty Doges would not know in what spot of 
 the world they stood, would literally not recog- 
 nize one stone of the great city, for whose sake, 
 and by whose ingratitude, their gray hairs had 
 been brought down with bitterness to the grave. 
 The remains of their Venice lie hidden behind 
 the cumbrous masses which were the delight of 
 the nation in its dotage; hidden in many a grass- 
 grown court, and silent pathway, and lightless 
 canal, where the slow waves have sapped their 
 foundations for five hundred years, and must 
 soon prevail over them for ever. It must be our
 
 THE THRONE. 65 
 
 task to glean and gather them forth, and restore 
 out of them some faint image of the lost city, 
 more gorgeous a thousand-fold than that which 
 now exists, yet not created in the day-dream of 
 the prince, nor by the ostentation of the noble, 
 but built by iron hands and patient hearts, con- 
 tending against the adversity of nature and the 
 fury of man, so that its wonderfulness cannot 
 be grasped by the indolence of imagination, but 
 only after frank inquiry into the true nature of 
 that wild and solitary scene, whose restless tides 
 and trembling sands did indeed shelter the birth 
 of the city, but long denied her dominion. 
 
 in. When the eye falls casually on a map of 
 Europe, there is no feature by which it is more 
 likely to be arrested than the strange sweeping 
 loop formed by the junction of the Alps and the 
 Apennines, and enclosing the great basin of 
 Lombardy. This return of the mountain chain 
 upon itself causes a vast difference in the char- 
 acter of the distribution of its debris on its op- 
 posite sides. The rock fragments and sediment 
 which the torrents on the north side of the Alps 
 bear into the plains are distributed over a vast 
 extent of country, and, though here and there 
 lodged in beds of enormous thickness, soon per- 
 mit the firm substrata to appear from underneath 
 them; but all the torrents which descend from 
 the southern side of the High Alps, and from
 
 66 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the northern slope of the Apennines, meet con- 
 centrically in the recess or mountain bay which 
 the two ridges enclose; every fragment which 
 thunder breaks out of their battlements, and 
 every grain of dust which the summer rain 
 washes from their pastures, is at last laid at rest 
 in the blue sweep of the Lombardic plain; and 
 that plain must have risen within its rocky bar- 
 riers as a cup fills with wine, but for two contrary 
 influences which continually depress, or disperse 
 from its surface, the accumulation of the ruins 
 of ages. 
 
 iv. I will not tax the reader's faith in mod- 
 ern science by insisting on the singular depres- 
 sion of the surface of Lombardy, which appears 
 for many centuries to have taken place steadily 
 and continually; the main fact with which we 
 have to do is the gradual transport, by the Po 
 and its great collateral rivers, of vas^ masses of 
 the finer sediment to the sea. The character of 
 the Lombardic plains is most strikingly expressed 
 by the ancient walls of its cities, composed for 
 the most part of large rounded Alpine pebbles 
 alternating with narrow courses of brick; and 
 was curiously illustrated in 1848, by the ramparts 
 of these same pebbles thrown up four or five feet 
 high round every field, to check the Austrian 
 cavalry in the battle under the walls of Verona. 
 The finer dust among which these pebbles are
 
 THE THRONE. 6/ 
 
 dispersed is taken up by the rivers, fed into con- 
 tinual strength by the Alpine snow, so that, how- 
 ever pure their waters may be when they issue 
 from the lakes at the foot of the great chain, 
 they become of the color and opacity of clay 
 before they reach the Adriatic; the sediment 
 which they bear is at once thrown down as they 
 enter the sea, forming a vast belt of low land 
 along the eastern coast of Italy. The powerful 
 stream of the Po of course builds forward the 
 fastest; on each side of it, north and south, there 
 is a tract of marsh, fed by more feeble streams, 
 and less liable to rapid change than the delta of 
 the central river. In one of these tracts is built 
 RAVENNA, and in the other VENICE. 
 
 v. What circumstances directed the peculiar 
 arrangement of this great belt of sediment in 
 the earliest times, it is not here the place to in- 
 quire. It is enough for us to know that from 
 the mouths of the Adige to those of the Piave 
 there stretches, at a variable distance of from 
 three to five miles from the actual shore, a bank 
 of sand, divided into long islands by narrow 
 channels of sea. The space between this bank 
 and the true shore consists of the sedimentary 
 deposits from these and other rivers, a great 
 plain of calcareous mud, covered, in the neigh- 
 borhood of Venice, by the sea at high water, to 
 the depth in most places of a foot or a foot and
 
 68 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 a half, and nearly everywhere exposed at low 
 tide, but divided by an intricate network of 
 narrow and winding channels, from which the 
 sea never retires. In some places, according to 
 the run of the currents, the land has risen into 
 marshy islets, consolidated, some by art, and 
 some by time, into ground firm enough to be 
 built upon, or fruitful enough to be cultivated: 
 in others, on the contrary, it has not reached the 
 sea-level; so that, at the average low water, shal- 
 low lakelets glitter among its irregularly exposed 
 fields of seaweed. In the midst of the largest 
 of these, increased in importance by the con- 
 fluence of several large river channels towards 
 one of the openings in the sea bank, the city of 
 Venice itself is built, on a clouded cluster of 
 islands; the various plots of higher ground which 
 appear to the north and south of this central 
 cluster, have at different periods been also 
 thickly inhabited, and now bear, according to 
 their size, the remains of cities, villages, or iso- 
 lated convents and churches, scattered among 
 spaces of open ground, partly waste and encum- 
 bered by ruins, partly under cultivation for the 
 supply of the metropolis. 
 
 vi. The average rise and fall of the tide is 
 about three feet (varying considerably with the 
 seasons*) ; but this fall, on so flat a shore, is 
 Appendix III, " Tides of Venice."
 
 THE THRONE. 69 
 
 enough to cause continual movement in the 
 waters, and in the main canals to produce a reflux 
 which frequently runs like a mill stream. At 
 high water no land is visible for many miles to 
 the north or south of Venice, except in the form 
 of small islands crowned with towers or gleam- 
 ing with villages: there is a channel, some three 
 miles wide, between the city and the mainland, 
 and some mile and a half wide between it and 
 the sandy breakwater called the Lido, which di- 
 vides the lagoon from the Adriatic, but which is 
 so low as hardly to disturb the impression of the 
 city's having been built in the midst of the ocean, 
 although the secret of its true position is partly, 
 yet not painfully, betrayed by the clusters of 
 piles set to mark the deep-water channels, which 
 undulate far away in spotty chains like the 
 studded backs of huge sea-snakes, and by the 
 quick glittering of the crisped and crowded 
 waves that flicker and dance before the strong 
 winds upon the unlifted level of the shallow sea. 
 But the scene is widely different at low tide. A 
 fall of eighteen or twenty inches is enough to 
 show ground over the greater part of the lagoon; 
 and at the complete ebb the city is seen stand- 
 ing in the midst of a dark plain of seaweed, of 
 gloomy green, except only where the larger 
 branches of the Brenta and its associated streams 
 converge towards the port of the I/ido. Through
 
 70 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 this salt and sombre plain the gondola and the 
 fishing-boat advance by tortuous channels, sel- 
 dom more than four or five feet deep, and often 
 so choked with slime that the heavier keels fur- 
 row the bottom till their crossing tracks are seen 
 through the clear sea water like the ruts upon a 
 wintry road, and the oar leaves blue gashes upon 
 the ground at every stroke, or is entangled among 
 the thick weed that fringes the banks with the 
 weight of its sullen waves, leaning to and fro 
 upon the uncertain sway of the exhausted tide. 
 The scene is often profoundly oppressive, even 
 at this day, when every plot of higher ground 
 bears some fragment of fair building: but, in 
 order to know what it was once, let the traveller 
 follow in his boat at evening the windings of 
 some unfrequented channel far into the midst of 
 the melancholy plain; let him remove, in his 
 imagination, the brightness of the great city that 
 still extends itself in the distance, and the walls 
 and towers from the islands that are near; and 
 so wait, until the bright investiture and sweet 
 warmth of the sunset are withdrawn from the 
 waters, and the black desert of their shore lies 
 in its nakedness beneath the night, pathless, 
 comfortless, infirm, lost in dark languor and 
 fearful silence, except where the salt runlets 
 plash into the tideless pools, or the seabirds flit 
 from their margins with a questioning cry; and
 
 THE THRONE. 7 1 
 
 he will be enabled to enter in some sort into the 
 horror of heart with which this solitude was 
 anciently chosen by man for his habitation. 
 They little thought, who first drove the stakes 
 into the sand, and strewed the ocean reeds for 
 their rest, that their children were to be the 
 princes of that ocean, and their palaces its pride; 
 and yet, in the great natural laws that rule that 
 sorrowful wilderness, let it be remembered what 
 strange preparation had been made for the 
 things which no human imagination could have 
 foretold, and how the whole existence and for- 
 tune of the Venetian nation were anticipated or 
 compelled, by the setting of those bars and 
 doors to the rivers and the sea. Had deeper 
 currents divided their islands, hostile navies 
 would again and again have reduced the rising 
 city into servitude; had stronger surges beaten 
 their shores, all the richness and refinement of 
 the Venetian architecture must have been ex- 
 changed for the walls and bulwarks of an ordi- 
 nary sea-port. Had there been no tide, as in 
 other parts of the Mediterranean, the narrow 
 canals of the city would have become noisome, 
 and the marsh in which it was built pestiferous. 
 Had the tide been only a foot or eighteen inches 
 higher in its rise, the water-access to the doors 
 of the palaces would have been impossible: even 
 as it is, there is sometimes a little difficulty, at
 
 72 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the ebb, in landing without setting foot upon 
 the lower and slippery steps: and the highest 
 tides sometimes enter the courtyards, and over- 
 flow the entrance halls. Eighteen inches more 
 of difference between the level of the flood and 
 ebb would have rendered the doorsteps of every 
 palace, at low water, a treacherous mass of weeds 
 and limpets, and the entire system of water- 
 carriage for the higher classes, in their easy and 
 daily intercourse, must have been done away 
 with. The streets of the city would have been 
 widened, its network of canals filled up, and all 
 the peculiar character of the place and the people 
 destroyed. 
 
 vn. The reader may perhaps have felt some 
 pain in the contrast between this faithful view 
 of the site of the Venetian Throne, and the ro- 
 mantic conception of it which we ordinarily 
 form; but this pain, if he have felt it, ought to 
 be more than counterbalanced by the value of 
 the instance thus afforded to us at once of the 
 inscrutableness and the wisdom of the ways of 
 God. If, two thousand years ago, we had been 
 permitted to watch the slow settling of the slime 
 of those turbid rivers into the polluted sea, and 
 the gaining upon its deep and fresh waters of the 
 lifeless, impassable, unvoyageable plain, how little 
 could we have understood the purpose with 
 which those islands were shaped out of the void,
 
 THE THRONE. 73 
 
 and the torpid waters enclosed with their deso- 
 late walls of sand! How little could we have 
 known, any more than of what now seems to us 
 most distressful, dark, and objectless, the glori- 
 ous aim which was then in the mind of Him in 
 whose hand are all the corners of the earth 1 
 how little imagined that in the laws which were 
 stretching forth the gloomy margins of those 
 fruitless banks, and feeding the bitter grass 
 among their shallows, there was indeed a prepa- 
 ration, and the only preparation possible, for the 
 founding of a city which was to be set like " 
 golden clasp on the girdle of the earth, to write 
 her history on the white scrolls of the sea-surges, 
 and to word it in their thunder, and to gather 
 and give forth, in world-wide pulsation, the glory 
 of the West and of the East, from the burning 
 heart of her Fortitude and Splendor.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 [SECOND OF SECOND VOLUME IN OLD EDITION.] 
 TORCELLO. 
 
 i. SEVEN miles to the north of Venice, the 
 banks of sand, which near the city rise little 
 above low-water mark, attain by degrees a 
 higher level, and knit themselves at last into 
 fields of salt morass, raised here and there into 
 shapeless mounds, and intercepted by narrow 
 creeks of sea. One of the feeblest of these in- 
 lets, after winding for some time among buried 
 fragments of masonry, and knots of sunburnt 
 weeds whitened with webs of fucus, stays itself 
 in an utterly stagnant pool beside a plot of 
 greener grass covered with ground ivy and vio- 
 lets. On this mound is built a rude brick cam- 
 panile, of the commonest Lombardic type, which 
 if we ascend towards evening (and there are 
 none to hinder us, the door of its ruinous stair- 
 case swinging idly on its hinges), we may com- 
 mand from it one of the most notable scenes in 
 
 74
 
 TOR CELLO. 75 
 
 this wide world of ours. Far as the eye can 
 reach, a waste of wild sea moor, of a lurid ashen 
 gray; not like our northern moors with their jet- 
 black pools and purple heath, but lifeless, the 
 color of sackcloth, with the corrrupted sea- 
 water soaking through the roots of its acrid 
 weeds, and gleaming hither and thither through 
 its snaky channels. No gathering of fantastic 
 mists, nor coursing of clouds across it; but mel- 
 ancholy clearness of space in the warm sunset, 
 oppressive, reaching to the horizon of its level 
 gloom. To the very horizon, on the north-east; 
 but, to the north and west, there is a blue line 
 of higher land along the border of it, and above 
 this, but farther back, a misty band of moun- 
 tains, touched with snow. To the east, the pale- 
 ness and roar of the Adriatic, louder at moment- 
 ary intervals as the surf breaks on the bars of 
 sand; to the south, the widening branches of 
 the calm lagoon, alternately purple and pale 
 green, as they reflect the evening clouds or twi- 
 light sky; and almost beneath our feet, on the 
 same field which sustains the tower we gaze 
 from, a group of four buildings, two of them 
 little larger than cottages (though built of stone, 
 and one adorned by a quaint belfry), the third 
 an octagonal chapel, of which we can see but 
 little more than the flat red roof with its rayed 
 tiling, the fourth, a considerable church with
 
 76 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 nave and aisles, but of which, in like manner, we 
 can see little but the long central ridge and lat- 
 eral slopes of roof, which the sunlight separates 
 in one glowing mass from the green field beneath 
 and gray moor beyond. There are no living 
 creatures near the buildings, nor any vestige of 
 village or city round about them. They lie like 
 a little company of ships becalmed on a far-away 
 sea. 
 
 ii. Then look farther to the south. Beyond 
 the widening branches of the lagoon, and rising 
 out of the bright lake into which they gather, 
 there are a multitude of towers, dark, and scat- 
 tered among square-set shapes of clustered 
 palaces, a long and irregular line fretting the 
 southern sky. 
 
 Mother and daughter, you behold them both 
 in their widowhood, TORCELLO and VENICE. 
 
 Thirteen hundred years ago, the gray moor- 
 land looked as it does this day, and the purple 
 mountains stood as radiantly in the deep dis- 
 tances of evening; but on the line of the hori- 
 zon, there were strange fires mixed with the 
 light of sunset, and the lament of many human 
 voices mixed with the fretting of the waves on 
 their ridges of sand. The flames rose from the 
 ruins of Altinum; the lament from the multi- 
 tude of its people, seeking, like Israel of old, a 
 refuge from the sword in the paths of the sea.
 
 TORCELLO. 77 
 
 The cattle are feeding and resting upon the 
 site of the city that they left; the mower's 
 scythe swept this day at dawn over the chief 
 street of the city that they built, and the swathes 
 of soft grass are now sending up their scent into 
 the night air, the only incense that fills the tem- 
 ple of their ancient worship. Let us go down 
 into that little space of meadow land. 
 
 in. The inlet which runs nearest to the base 
 of the campanile is not that by which Torcello 
 is commonly approached. Another, somewhat 
 broader, and overhung by alder copse, winds 
 out of the main channel of the lagoon up to the 
 very edge of the little meadow which was once 
 the Piazza of the city, and there, stayed by a 
 few grey stones which present some semblance 
 of a quay, forms its boundary at one extremity. 
 Hardly larger than an ordinary English farm- 
 yard, and roughly enclosed on each side by 
 broken palings and hedges of honeysuckle and 
 briar, the narrow field retires from the water's 
 edge, traversed by a scarcely traceable footpath, 
 for some forty or fifty paces, and then expand- 
 ing into the form of a small square, with build- 
 ings on three sides of it, the fourth being that 
 which opens to the water. Two of these, that 
 on our left and that in front of us as we ap- 
 proach from the canal, are so small that they 
 might well be taken for the out-houses of the
 
 78 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 farm, though the first is a conventual building, 
 and the other aspires to the title of the " Pal- 
 azzo publico," both dating as far back as the 
 beginning of the fourteenth century; the third, 
 the octagonal church of Santa Fosca, is far 
 more ancient than either, yet hardly on a larger 
 scale. Though the pillars of the portico which 
 surrounds it are of pure Greek marble, and their 
 capitals are enriched with delicate sculpture, 
 they, and the arches they sustain, together only 
 raise the roof to the height of a cattle-shed; and 
 the first strong impression which the spectator 
 receives from the whole scene is, that whatever 
 sin it may have been which has on this spot 
 been visited with so utter a desolation, it could 
 not at least have been ambition. Nor will this 
 impression be diminished as we approach, or 
 enter, the larger church to which the whole 
 group of building is subordinate. It has evi- 
 dently been built by men in flight and distress,* 
 who sought in the hurried erection of their Isl- 
 and church such a shelter for their earnest and 
 sorrowful worship as, on the one hand, could 
 not attract the eyes of their enemies by its 
 splendor, and yet, on the other, might not 
 awaken too bitter feelings by its contrast with 
 the churches which they had seen destroyed. 
 
 * Appendix IV, " Date of the Duomo of Torcello."
 
 TOK CELLO. 79 
 
 There is visible everywhere a simple and tender 
 effort to recover some of the form of the tem- 
 ples which they had loved, and to do honor to 
 God by that which they were erecting, while 
 distress and humiliation prevented the desire, 
 and prudence precluded the admission, either of 
 luxury of ornament or magnificence of plan. 
 The exterior is absolutely devoid of decoration, 
 with the exception only of the western entrance 
 and the lateral door, of which the former has 
 carved sideposts and architrave, and the latter, 
 crosses of rich sculpture; while the massy stone 
 shutters of the windows, turning on huge rings 
 of stone, which answer the double purpose of 
 stanchions and brackets, cause the whole build- 
 ing rather to resemble a refuge from Alpine 
 storm than the cathedral of a populous city; 
 and, internally, the two solemn mosaics of the 
 eastern and western extremities, one represent- 
 ing the Last Judgment, the other the Madonna, 
 her tears falling as her hands are raised to bless, 
 and the noble range of pillars which enclose 
 the space between, terminated by the high 
 throne for the pastor and the semicircular 
 raised seats for the superior clergy, are expres- 
 sive at once of the deep sorrow and the sacred 
 courage of men who had no home left them 
 upon earth, but who looked for one to come, of
 
 SO THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 men " persecuted but not forsaken, cast down 
 but not destroyed." 
 
 iv. For observe this choice of subjects. It 
 is indeed possible that the walls of the nave and 
 aisles, which are now whitewashed, may have 
 been covered with fresco or mosaic, and thus 
 have supplied a series of subjects, on the choice 
 of which we cannot speculate. I do not, how- 
 ever, find record of the destruction of any such 
 works; and I am rather inclined to believe that 
 at any rate the central division of the building 
 was originally decorated, as it is now, simply by 
 mosaics representing Christ, the Virgin, and the 
 apostles, at one extremity, and Christ coming 
 to judgment at the other. And if so, I repeat, 
 observe the significance of this choice. Most 
 other early churches are covered with imagery 
 sufficiently suggestive of the vivid interest of 
 the builders in the history and occupations of 
 the world. Symbols or representations of politi- 
 cal events, portraits of living persons, and 
 sculptures of satirical, grotesque, or trivial sub- 
 jects are of constant occurrence, mingled with 
 the more strictly appointed representations of 
 scriptural or ecclesiastical history; but at Tor- 
 cello even these usual, and one should have 
 thought almost necessary, successions of Bible 
 events do not appear. The mind of the wor- 
 shipper was fixed entirely upon two great facts,
 
 TORCELLO. 8 1 
 
 to him the most precious of all facts, the pres- 
 ent mercy of Christ to His Church, and His 
 future coming to judge the world. That Christ's 
 mercy was, at this period, supposed chiefly to be 
 attainable through the pleading of the Virgin, 
 and that therefore beneath the figure of the Re- 
 deemer is seen that of the weeping Madonna in 
 the act of intercession, may indeed be matter of 
 sorrow to the Protestant beholder, but ought 
 not to blind him to the earnestness and single- 
 ness of the faith with which these men sought 
 their sea-solitudes; not in hope of founding 
 new dynasties, or entering upon new epochs of 
 prosperity, but only to humble themselves be- 
 fore God, and to pray that in His infinite mercy 
 He would hasten the time when the sea should 
 give up the dead which were in it, and Death 
 and Hell give up the dead which were in them, 
 and when they might enter into the better king- 
 dom, "where the wicked cease from troubling 
 and the weary are at rest." 
 
 v. Nor were the strength and elasticity of 
 their minds, even in the least matters, dimin- 
 ished by thus looking forward to the close of all 
 things. On the contrary, nothing is more re- 
 markable than the finish and beauty of all the 
 portions of the building, which seem to have 
 been actually executed for the place they occupy 
 in the present structure. The rudest are those
 
 82 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 which they brought with them from the main- 
 land; the best and most beautiful, those which 
 appear to have been carved for their island 
 church: of these, the new capitals already no- 
 ticed, and the exquisite panel ornaments of the 
 chancel screen, are the most conspicuous; the 
 latter form a low wall across the church between 
 the six small shafts whose places are seen in the 
 plan, and serve to enclose a space raised two 
 steps above the level of the nave, destined for 
 the singers, and indicated also in the plan by 
 an open line abed. The bas-reliefs on this low 
 screen are groups of peacocks and lions, two 
 face to face on each panel, rich and fantastic 
 beyond description, though not expressive of 
 very accurate knowledge either of leonine or 
 pavonine forms. And it is not until we pass to 
 the back of the stair of the pulpit, which is con- 
 nected with the northern extremity of this 
 screen, that we find evidence of the haste with 
 which the church was constructed. 
 
 vi. The pulpit, however, is not among the 
 least noticeable of its features. It is sustained 
 on the four small detached shafts marked at/ 
 in the plan, between the two pillars at the north 
 side of the screen; both pillars and pulpit studi- 
 ously plain, while the staircase which ascends to 
 it is a compact mass of masonry (shaded in the 
 plan), faced by carved slabs of marble; the para-
 
 TORCELLO. 83 
 
 pet of the staircase being also formed of solid 
 blocks like paving-stones, lightened by rich, but 
 not deep, exterior carving. Now these blocks, or 
 at least those which adorn the staircase towards 
 the aisle, have been brought from the mainland; 
 and, being of size and shape not easily to be ad- 
 justed to the proportions of the stair, the archi- 
 tect has cut out of them pieces of the size he 
 needed, utterly regardless of the subject or sym- 
 metry of the original design. The pulpit is not 
 the only place where this rough procedure has 
 been permitted: at the lateral door of the church 
 are two crosses, cut out of slabs of marble, for- 
 merly covered with rich sculpture over their 
 whole surfaces, of which portions are left on the 
 surface of the crosses; the lines of the original 
 design being, of course, just as arbitrarily cut by 
 the incisions between the arms, as the patterns 
 upon a piece of silk which has been shaped 
 anew. The fact is, that in all early Romanesque 
 work, large surfaces are covered with sculpture 
 for the sake of enrichment only; sculpture which 
 indeed had always meaning, because it was easier 
 for the sculptor to work with some chain of 
 thought to guide his chisel, than without any; 
 but it was not always intended, or at least not 
 always hoped, that this chain of thought might 
 be traced by the spectator. All that was pro- 
 posed appears to have been the enrichment of
 
 84 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 surface, so as to make it delightful to the eye; 
 and this being once understood, a decorated 
 piece of marble became to the architect just 
 what a piece of lace or embroidery is to a dress- 
 maker, who takes of it such portions as she may 
 require, with little regard to the places where 
 the patterns are divided. And though it may 
 appear, at first sight, that the procedure is indi- 
 cative of bluntness and rudeness of feeling, we 
 may perceive, upon reflection, that it may also 
 indicate the redundance of power which sets 
 little price upon its own exertion. When a bar- 
 barous nation builds its fortress-walls out of 
 fragments of the refined architecture it has over- 
 thrown, we can read nothing but its savageness 
 in the vestiges of art which may thus chance to 
 have been preserved; but when the new work is 
 equal, if not superior, in execution, to the pieces 
 of the older art which are associated with it, we 
 may justly conclude that the rough treatment to 
 which the latter have been subjected is rather a 
 sign of the hope of doing better things, than of 
 want of feeling for those already accomplished. 
 And, in general, this careless fitting of ornament 
 is, in very truth, an evidence of life in the school 
 of builders, and of their making a due distinc- 
 tion between work which is to be used for archi- 
 tectural effect, and work which is to possess an 
 abstract perfection; and it commonly shows
 
 TORCELLO. 85 
 
 also that the exertion of design is so easy to 
 them, and their fertility so inexhaustible, that 
 they feel no remorse in using somewhat injuri- 
 ously what they can replace with so slight an 
 effort. 
 
 vn. It appears however questionable in the 
 present instance, whether, if the marbles had not 
 been carved to his hand, the architect would 
 have taken the trouble to enrich them. For 
 the execution of the rest of the pulpit is studi- 
 ously simple, and it is in this respect that its 
 design possesses, it seems to me, an interest to 
 the religious spectator greater than he will take 
 in any other portion of the building. It is sup- 
 ported, as I said, on a group of four slender 
 shafts; itself of a slightly oval form, extending 
 nearly from one pillar of the nave to the next, 
 so as to give the preacher free room for the action 
 of the entire person, which always gives an unaf- 
 fected impressiveness to the eloquence of the 
 southern nations. In the centre of its curved 
 front, a small bracket and detached shaft sus- 
 tain the projection of a narrow marble desk 
 (occupying the place of a cushion in a modern 
 pulpit), which is hollowed out into a shallow 
 curve on the upper surface, leaving a ledge at 
 the bottom of the slab, so that a book laid 
 upon it, or rather into it, settles itself there, 
 opening as if by instinct, but without the least
 
 86 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 chance of slipping to the side, or in any way 
 moving beneath the preacher's hands. Six balls, 
 or rather almonds, of purple marble veined with 
 white are set round the edge of the pulpit, and 
 form its only decoration. Perfectly graceful, but 
 severe and almost cold in its simplicity, built for 
 permanence and service, so that no single mem- 
 ber, no stone of it, could be spared, and yet all 
 are firm and uninjured as when they were first 
 set together, it stands in venerable contrast both 
 with the fantastic pulpits of mediaeval cathedrals 
 and with the rich furniture of those of our mod- 
 ern churches. It is worth while pausing for a 
 moment to consider how far the manner of deco- 
 rating a pulpit may have influence on the effi- 
 ciency of its service, and whether our modern 
 treatment of this, to us all-important, feature of 
 a church be the best possible.* 
 
 vin. When the sermon is good we need not 
 much concern ourselves about the form of the 
 pulpit. But sermons cannot always be good; 
 and I believe that the temper in which the con- 
 gregation set themselves to listen may be in some 
 degree modified by their perception of fitness or 
 unfitness, impressiveness or vulgarity, in the dis- 
 position of the place appointed for the speaker, 
 not to the same degree, but somewhat in the 
 
 * Appendix V., " Modern Pulpits."
 
 TORCELLO. 87 
 
 same way, that they may be influenced by his 
 own gestures or expression, irrespective of the 
 sense of what he says. I believe, therefore, in 
 the first place, that pulpits ought never to be 
 highly decorated; the speaker is apt to look 
 mean or diminutive if the pulpit is either on a 
 very large scale or covered with splendid orna- 
 ment, and if the interest of the sermon should 
 flag the mind is instantly tempted to wander. I 
 have observed that in almost all cathedrals^ 
 when the pulpits are peculiarly magnificent, ser- 
 mons are not often preached from them; but 
 rather, and especially if for any important pur- 
 pose, from some temporary erection in other 
 parts of the building: and though this may often 
 be done because the architect has consulted the 
 effect upon the eye more than the convenience 
 of the ear in the placing of his larger pulpit,-! 
 think it also proceeds in some measure from a 
 natural dislike in the preacher to match himself 
 with the magnificence of the rostrum, lest the 
 sermon should not be thought worthy of the 
 place. Yet this will rather hold of the colossal 
 sculptures, and pyramids of fantastic tracery 
 which encumber the pulpits of Flemish and Ger- 
 man churches, than of the delicate mosaics and 
 ivory-like carving of the Romanesque basilicas^ 
 for when the form is kept simple, much loveli- 
 ness of color and costliness of work may be in-
 
 88 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 troduced, and yet the speaker not be thrown 
 into the shade by them. 
 
 ix. But, in the second place, whatever orna- 
 ments we admit ought clearly to be of a chaste, 
 grave, and noble kind; and what furniture we 
 employ, evidently more for the honoring of God's 
 word than for the ease of the preacher. For 
 there are two ways of regarding a sermon, either 
 as a human composition, or a Divine message. 
 If we look upon it entirely as the first, and re- 
 quire our clergymen to finish it with their utmost 
 care and learning, for our better delight whether 
 of ear or intellect, we shall necessarily be led to 
 expect much formality and stateliness in its de- 
 livery, and to think that all is not well if the pul- 
 pit have not a golden fringe round it, and a good- 
 ly cushion in front of it, and if the sermon be 
 not fairly written in a black book, to be smoothed 
 upon the cushion in a majestic manner before 
 beginning; all this we shall duly come to expect: 
 but we shall at the same time consider the trea- 
 tise thus prepared as something to which it is 
 our duty to listen without restlessness for half 
 an hour or three quarters, but which, when that' 
 duty has been decorously performed, we may 
 dismiss from our minds in happy confidence of 
 being provided with another when next it shall 
 be necessary. But if once we begin to regard 
 the preacher, whatever his faults, as a man sent
 
 TOR CELLO. 89 
 
 with a message to us, which it is a matter of life or 
 death whether we hear or refuse; if we look upon 
 him as set in charge over many spirits in danger 
 of ruin, and having allowed to him but an hour 
 or two in the seven days to speak to them; if we 
 make some endeavor to conceive how precious 
 these hours ought to be to him, a small vantage 
 on the side of God after his flock have been ex- 
 posed for six days together to the full weight of 
 the world's temptation, and he has been forced 
 to watch the thorn and the thistle springing in 
 their hearts, and to see what wheat had been 
 scattered there snatched from the wayside by 
 this wild bird and the other, and at last, when 
 breathless and weary with the week's labor they 
 give him this interval of imperfect and languid 
 hearing, he has but thirty minutes to get at the 
 separate hearts of a thousand men, to convince 
 them of all their weaknesses, to shame them for 
 all their sins, to worn them of all their dangers,, 
 to try by this way and that to stir the hard 
 fastenings of those doors where the Master 
 himself has stood and knocked yet none 
 opened, and to call at the openings of those 
 dark streets where Wisdom herself hath stretched 
 forth her hands and no man regarded, thirty 
 minutes to raise the dead in, let us but once 
 understand and feel this, and we shall look with 
 changed eyes upon that frippery of gay furniture
 
 go THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 about the place from which the message of judg- 
 ment must be delivered, which either breathes 
 upon the dry bones that they may live, or, if in- 
 effectual, remains recorded in condemnation, 
 perhaps against the utterer and listener alike, 
 but assuredly against one of them. We shall 
 not so easily bear with the silk and gold upon 
 the seat of judgment, nor with ornament of ora- 
 tory in the mouth of the messenger: we shall 
 wish that his words may be simple, even when 
 they are sweetest, and the place from which he 
 speaks like a marble rock in the desert, about 
 which the people have gathered in their thirst. 
 
 x. But the severity which is so marked in 
 the pulpit at Torcello is still more striking in the 
 raised seats and episcopal throne which occupy 
 the curve of the apse. The arrangement at first 
 somewhat recalls to the mind that of the Roman 
 amphitheatres; the flight of steps which lead up 
 to the central throne divides the curve of the 
 continuous steps or seats (it appears in the first 
 three ranges questionable which were intended, 
 for they seem too high for the one, and too low 
 and close for the other), exactly as in an amphi- 
 theatre the stairs for access intersect the sweep- 
 ing ranges of seats. But in the very rudeness 
 of this arrangement, and especially in the want 
 of all appliances of comfort (for the whole is of 
 marble, and the arms of the central throne are
 
 TORCELLO. 91 
 
 not for convenience, but for distinction, and 
 to separate it more conspicuously from the un- 
 divided seats), there is a dignity which no furni- 
 ture of stalls nor carving of canopies ever could 
 attain, and well worth the contemplation of the 
 Protestant, both as sternly significative of an 
 episcopal authority which in the early days of 
 the Church was never disputed, and as depend- 
 ent for all its impressiveness on the utter ab- 
 sence of any expression either of pride or self- 
 indulgence. 
 
 XL But there is one more circumstance 
 which we ought to remember as giving peculiar 
 significance to the position which the episcopal 
 throne occupies in this island church, namely, 
 that in the minds of all early Christians the 
 Church itself was most frequently symbolized 
 under the image of a ship, of which the bishop 
 was the pilot. Consider the force which this 
 symbol would assume in the imaginations of men 
 to whom the spiritual Church had become an 
 ark of refuge in the midst of a destruction hardly 
 less terrible than that from which the eight souls 
 were saved of old, a destruction in which the 
 wrath of man had become as broad as the earth 
 and as merciless as the sea, and who saw the 
 actual and literal edifice of the Church raised up, 
 itself like an ark in the midst of the waters. No 
 marvel if with the surf of the Adriatic rolling
 
 92 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 between them and the shores of their birth, from 
 which they were separated for ever, they should 
 have looked upon each other as the disciples did 
 when the storm came down on the Tiberias 
 Lake, and have yielded ready and loving obedi- 
 ence to those who ruled them in His name, who 
 had there rebuked the winds and commanded 
 stillness to the sea. And if the stranger would 
 yet learn in what spirit it was that the dominion 
 of Venice was begun, and in what strength she 
 went forth conquering and to conquer, let 
 him not seek to estimate the wealth of her 
 arsenals or number of her armies, nor look 
 upon the pageantry of her palaces, nor enter 
 into the secrets of her councils; but let him 
 ascend the highest tier of the stern ledges that 
 sweep round the altar of Torcello, and then* 
 looking as the pilot did of old along the 
 marble ribs of the goodly temple-ship, let him 
 repeople its veined deck with the shadows 
 of its dead mariners, and strive to feel in 
 himself the strength of heart that was kindled 
 within them, when first, after the pillars of it had 
 settled in the sand, and the roof of it had been 
 closed against the angry sky that was still red- 
 dened by the fires of their homesteads, first, 
 within the shelter of its knitted walls, amidst 
 the murmur of the waste of waves and the beat-
 
 TOKCELLO. 
 
 93 
 
 ing of the wings of the sea-birds round the rock 
 that was strange to them, rose that ancient 
 hymn, in the power of their gathered voices: 
 
 THE SEA is His, AND HE MADE IT, 
 
 AND HlS HANDS PREPARED THE DRY LAND.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ST. MARK'S. 
 
 i. " AND so Barnabas took Mark, and sailed 
 unto Cyprus." If as the shores of Asia lessened 
 upon his sight, the spirit of prophecy had en- 
 tered into the heart of the weak disciple who 
 had turned back when his hand was on the 
 plough, and who had been judged, by the chief - 
 est of Christ's captains, unworthy thencefor- 
 ward to go forth with him to the work,* how 
 wonderful would he have thought it, that by the 
 lion symbol in future ages he was to be repre- 
 sented among men! how woful, that the war- 
 cry of his name should so often reanimate the 
 rage of the soldier, on those very plains where 
 he himself had failed in the courage of the 
 Christian, and so often dye with fruitless blood 
 that very Cypriot Sea, over whose waves, in re- 
 pentance and shame, he was following the Son 
 of Consolation! 
 
 * Acts, xiii. 13; xv. 38, 39. 
 
 94
 
 ST. MARK'S. 95 
 
 ii. That the Venetians possessed themselves 
 of his body in the ninth century, there appears 
 no sufficient reason to doubt, nor that it was 
 principally in consequence of their having done 
 so, that they chose him for their patron saint. 
 There exists, however, a tradition that before 
 he went into Egypt he had founded the Church 
 at Aquileia, and was thus, in some sort, the first 
 bishop of the Venetian isles and people. I be- 
 lieve that this tradition stands on nearly as good 
 grounds as that of St. Peter having been the 
 first bishop of Rome;* but, as usual, it is en- 
 riched by various later additions and embellish- 
 ments, much resembling the stories told respect- 
 ing the church of Murano. Thus we find it 
 recorded by the Santo Padre who compiled the 
 " Vite de' Santi spettanti alle Chiese di Vene- 
 zia,"f that " St. Mark having seen the people of 
 Aquileia well grounded in religion, and being 
 called to Rome by St. Peter, before setting off 
 took with him the holy bishop Hermagoras, and 
 went in a small boat to the marshes of Venice. 
 There were at that period some houses built 
 upon a certain high bank called Rialto, and the 
 boat being driven by the wind was anchored in 
 
 * The reader who desires to investigate it may consult 
 Galliciolli, " Delle Memorie Venete " (Venice, 1795), 
 torn. ii. p. 332, and the authorities quoted by him. 
 
 f Venice, 1761, torn. i. p. 126.
 
 96 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 a marshy place, when St.* Mark, snatched into 
 ecstasy, heard the voice of an angel saying to 
 him: ' Peace be to thee, Mark; here shall thy 
 body rest.' " The angel goes on to foretell the 
 building of " una stupenda, ne piu veduta 
 Citta;" but the fable is hardly ingenious enough 
 to deserve farther relation. 
 
 in. But whether St. Mark was first bishop 
 of Aquileia or not, St. Theodore was the first 
 patron of the city; nor can he yet be considered 
 as having entirely abdicated his early right, as 
 his statue, standing on a crocodile, still com- 
 panions the winged lion on the opposing pillar 
 of the piazzetta. A church erected to this 
 Saint is said to have occupied, before the ninth 
 century, the site of St. Mark's; and the traveller, 
 dazzled by the brilliancy of the great square, 
 ought not to leave it without endeavoring to 
 imagine its aspect in that early time, when it 
 was a green field cloister-like and quiet,* di- 
 vided by a small canal, with a line of trees on 
 each side; and extending between the two 
 churches of St. Theodore and St. Geminian, as 
 
 * St. Mark's Place, "partly covered by turf, and 
 planted with a few trees; and on account of its pleasant 
 aspect called Brollo or Broglio, that is to say, Garden." 
 The canal passed through it, over which is built the bridge 
 of the Malpassi. Galliciolli, lib. i. cap. viii.
 
 ST. MARK'S. 97 
 
 the little piazza, of Torcello lies between its 
 " palazzo " and cathedral. 
 
 iv. But in the year 813, when the seat of 
 government was finally removed to the Rialto, a 
 Ducal Palace, built on the spot where the present 
 one stands, with a Ducal Chapel beside it,* gave 
 a very different character to the Square of St_ 
 Mark; and fifteen years later, the acquisition of 
 the body of the Saint, and its deposition in the 
 Ducal Chapel, perhaps not yet completed, oc- 
 casioned the investiture of that chapel with all 
 possible splendor. St. Theodore was deposed 
 from his patronship, and his church destroyed, 
 to make room for the aggrandizement of the 
 one attached to the Ducal Palace, and thence- 
 forward known as " St. Mark's, "f 
 
 v. This first church was however destroyed 
 by fire, when the Ducal Palace was burned in 
 the revolt against Candiano, in 976. It was 
 partly rebuilt by his successor, Pietro Orseolo, 
 on a larger scale; and with the assistance of 
 Byzantine architects, the fabric was carried on 
 tinder successive Doges for nearly a hundred 
 years; the main building being completed in 
 1071, but its incrustation with marble not till 
 
 * My authorities for this statement are given below, in 
 the chapter on the Ducal Palace. 
 
 f In the Chronicles, " Sancti Marci Ducalis Cappella."
 
 98 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 considerably later. It was consecrated on the 
 8th of October, 1085,* according to Sansovino 
 and the author of the "Chiesa Ducale di S. 
 Marco," in 1094 according to Lazari, but cer- 
 tainly between 1084 and 1096, those years be- 
 ing the limits of the reign of Vital Falier; I 
 incline to the supposition that it was soon after 
 his accession to the throne in 1085, though 
 Sansovino writes, by mistake, Ordelafo instead 
 of Vital Falier. But, at all events, before the 
 close of the eleventh century the great conse- 
 cration of the church took place. It was again 
 injured by fire in 1106, but repaired; and from 
 that time to the fall of Venice there was proba- 
 bly no Doge who did not in some slight degree 
 embellish or alter the fabric, so that few parts 
 of it can be pronounced boldly to be of any 
 given date. Two periods of interference are, 
 however, notable above the rest: the first, that 
 
 * "To God the Lord, the glorious Virgin Annunciate, 
 and the Protector St. Mark." Corner, p. 14. It is need- 
 less to trouble the reader with the various authorities for 
 the above statements: I have consulted the best. The 
 previous inscription once existing on the church itself: 
 ' ' Anno milleno transacto bisque trigeno 
 
 Desuper undecimo fuit facta primo," 
 is no longer to be seen, and is conjectured by Corner, 
 with much probability, to have perished " in qualche ris- 
 tauro."
 
 ST. MARKS. 99 
 
 in which the Gothic school had superseded the 
 Byzantine towards the close of the fourteenth 
 century, when the pinnacles, upper archivolts, 
 and window traceries were added to the exte- 
 rior, and the great screen, with various chapels 
 and tabernacle-work, to the interior; the sec- 
 ond, when the Renaissance school superseded 
 the Gothic, and the pupils of Titian and Tin- 
 toret substituted, over one half of the church, 
 their own compositions for the Greek mosaics 
 with which it was originally decorated ;* happily, 
 though with no good will, having left enough to 
 enable us to imagine and lament what they de- 
 stroyed. Of this irreparable loss we shall have 
 more to say hereafter; meantime, I wish only to 
 fix in the reader's mind the succession of periods 
 of alteration as firmly and simply as possible. 
 
 vi. We have seen that the main body of the 
 church may be broadly stated to be of the elev- 
 enth century, the Gothic additions of the four- 
 teenth, and the restored mosaics of the seven- 
 teenth. There is no difficulty in distinguishing 
 at a glance the Gothic portions from the By- 
 zantine; but there is considerable difficulty in 
 ascertaining how long, during the course of the 
 twelfth and thirteenth centuries, additions were 
 made to the Byzantine church, which cannot be 
 
 * Signed Bartolomeus Bozza, 1634, 1647, 1656, Etc.
 
 100 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 easily distinguished from the work of the elev- 
 enth century, being purposely executed in the 
 same manner. Two of the most important 
 pieces of evidence on this point are, a mosaic 
 in the south transept, and another over the 
 northern door of the facade; the first represent- 
 ing the interior, the second the exterior, of the 
 ancient church. 
 
 vii. It has just been stated that the exist- 
 ing building was consecrated by the Doge Vital 
 Falier. A peculiar solemnity was given to that 
 of consecration, in the minds of the Venetian 
 people, by what appears to have been one of the 
 best arranged and most successful impostures 
 ever attempted by the clergy of the Romish 
 church. The body of St. Mark had, without 
 doubt, perished in the conflagration of 976; but 
 the revenues of the church depended too much 
 upon the devotion excited by these relics to 
 permit the confession of their loss. The fol- 
 lowing is the account given by Corner, and be- 
 lieved to this day by the Venetians, of the pre- 
 tended miracle by which it was concealed. 
 
 " After the repairs undertaken by the Doge 
 Orseolo, the place in which the body of the holy 
 Evangelist rested had been altogether forgotten, 
 .so that the Doge Vital Falier was entirely igno- 
 rant of the place of the venerable deposit. This 
 was no light affliction, not only to the pious
 
 ST. MARK'S. IOI 
 
 Doge, but to all the citizens and people; so that 
 at last, moved by confidence in the Divine 
 mercy, they determined to implore, with prayer 
 and fasting, the manifestation of so great a 
 treasure, which did not now depend upon any 
 human effort. A general fast being therefore 
 proclaimed, and a solemn procession appointed 
 for the 25th day of June, while the people as- 
 sembled in the church interceded with God in 
 fervent prayers for the desired boon, they beheld, 
 with as much amazement as joy, a slight shaking 
 in the marbles of a pillar (near the place where 
 the altar of the Cross is now), which, presently 
 falling to the earth, exposed to the view of the 
 rejoicing people the chest of bronze in which the 
 body of the Evangelist was laid." 
 
 VIIL Of the main facts of this tale there is 
 no doubt. They were embellished afterwards, 
 as usual, by many fanciful traditions; as, for 
 instance, that, when the sarcophagus was dis- 
 covered, St. Mark extended his hand out of it, 
 with a gold ring on one of the fingers, which he 
 permitted a noble of the Dolfin family to remove; 
 and a quaint and delightful story was further 
 invented of this ring, which I shall not repeat 
 here, as it is now as well known as any tale of 
 the Arabian Nights. But the fast and the dis- 
 covery of the coffin, by whatever means effected, 
 are facts; and they are recorded in one of the
 
 102 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 best-preserved mosaics of the north transept, 
 executed very certainly not long after the event 
 had taken place, closely resembling in its treat- 
 ment that of the Bayeux tapestry, and showing, 
 in a conventional manner, the interior of the 
 church, as it then was, filled by the people, first 
 in prayer, then in thanksgiving, the pillar stand- 
 ing open before them, and the Doge, in the 
 midst of them, distinguished by his crimson 
 bonnet embroidered with gold, but more unmis- 
 takably by the inscription " Dux" over his head, 
 as uniformly is the case in the Bayeux tapestry, 
 and most other pictorial works of the period. 
 The church is, of course, rudely represented, and 
 the two upper stories of it reduced to a small 
 scale in order to form a background to the fig- 
 ures; one of those bold pieces of picture history 
 which we in our pride of perspective, and a 
 thousand things besides, never dare attempt. 
 We should have put in a column or two of the 
 real or perspective size, and subdued it into a 
 vague background: the old workman crushed 
 the church together that he might get it all in, 
 up to the cupolas; and has, therefore, left us 
 some useful notes of its ancient form, though 
 any one who is familiar with the method of 
 drawing employed at the period will not push 
 the evidence too far. The two pulpits are there, 
 however, as they are at this day, and the fringe
 
 ST. MARK'S. 103 
 
 of mosaic flowerwork which then encompassed 
 the whole church, but which modern restorers 
 have destroyed, all but one fragment still left in 
 the south aisle. There is no attempt to repre- 
 sent the other mosaics on the roof, the scale 
 being too small to admit of their being repre- 
 sented with any success; but some at least of 
 those mosaics had been executed at that period, 
 and their absence in the representation of the 
 entire church is especially to be observed, in 
 order to show that we must not trust to any 
 negative evidence in such works. M. Lazari has 
 rashly concluded that the central archivolt of 
 St. Mark's must be posterior to the year 1205, 
 because it does not appear in the representation 
 of the exterior of the church over the northern 
 door;* but he justly observes that this mosaic 
 (which is the other piece of evidence we possess 
 respecting the ancient form of the building) can- 
 not itself be earlier than 1205, since it represents 
 the bronze horses which were brought from Con- 
 stantinople in that year. And this one fact ren- 
 ders it very difficult to speak with confidence 
 respecting the date of any part of the exterior 
 of St. Mark's; for we have above seen that it 
 was consecrated in the eleventh century, and yet 
 here is one of the most important exterior deco- 
 
 *Guida di Venezia, p. 6. (He is right, however.)
 
 IO4 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 rations assuredly retouched, if not entirely added, 
 in the thirteenth, although its style would have 
 led us to suppose it had been an original part of 
 the fabric. However, for all our purposes, it 
 will be enough for the reader to remember that 
 the earliest parts of the building belong to the 
 eleventh, twelfth, and first part of the thirteenth 
 century; the Gothic portions to the fourteenth; 
 some of the altars and embellishments to the 
 fifteenth and sixteenth; and the modern portion 
 of the mosaics to the seventeenth. 
 
 ix. This, however, I only wish him to recol- 
 lect in order that I may speak generally of the 
 Byzantine architecture of St. Mark's, without 
 leading him to suppose the whole church to 
 have been built and decorated by Greek artists. 
 Its later portions, with the single exception of 
 the seventeenth century mosaics, have been so 
 dexterously accommodated to the original fabric 
 that the general effect is still that of a Byzantine 
 building; and I shall not, except when it is abso- 
 lutely necessary, direct attention to the discord- 
 ant points, or weary the reader with anatomical 
 criticism. Whatever in St. Mark's arrests the 
 eye, or affects the feelings, is either Byzantine, 
 or has been modified by Byzantine influence; 
 and our inquiry into its architectural merits need 
 not therefore be disturbed by the anxieties of
 
 ST. MARK'S. 10$ 
 
 antiquarianism, or arrested by the obscurities of 
 chronology. 
 
 x. And now I wish that the reader, before I 
 bring him into St. Mark's Place, would imagine 
 himself for a little time in a quiet English cathe- 
 dral town, and walk with me to the west front of 
 its cathedral. Let us go together up the more 
 retired street, at the end of which we can see the 
 pinnacles of one of the towers, and then through 
 the low gray gateway, with its battlemented top 
 and small latticed window in the centre, into 
 the inner private-looking road or close, where 
 nothing goes in but the carts of the tradesmen 
 who supply the bishop and the chapter, and 
 where there are little shaven grass-plots, fenced 
 in by neat rails, before old-fashioned groups of 
 somewhat diminutive and excessively trim houses, 
 with little oriel and bay windows jutting out here 
 and there, and deep wooden cornices and eaves 
 painted cream color and white, and small porches 
 to their doors in the shape of cockle-shells, or 
 little, crooked, thick, indescribable wooden gables 
 warped a little on one side; and so forward till 
 we come to larger houses, also old-fashioned, 
 but of red brick, and with gardens behind them, 
 and fruit walls, which show here and there, 
 among the nectarines, the vestiges of an old 
 cloister arch or shaft, and looking in front on 
 the cathedral square itself, laid out in rigid di-
 
 IO6 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 visions of smooth grass and gravel walk, yet not 
 uncheerful, especially on the sunny side where 
 the canons' children are walking with their 
 nurserymaids. And so, taking care not to tread 
 on the grass, we will go along the straight walk 
 to the west front, and there stand for a time, 
 looking up at its deep-pointed porches and the 
 dark places between their pillars where there 
 were statues once, and where the fragments, 
 here and there, of a stately figure are still left, 
 which has in it the likeness of a king, perhaps 
 indeed a king on earth, perhaps a saintly king 
 long ago in heaven ; and so higher and higher up 
 to the great mouldering wall of rugged sculpture 
 and confused arcades, shattered, and gray, and 
 grisly with heads of dragons and mocking fiends, 
 worn by the rain and swirling winds into yet un- 
 seemlier shape, and colored on their stony scales 
 by the deep russet-orange lichen, melancholy 
 gold; and so, higher still, to the bleak towers, so 
 far above that the eye loses itself among the 
 bosses of their traceries, though they are rude 
 and strong, and only sees like a drift of eddying 
 black points, now closing, now scattering, and 
 now settling suddenly into invisible places among 
 the bosses and flowers, the crowd of restless 
 birds that fill the whole square with that strange 
 clangor of theirs, so harsh and yet so soothing,
 
 S7\ MARK'S. lO/ 
 
 like the cries of birds on a solitary coast between 
 the cliffs and sea. 
 
 xi. Think for a little while of that scene, 
 and the meaning of all its small formalisms, 
 mixed with its serene sublimity. Estimate its 
 secluded, continuous, drowsy felicities, and its 
 evidence of the sense and steady performance 
 of such kind of duties as can be regulated by 
 the cathedral clock; and weigh the influence of 
 those dark towers on all who have passed through 
 the lonely square at their feet for centuries, and 
 on all who have seen them rising far away over 
 the wooded plain, or catching on their square 
 masses the last rays of the sunset, when the city 
 at their feet was indicated only by the mist at 
 the bend of the river. And then let us quickly 
 recollect that we are in Venice, and land at the 
 extremity of the Calle Lunga San Moise, which 
 may be considered as there answering to the 
 secluded street that led us to our English cathe- 
 dral gateway. 
 
 xii. We find ourselves in a paved alley, some 
 seven feet wide where it is widest, full of people, 
 and resonant with cries of itinerant salesmen, 
 a shriek in their beginning, and dying away into 
 a kind of brazen ringing, all the worse for its 
 confinement between the high houses of the pas- 
 sage along which we have to make our way. 
 Over head an inextricable confusion of rugged
 
 IO8 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 shutters, and iron balconies and chimney flues 
 pushed out on brackets to save room, and arched 
 windows with projecting sills of Istrian stone, 
 and gleams of green leaves here and there where 
 a fig-tree branch escapes over a lower wall from 
 some inner cortile, leading the eye up to the 
 narrow stream of blue sky high over all. On 
 each side, a row of shops, as densely set as may 
 be, occupying, in fact, intervals between the 
 square stone shafts, about eight feet high, which 
 carry the first floors: intervals of which one is 
 narrow and serves as a door; the other is, in the 
 more respectable shops, wainscoted to the height 
 of the counter and glazed above, but in those of 
 the poorer tradesmen left open to the ground, 
 and the wares laid on benches and tables in the 
 open air, the light in all cases entering at the 
 front only, and fading away in a few feet from 
 the threshold into a gloom which the eye from 
 without cannot penetrate, but which is generally 
 broken by a ray or two from a feeble lamp at 
 the back of the shop, suspended before a print of 
 the Virgin. The less pious shop-keeper some- 
 times leaves his lamp unlighted, and is contented 
 with a penny print; the more religious one has 
 his print colored and set in a little shrine with a 
 gilded or figured fringe, with perhaps a faded 
 flower or two on each side, and his lamp burn- 
 ing brilliantly. Here at the fruiterer's, where
 
 ST. MARK'S. 109 
 
 the dark-green watermelons are heaped upon 
 the counter like cannon balls, the Madonna has 
 a tabernacle of fresh laurel leaves; but the pew- 
 terer next door has let his lamp out, and there 
 is nothing to be seen in his shop but the dull 
 gleam of the studded patterns on the copper 
 pans, hanging from his roof in the darkness. 
 Next comes a "Vendita Frittole e Liquori," 
 where the Virgin, enthroned in a very humble 
 manner beside a tallow candle on a back shelf, 
 presides over certain ambrosial morsels of a nat- 
 ure too ambiguous to be defined or enumerated. 
 But a few steps farther on, at the regular wine- 
 shop of the calle, where we are offered "Vino 
 Nostrani a Soldi 28*3 2," the Madonna is in great 
 glory, enthroned above ten or a dozen large red 
 casks of three-year-old vintage, and flanked by 
 goodly ranks of bottles of Maraschino, and two 
 crimson lamps; and for the evening, when the 
 gondoliers will come to drink out, under her 
 auspices, the money they have gained during the 
 day, she will have a whole chandelier. 
 
 xin. A yard or two farther, we pass the 
 hostelry of the Black Eagle, and, glancing as we 
 pass through the square door of marble, deeply 
 moulded, in the outer wall, we see the shadows 
 of its pergola of vines resting on an ancient well, 
 with a pointed shield carved on its side; and so 
 presently emerge on the bridge and Campo San
 
 1 10 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 Moise, whence to the entrance into St. Mark's 
 Place, called the Bocca di Piazza (mouth of the 
 square), the Venetian character is nearly de- 
 stroyed, first by the frightful fa9ade of San 
 Moise, which we will pause at another time to 
 examine, and then by the modernizing of the 
 shops as they near the piazza, and the mingling 
 with the lower Venetian populace of lounging 
 groups of English and Austrians. We will push 
 fast through them into the shadow of the pillars 
 at the end of the " Bocca di Piazza," and then 
 we forget them all; for between those pillars 
 there opens a great light, and, in the midst of it, 
 as we advance slowly, the vast tower of St. Mark 
 seems to lift itself visibly forth from the level 
 field of chequered stones; and, on each side, the 
 countless arches prolong themselves into ranged 
 symmetry, as if the rugged and irregular houses 
 that pressed together above us in the dark alley 
 had been struck back into sudden obedience and 
 lovely order, and all their rude casements and 
 broken walls had been transformed into arches 
 charged with goodly sculpture, and fluted shafts 
 of delicate stone. 
 
 xiv. And well may they fall back, for be- 
 yond those troops of ordered arches there rises 
 a vision out of the earth, and all the great square 
 seems to have opened from it in a kind of awe, 
 that we may see it far away; a multitude of pil-
 
 ST. MARK'S. Ill 
 
 lars and white domes, clustered into a long low 
 pyramid of colored light; a treasure-heap, it 
 seems, partly of gold, and partly of opal and 
 mother-of-pearl, hollowed beneath into five great 
 vaulted porches, ceiled with fair mosaic, and beset 
 with sculpture of alabaster, clear as amber and 
 delicate as ivory, sculpture fantastic and in- 
 volved, of palm leaves and lilies, and grapes and 
 pomegranates, and birds clinging and fluttering 
 among the branches, all twined together into an 
 endless network of buds and plumes; and, in the 
 midst of it, the solemn forms of angels, sceptred, 
 and robed to the feet, and leaning to each other 
 across the gates, their figures indistinct among 
 the gleaming of the golden ground through the 
 leaves beside them, interrupted and dim, like 
 the morning light as it faded back among the 
 branches of Eden, when first its gates were angel- 
 guarded long ago. And round the walls of the 
 porches there are set pillars of variegated stones^ 
 jasper and porphyry, and deep-green serpentine 
 spotted with flakes of snow, and marbles, that 
 half refuse and half yield to the sunshine, Cleo- 
 patra-like, "their bluest veins to kiss" the 
 shadow, as it steals back from them, revealing line 
 after line of azure undulation, as a receding tide 
 leaves the waved sand; their capitals rich with 
 interwoven tracery, rooted knots of herbage, and 
 drifting leaves of acanthus and vine, and mystical
 
 112 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 signs, all beginning and ending in the Cross; and 
 above them, in the broad archivolts, a continu- 
 ous chain of language and of life angels, and 
 the signs of heaven, and the labors of men, each 
 in its appointed season upon the earth; and 
 above these, another range of glittering pinna- 
 cles, mixed with white arches edged with scarlet 
 flowers, a confusion of delight, amidst which 
 the breasts of the Greek horses are seen blazing 
 in their breadth of golden strength, and the St. 
 Mark's Lion, lifted on a blue field covered with 
 stars, until at last, as if in ecstasy, the crests of 
 the arches break into a marble foam, and toss 
 themselves far into the blue sky in flashes and 
 wreaths of sculptured spray, as if the breakers 
 on the Lido shore had been frost-bound before 
 they fell, and the sea-nymphs had inlaid them 
 with coral and amethyst. 
 
 Between that grim cathedral of England and 
 this, what an interval! There is a type of it in 
 the very birds that haunt them; for, instead of 
 the restless crowd, hoarse-voiced and sable- 
 winged, drifting on the bleak upper air, the St. 
 Mark's porches are full of doves, that nestle 
 among [the marble foliage, and mingle the soft 
 iridescence of their living plumes, changing at 
 every motion, with the tints, hardly less lovely, 
 that have stood unchanged for seven hundred 
 years.
 
 ST. MARK'S. 
 
 xv. And what effect has this splendor on 
 those who pass beneath it? You may walk from 
 sunrise to sunset, to and fro, before the gateway 
 of St. Mark's, and you will not see an eye lifted 
 to it, nor a countenance brightened by it. Priest 
 and layman, soldier and civilian, rich and poor, 
 pass by it alike regardlessly. Up to the very 
 recesses of the porches, the meanest tradesmen 
 of the city push their counters; nay, the founda- 
 tions of its pillars are themselves the seats not 
 " of them that sell doves" for sacrifice, but of 
 the vendors of toys and caricatures. Round the 
 whole square in front of the church there is 
 almost a continuous line of cafes, where the idle 
 Venetians of the middle classes lounge, and read 
 empty journals; in its centre the Austrian bands 
 play during the time of vespers, their martial 
 music jarring with the organ notes, the march 
 drowning the miserere, and the sullen crowd 
 thickening round them, a crowd, which, if it 
 had its will, would stiletto every soldier that 
 pipes to it. And in the recesses of the porches, 
 all day long, knots of men of the lowest classes, 
 unemployed and listless, lie basking in the sun 
 like lizards; and unregarded children, every 
 heavy glance of their young eyes full of desper- 
 ation and stony depravity, and their throats 
 hoarse with cursing, gamble, and fight, and 
 snarl, and sleep, hour after hour, clashing their
 
 114 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 bruised centesimi upon the marble ledges of the 
 church porch. And the images of Christ and 
 His angels look down upon it continually. 
 
 That we may not enter the church out of the 
 midst of the horror of this, let us turn aside 
 under the portico which looks towards the sea, 
 and passing round within the two massive pillars 
 brought from St. Jean d'Acre, we shall find the 
 gate of the Baptistery; let us enter there. The 
 heavy door closes behind us instantly, and the 
 light, and the turbulence of the Piazzetta, are 
 together shut out by it. 
 
 xvi. We are in a low vaulted room; vaulted, 
 not with arches, but with small cupolas starred 
 with gold, and chequered with gloomy figures: 
 in the centre is a bronze font charged with 
 rich bas-reliefs, a small figure of the Baptist 
 standing above it in a single ray of light that 
 glances across the narrow room, dying as it falls 
 from a window high in the wall, and the first 
 thing that it strikes, and the only thing that it 
 strikes brightly, is a tomb. We hardly know if 
 it be a tomb indeed; for it is like a narrow couch 
 set beside the window, low-roofed and cur- 
 tained, so that it might seem, but that it has 
 some height above the pavement, to have been 
 drawn towards the window, that the sleeper 
 might be wakened early; only there are two 
 angels who have drawn the curtain back, and
 
 ST. MARK'S. 115 
 
 are looking down upon him. Let us look also ? 
 and thank that gentle light that rests upon his 
 forehead for ever, and dies away upon his breast. 
 
 The face is of a man in middle life, but there 
 are two deep furrows right across the forehead, 
 dividing it like the foundations of a tower: the 
 height of it above is bound by the fillet of the 
 ducal cap. The rest of the features are singu- 
 larly small and delicate, the lips sharp, perhaps 
 the sharpness of death being added to that of 
 the natural lines; but there is a sweet smile 
 upon them, and a deep serenity upon the whole 
 countenance. The roof of the canopy above 
 has been blue, filled with stars; beneath, in the 
 centre of the tomb on which the figure rests, 
 is a seated figure of the Virgin, and the border 
 of it all around is of flowers and soft leaves, grow- 
 ing rich and deep, as if in a field in summer. 
 
 It is the Doge Andrea Dandolo, a man early 
 great among the great of Venice; and early 
 lost. She chose him for her king in his 36th 
 year; he died ten years later, leaving behind 
 him that history to which we owe half of what 
 we know of her former fortunes. 
 
 xvn. Look round at the room in which he 
 lies. The floor of it is of rich mosaic, encom- 
 passed by a low seat of red marble, and its walls 
 are of alabaster, but worn and shattered, and 
 darkly stained with age, almost a ruin, in places
 
 Il6 THE S7^0NES OF VENICE. 
 
 the slabs of marble have fallen away altogether, 
 and the rugged brickwork is seen through the 
 rents, but all beautiful; the ravaging fissures fret- 
 ting their way among the islands and channelled 
 zones of the alabaster, and the time-stains on its 
 translucent masses darkened into fields of rich 
 golden brown, like the color of seaweed when 
 the sun strikes on it through deep sea. The 
 light fades away into the recess of the'chamber 
 towards the altar, and the eye can hardly trace 
 the lines of the bas-relief behind it of the bap- 
 tism of Christ: but on the vaulting of the roof 
 the figures are distinct, and there are seen upon 
 it two great circles, one surrounded by the " Prin- 
 cipalities and powers in heavenly places," of 
 which Milton has expressed the ancient division 
 in the single massy line, 
 
 "Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers," 
 
 and around the other, the Apostles; Christ the 
 centre of both; and upon the walls, again and 
 again repeated, the gaunt figure of the Baptist, 
 in every circumstance of his life and death ; 
 and the streams of the Jordan running down 
 between their cloven rocks; the axe laid to the 
 root of a fruitless tree that springs upon their 
 shore. " Every tree that bringeth not forth good 
 fruit shall be hewn down, and cast into the fire." 
 Yes, verily: to be baptized with fire, or to be
 
 ST. MARK'S. 
 
 cast therein; it is the choice set before all men. 
 The march-notes still murmur through the grated 
 window, and mingle with the sounding in our 
 ears of the sentence of judgment, which the 
 old Greek has written on that Baptistery wall. 
 Venice has made her choice. 
 
 xvin. He who lies under that stony canopy 
 would have taught her another choice, in his day, 
 if she would have listened to him; but he and 
 his counsels have long been forgotten by her, 
 the dust lies upon his lips. 
 
 Through the heavy door whose bronze net- 
 work closes the place of his rest, let us enter the 
 church itself. It is lost in still deeper twilight, 
 to which the eye must be accustomed for some 
 moments before the form of the building can 
 be traced; and then there opens before us a 
 vast cave, hewn out into the form of a Cross, and 
 divided into shadowy aisles by many pillars. 
 Round the domes of its roof the light enters 
 only through narrow apertures like large stars; 
 and here and there a ray or two from some far 
 away casement wanders into the darkness, and 
 casts a narrow phosphoric stream upon the waves 
 of marble that heave and fall in a thousand 
 colors along the floor. What else there is of 
 light is from torches, or silver lamps, burning 
 ceaselessly in the recesses of the chapels; the 
 roof sheeted with gold, and the polished walls
 
 Il8 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 covered with alabaster, give back at every curve 
 and angle some feeble gleaming to the flames; 
 and the glories round the heads of the sculptured 
 saints flash out upon us as we pass them, and 
 sink again into the gloom. Under foot and over 
 head, a continual succession of crowded imagery, 
 one picture passing into another, as in a dream; 
 forms beautiful and terrible mixed together; drag- 
 ons and serpents, and ravening beasts of prey, 
 and graceful birds that in the midst of them 
 drink from running fountains and feed from vases 
 of crystal; the passions and the pleasures of hu- 
 man life symbolized together, and the mystery 
 of its redemption; for the mazes of interwoven 
 lines and changeful pictures lead always at last 
 to the Cross, lifted and carved in every place and 
 upon every stonel sometimes with the serpent of 
 eternity wrapt round it, sometimes with doves be- 
 neath its arms, and sweet herbage growing forth 
 from its feet; but conspicuous most of all on 
 the great rood that crosses the church before 
 the altar, raised in bright blazonry against the 
 shadow of the apse. And although in the re- 
 cesses of the aisles and chapels, when the mist 
 of the incense hangs heavily, we may see con- 
 tinually a figure traced in faint lines upon their 
 marble, a woman standing with her eyes raised to 
 heaven, and the inscription above her, " Mother 
 of God," she is not here the presiding deity. It
 
 ST. MARK'S. 119 
 
 is the Cross that is first seen, and always, burn- 
 ing in the centre of the temple ; and every dome 
 and hollow of its roof has the figure of Christ 
 in the utmost height of it, raised in power, or 
 returning in judgment. 
 
 xix. Nor is this interior without effect on 
 the minds of the people. At every hour of the 
 day there are groups collected before the vari- 
 ous shrines, and solitary worshippers scattered 
 through the dark places of the church, evidently 
 in prayer both deep and reverent, and, for the 
 most part, profoundly sorrowful. The devotees 
 at the greater number of the renowned shrines 
 of Romanism may be seen murmuring their ap- 
 pointed prayers with wandering eyes and unen- 
 gaged gestures; but the step of the stranger does 
 not disturb those who kneel on the pavement of 
 St. Mark's; and hardly a moment passes, from 
 early morning to sunset, in which we may not 
 see some half-veiled figure enter beneath the 
 Arabian porch, cast itself into long abasement 
 on the floor of the temple, and then rising slowly 
 with more confirmed step, and with a passionate 
 kiss and clasp of the arms given to the feet of 
 the crucifix, by which the lamps burn always in 
 the northern aisle, leave the church, as if com- 
 forted. 
 
 xx. But we must not hastily conclude from 
 this that the nobler characters of the building
 
 120 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 have at present any influence in fostering a devo- 
 tional spirit. There is distress enough in Venice 
 to bring many to their knees, without excite- 
 ment from external imagery ; and whatever there 
 may be in the temper of the worship offered in 
 St. Mark's more than can be accounted for by 
 reference to the unhappy circumstances of the 
 city, is assuredly not owing either to the beauty 
 of its architecture or to the impressiveness of 
 the Scripture histories embodied in its mosaics. 
 That it has a peculiar effect, however slight, on 
 the popular mind, may perhaps be safely con- 
 jectured from the number of worshippers which 
 it attracts, while the churches of St. Paul and 
 the Frari, larger in size and more central in 
 position, are left comparatively empty.* But 
 this effect is altogether to be ascribed to its 
 richer assemblage of those sources of influence 
 which address themselves to the commonest in- 
 stincts of the human mind, and which, in all 
 ages and countries, have been more or less em- 
 ployed in the support of superstition. Darkness 
 and mystery; confused recesses of building; 
 artificial light employed in small quantity, but 
 
 * The mere warmth of St. Mark's in winter, which is 
 much greater than that of the other two churches above 
 named, must, however, be taken into consideration, as 
 one of the most efficient causes of its being then more 
 frequented.
 
 ST. MARK'S. 121 
 
 maintained with a constancy which seems to 
 give it a kind of sacredness; preciousness of ma- 
 terial easily comprehended by the vulgar eye; 
 close air loaded with a sweet and peculiar odor 
 associated only with religious services, solemn 
 music, and tangible idols or images having popu- 
 lar legends attached to them, these, the stage 
 properties of superstition, which have been from 
 the beginning of the world, and must be to the 
 end of it, employed by all nations, whether 
 openly savage or nominally civilized, to produce 
 a false awe in minds incapable of apprehending 
 the true nature of the Deity, are assembled in 
 St. Mark's to a degree, as far as I know, unex- 
 ampled in any other European church. The 
 arts of the Magus and the Brahmin are exhaust- 
 ed in the animation of a paralyzed Christianity; 
 and the popular sentiment which these arts ex- 
 cite is to be regarded by us with no more re- 
 spect than we should have considered ourselves 
 justified in rendering to the devotion of the 
 worshippers at Eleusis, Ellora, or Edfou.* 
 
 * I said above that the larger number of the devotees 
 entered by the " Arabian" porch; the porch, that is to 
 say, on the north side of the church, remarkable for its 
 rich Arabian archivolt, and through which access is 
 gained immediately to the northern transept. The rea- 
 son is, that in that transept is the chapel of the Madonna, 
 which has a greater attraction for the Venetians than all
 
 122 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 xxi. Indeed, these inferior means of excit- 
 ing religious emotion were employed in the an- 
 cient Church as they are at this day, but not 
 employed alone. Torchlight there was, as there 
 is now; but the torchlight illumined Scripture 
 histories on the walls, which every eye traced 
 and every heart comprehended, but which, dur- 
 ing my whole residence in Venice, I never saw 
 one Venetian regard for an instant. I never 
 heard from any one the most languid expression 
 of interest in any feature of the church, or per- 
 ceived the slightest evidence of their under- 
 standing the meaning of its architecture; and 
 while, therefore, the English cathedral, though 
 no longer dedicated to the kind of services for 
 which it was intended by its builders, and much 
 at variance in many of its characters with the 
 temper of the people by whom it is now sur- 
 rounded, retains yet so much of its religious in- 
 fluence that no prominent feature of its archi- 
 tecture can be said to exist altogether in vain, 
 we have in St. Mark's a building apparently still 
 employed in the ceremonies for which it was 
 
 the rest of the church besides. The old builders kept 
 their images of the Virgin subordinate to those of Christ; 
 but modern Romanism has retrograded from theirs, and 
 the most glittering portions of the whole church are the 
 two recesses behind this lateral altar, covered with silver 
 hearts dedicated to the Virgin.
 
 ST. MARK'S. 12$ 
 
 designed, and yet of which the impressive at- 
 tributes have altogether ceased to be compre- 
 hended by its votaries. The beauty which it 
 possesses is unfelt, the language it uses is for- 
 gotten; and in the midst of the city to whose 
 service it has so long been consecrated, and still 
 filled by crowds of the descendants of those to 
 whom it owes its magnificence; it stands, in 
 reality, more desolate than the ruins through 
 which the sheep-walk passes unbroken in our 
 English valleys; and the writing on its marble 
 walls is less regarded and less powerful for the 
 teaching of men, than the letters which the 
 shepherd follows with his finger, where the moss 
 is lightest on the tombs in the desecrated cloister. 
 
 xxn. It must therefore be altogether with- 
 out reference to its present usefulness, that we 
 pursue our inquiry into the merits and meaning 
 of the architecture of this marvellous building; 
 and it can only be after we have terminated 
 that inquiry, conducting it carefully on abstract 
 grounds, that we can pronounce with any cer- 
 tainty how far the present neglect of St. Mark's 
 is significative of the decline of the Venetian 
 character, or how far this church is to be con- 
 sidered as the relic of a barbarous age, incapa- 
 ble of attracting the admiration, or influencing 
 the feelings of a civilized community. 
 
 The inquiry before us is twofold. Through-
 
 124 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 out the first volume, I carefully kept the study 
 of expression distinct from that of abstract archi- 
 tectural perfection; telling the reader that in 
 every building we should afterwards examine, 
 he would have first to form a judgment of its 
 construction and decorative merit, considering 
 it merely as a work of art; and then to examine 
 farther, in what degree it fulfilled its expressional 
 purposes. Accordingly, we have first to judge 
 of St. Mark's merely as a piece of architecture, 
 not as a church; secondly, to estimate its fitness 
 for its special duty as a place of worship, and 
 the relation in which it stands, as such, to those 
 northern cathedrals that still retain so much of 
 the power over the human heart, which the 
 Byzantine domes appear to have lost for ever. 
 
 xxiu. In the two succeeding sections of 
 this work, devoted respectively to the examina- 
 tion of the Gothic and Renaissance buildings in 
 Venice, I have endeavored to analyze and state, 
 as briefly as possible, the true nature of each 
 school, first in Spirit, then in Form. I wished 
 to have given a similar analysis, in this section, 
 of the nature of Byzantine architecture; but" 
 could not make my statements general, because 
 I have never seen this kind of building on its 
 native soil. Nevertheless, in the following sketch 
 of the principles exemplified in St. Mark's, I be- 
 lieve that most of the leading features and mo-
 
 ST. MARK'S. 125 
 
 tives of the style will be found clearly enough 
 distinguished to enable the reader to judge of 
 it with tolerable fairness, as compared with the 
 better known systems of European architecture 
 in the middle ages. 
 
 xxiv. Now the first broad characteristic of 
 the building, and the root nearly of every other 
 important peculiarity in it, is its confessed in- 
 crustation. It is the purest example in Italy of 
 the great school of architecture in which the 
 ruling principle is the incrustation of brick with 
 more precious materials; and it is necessary 
 before we proceed to criticise any one of its 
 arrangements, that the reader should carefully 
 consider the principles which are likely to have 
 influenced, or might legitimately influence, the 
 architects of such a school, as distinguished 
 from those whose designs are to be executed in 
 massive materials. 
 
 It is true, that among different nations, and 
 at different times, we may find examples of 
 every sort and degree of incrustation, from the 
 mere setting of the larger and more compact 
 stones by preference at the outside of the wall, 
 to the miserable construction of that modern 
 brick cornice, with its coating of cement, which, 
 but the other day, in London, killed its unhappy 
 workmen in its fall.* But just as it is perfectly 
 * Vide " Builder," for October, 1851.
 
 126 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 possible to have a clear idea of the opposing 
 characteristics of two different species of plants 
 or animals, though between the two there are 
 varieties which it is difficult to assign either to 
 the one or the other, so the reader may fix 
 decisively in his mind the legitimate character- 
 istics of the incrusted and the massive styles, 
 though between the two there are varieties which 
 confessedly unite the attributes of both. For in- 
 stance, in many Roman remains, built of blocks 
 of tufa and incrusted with marble, we have a style, 
 which, though truly solid, possesses some of the 
 attributes of incrustation; and in the Cathedral 
 of Florence, built of brick and coated with 
 marble, the marble facing is so firmly and ex- 
 quisitely set, that the building, though in reality 
 Incrusted, assumes the attributes of solidity. 
 But these intermediate examples need not in 
 the least confuse our generally distinct ideas of 
 the two families of buildings: the one in which 
 the substance is alike throughout, and the forms 
 and conditions of the ornament assume or prove 
 that it is so, as in the best Greek buildings, and 
 for the most part in our early Norman and 
 Gothic; and the other, in which the substance 
 is of two kinds, one internal, the other external, 
 and the system of decoration is founded on this 
 duplicity, as pre-eminently in St. Mark's. 
 
 xxv. I have used the word duplicity in
 
 ST. MARK'S. 127 
 
 no depreciatory sense. In chapter ii. of the 
 4t Seven Lamps," 18, I especially guarded this 
 incrusted school from the imputation of in- 
 sincerity, and I must do so now at greater 
 length. It appears insincere at first to a North- 
 ern builder, because, accustomed to build with 
 solid blocks of freestone, he is in the habit of 
 supposing the external superficies of a piece of 
 masonry to be some criterion of its thickness. 
 But, as soon as he gets acquainted with the in- 
 crusted style, he will find that the Southern 
 builders had no intention to deceive him. He 
 will see that every slab of facial marble is fast- 
 ened to the next by a confessed rivet, and that 
 the joints of the armor are so visibly and openly 
 accommodated to the contours of the substance 
 within, that he has no more right to complain 
 of treachery than a savage would have, who, for 
 the first time in his life seeing a man in armor, 
 had supposed him to be made of solid steel. 
 Acquaint him with the customs of chivalry, 
 and with the uses of the coat of mail, and he 
 ceases to accuse of dishonesty either the panoply 
 or the knight. 
 
 These laws and customs of the St. Mark's 
 architectural chivalry it must be our business 
 to develop. 
 
 xxvi. First, consider the natural circum- 
 stances which give rise to such a style. Suppose
 
 128 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 a nation of builders, placed far from any quar- 
 ries of available stone, and having precarious 
 access to the mainland where they exist; com- 
 pelled therefore either to build entirely with 
 brick, or to import whatever stone they use 
 from great distances, in ships of small tonnage, 
 and for the most part dependent for speed on 
 the oar rather than the sail. The labor and 
 cost of carriage are just as great, whether they 
 import common or precious stone, and there- 
 fore the natural tendency would always be to 
 make each shipload as valuable as possible. But 
 in proportion to the preciousness of the stone,, 
 is the limitation of its possible supply; limitation 
 not determined merely by cost, but by the phys- 
 ical conditions of the material, for of many 
 marbles, pieces above a certain size are not to 
 be had for money. There would also be a 
 tendency in such circumstances to import as 
 much stone as possible ready sculptured, in 
 order to save weight ; and therefore, if the traffic 
 of their merchants led them to places where 
 there were ruins of ancient edifices, to ship the 
 available fragments of them home. Out of this 
 supply of marble, partly composed of pieces of 
 so precious a quality that only a few tons of 
 them could be on any terms obtained, and partly 
 of shafts, capitals, and other portions of foreign 
 buildings, the island architect has to fashion, as
 
 S7\ MARK'S. 129 
 
 best he may, the anatomy of his edifice. It 
 is at his choice either to lodge his few blocks 
 of precious marble here and there among his 
 masses of brick, and to cut out of the sculpt- 
 ured fragments such new forms as may be 
 necessary for the observance of fixed propor- 
 tions in the new building; or else to cut the 
 colored stones into thin pieces, of extent suffi- 
 cient to face the whole surface of the walls, 
 and to adopt a method of construction irregular 
 enough to admit the insertion of fragmentary 
 sculptures; rather with a view of displaying their 
 intrinsic beauty, than of setting them to any 
 regular service in the support of the building. 
 
 An architect who cared only to display his 
 own skill, and had no respect for the works of 
 others, would assuredly have chosen the former 
 alternative, and would have sawn the old mar- 
 bles into fragments in order to prevent all in- 
 terference with his own designs. But an archi- 
 tect who cared for the preservation of noble 
 work, whether his own or others', and more 
 regarded the beauty of his building than his 
 own fame, would have done what those old 
 builders of St. Mark's did for us, and saved 
 every relic with which he was entrusted. 
 
 xxvn. But these were not the only motives 
 which influenced the Venetians in the adoption 
 of their method of architecture. It might, un-
 
 130 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 der all the circumstances above stated, have 
 been a question with other builders, whether to 
 import one shipload of costly jaspers, or twenty 
 of chalk flints; and whether to build a small 
 church faced with porphyry and paved with 
 agate, or to raise a vast cathedral in freestone. 
 But with the Venetians it could not be a ques- 
 tion for an instant; they were exiles from an- 
 cient and beautiful cities, and had been ac- 
 customed to build with their ruins, not less in 
 affection than in admiration: they had thus not 
 only grown familiar with the practice of insert- 
 ing older fragments in modern buildings, but 
 they owed to that practice a great part of the 
 splendor of their city, and whatever charm of 
 association might aid its change from a Refuge 
 into a Home. The practice which began in the 
 affections of a fugitive nation, was prolonged in 
 the pride of a conquering one; and beside the 
 memorials of departed happiness, were elevated 
 the trophies of returning victory. The ship of 
 war brought home more marble in triumph than 
 the merchant vessel in speculation; and the 
 front of St. Mark's became rather a shrine at 
 which to dedicate the splendor of miscellaneous 
 spoil, than the organized expression of any fixed 
 architectural law, or religious emotion. 
 
 xxviii. Thus far, however, the justification 
 of the style of this church depends on circum-
 
 ST. MARK'S. 131 
 
 stances peculiar to the time of its erection, and 
 to the spot where it arose. The merit of its 
 method, considered in the abstract, rests on far 
 broader grounds. 
 
 In the fifth chapter of the " Seven Lamps," 
 14, the reader will find the opinion of a modern 
 architect of some reputation, Mr. Wood, that 
 the chief thing remarkable in this church " is 
 its extreme ugliness;" and he will find this 
 opinion associated with another, namely, that 
 the works of the Caracci are far preferable to 
 those of the Venetian painters. This second 
 statement of feeling reveals to us one of the 
 principal causes of the first; namely, that Mr. 
 Wood had not any perception of color, or delight 
 in it. The perception of color is a gift just as 
 definitely granted to one person, and denied to 
 another, as an ear for music; and the very first 
 requisite for true judgment of St. Mark's, is the 
 perfection of that color-faculty which few people 
 ever set themselves seriously to find out whether 
 they possess or not. For it is on its value as a 
 piece of perfect and unchangeable coloring, that 
 the claims of this edifice to our respect are finally 
 rested; and a deaf man might as well pretend 
 to pronounce judgment on the merits of a full 
 orchestra, as an architect trained in the compo- 
 sition of form only, to discern the beauty of St. 
 Mark's. It possesses the charm of color in com-
 
 132 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 mon with the greater part of the architecture, as 
 well as of the manufactures, of the East; but the 
 Venetians deserve especial note as the only Eu- 
 ropean people who appear to have sympathized 
 to the full with the great instinct of the Eastern 
 races. They indeed were compelled to bring 
 artists from Constantinople to design the mosaics 
 of the vaults of St. Mark's, and to group the 
 colors of its porches; but they rapidly took up 
 and developed, under more masculine conditions, 
 the system of which the Greeks had shown them 
 the r example: while the burghers and barons of 
 the North were building their dark streets and 
 grisly castles of oak and sandstone, the merchants 
 of Venice were covering their palaces with por- 
 phyry and gold; and at last, when her mighty 
 painters had created for her a color more price- 
 less than gold or porphyry, even this, the richest 
 of her treasures, she lavished upon walls whose 
 foundations were beaten by the sea; and the 
 strong tide, as it runs beneath the Rialto, is red- 
 dened to this day by the reflection of the fres- 
 coes of Giorgione. 
 
 xxix. If, therefore, the reader does not care 
 for color, I must protest against his endeavor to 
 form any judgment whatever of this church of 
 St. Mark's. But, if he both cares for and loves 
 it, let him remember that the school of incrusted 
 architecture is the only one in which perfect and
 
 ST. MARK'S. 133 
 
 permanent chromatic decoration is possible; and let 
 him look upon every piece of jasper and alabas- 
 ter given to the architect as a cake of very hard 
 color, of which a certain portion is to be ground 
 down or cut off, to paint the walls with. Once 
 understand this thoroughly, and accept the con- 
 dition that the body and availing strength of the 
 edifice are to be in brick, and that this under 
 muscular power of brickwork is to be clothed 
 with the defence and the brightness of the 
 marble, as the body of an animal is protected 
 and adorned by its scales or its skin, and all the 
 consequent fitnesses and laws of the structure 
 will be easily discernible. These I shall state 
 in their natural order. 
 
 xxx. LAW I. That the plinths and cornices 
 used for binding the armor are to be light and deli- 
 cate. A certain thickness, at least two or three 
 inches, must be required in the covering pieces 
 (even when composed of the strongest stone, and 
 set on the least exposed parts), in order to pre- 
 vent the chance of fracture, and to allow for the 
 wear of time. And the weight of this armor must 
 not be trusted to cement; the pieces must not 
 be merely glued to the rough brick surface, but 
 connected with the mass which they protect by 
 binding cornices and string courses; and with 
 each other, so as to secure mutual support, aided 
 by the rivetings, but by no means dependent upon
 
 134 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 them. And, for the full honesty and straight- 
 forwardness of the work, it is necessary that these 
 string courses and binding plinths should not be 
 of such proportions as would fit them for taking 
 any important part in the hard work of the inner 
 structure, or render them liable to be mistaken 
 for the great cornices and plinths already ex- 
 plained as essential parts of the best solid build- 
 ing. They must be delicate, slight, and visibly 
 incapable of severer work than that assigned to 
 them. 
 
 xxxi. LAW II. Science of inner structure is 
 to be abandoned. As the body of the structure is 
 confessedly of inferior, and comparatively inco- 
 herent materials, it would be absurd to attempt 
 in it any expression of the higher refinements of 
 construction. It will be enough that by its mass 
 we are assured of its sufficiency and strength; 
 and there is the less reason for endeavoring to 
 diminish the extent of its surface by delicacy of 
 adjustment, because on the breadth of that sur- 
 face we are to depend for the better display of 
 the color, which is to be the chief source of our 
 pleasure in the building. The main body of the 
 work, therefore, will be composed of solid walls 
 and massive piers; and whatever expression of 
 finer structural science we may require, will be 
 thrown either into subordinate portions of it, or 
 entirely directed to the support of the external
 
 ST. MARK'S, 135 
 
 mail, where in arches or vaults it might otherwise 
 appear dangerously independent of the material 
 within. 
 
 xxxii. LAW III. All shafts are to be solid. 
 Wherever, by the smallness of the parts, we may 
 be driven to abandon the incrusted structure at 
 all, it must be abandoned altogether. The eye 
 must never be left in the least doubt as to what 
 is solid and what is coated. Whatever appears 
 probably solid, must be assuredly so, and there- 
 fore it becomes an inviolable law that no shaft 
 shall ever be incrusted. Not only does the whole 
 virtue of a shaft depend on its consolidation, 
 but the labor of cutting and adjusting an in- 
 crusted coat to it would be greater than the 
 saving of material is worth. Therefore the shaft, 
 of whatever size, is always to be solid; and be- 
 cause the incrusted character of the rest of the 
 building renders it more difficult for the shafts 
 to clear themselves from suspicion, they must 
 not, in this incrusted style, be in any place 
 jointed. No shaft must ever be used but of one 
 block; and this the more, because the permission 
 given to the builder to have his walls and piers 
 as ponderous as he likes, renders it quite un- 
 necessary for him to use shafts of any fixed size. 
 In our Norman and Gothic, where definite sup- 
 port is required at a definite point, it becomes 
 lawful to build up a tower of small stones in the
 
 136 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 shape of a shaft. But the Byzantine is allowed 
 to have as much support as he wants from the 
 walls in every direction, and he has no right to 
 ask for further license in the structure of his 
 shafts. Let him, by generosity in the substance 
 of his pillars, repay us for the permission we 
 have given him to be superficial in his walls. 
 The builder in the chalk valleys of France and 
 England may be blameless in kneading his 
 clumsy pier out of broken flint and calcined lime; 
 but the Venetian, who has access to the riches 
 of Asia and the quarries of Egypt, must frame 
 at least his shafts out of flawless stone. 
 
 xxxin. And this for another reason yet. 
 Although, as we have said, it is impossible to 
 cover the walls of a large building with color, 
 except on the condition of dividing the stone 
 into plates, there is always a certain appearance 
 of meanness and niggardliness in the procedure. 
 It is necessary that the builder should justify 
 himself from this suspicion; and prove that it is 
 not in mere economy or poverty, but in the real 
 impossibility of doing otherwise, that he has 
 sheeted his walls so thinly with the precious 
 film. Now the shaft is exactly the portion of 
 the edifice in which it is fittest to recover his 
 honor in this respect. For if blocks of jasper or 
 porphyry be inserted in the walls, the spectator 
 cannot tell their thickness, and cannot judge of
 
 ST. MARK'S. 137 
 
 the costliness of the sacrifice. But the shaft he 
 can measure with his eye in an instant, and esti- 
 mate the quantity of treasure both in the mass 
 of its existing substance, and in that which has 
 been hewn away to bring it into its perfect and 
 symmetrical form. And thus the shafts of all 
 buildings of this kind are justly regarded as an 
 expression of their wealth, and a form of treas- 
 ure, just as much as the jewels or gold in the 
 sacred vessels; they are, in fact, nothing else 
 than large jewels,* the block of precious serpen- 
 tine or jasper being valued according to its size 
 and brilliancy of color, like a large emerald or 
 ruby; only the bulk required to bestow value on 
 the one is to be measured in feet and tons, and 
 on the other in lines and carats. The shafts 
 must therefore be, without exception, of one 
 block in all buildings of this kind; for the at- 
 tempt in any place to incrust or joint them would 
 be a deception like that of introducing a false 
 stone among jewellery (for a number of joints of 
 any precious stone are of course not equal in 
 
 * ' ' Quivi presso si vedi una colonna di tanta bellezza 
 e finezza che e riputato piutosto gioia che pietra. " Sanso- 
 vino, of the verd-antique pillar in San Jacomo dell' Orio. 
 A remarkable piece of natural history and moral phi- 
 losophy, connected with this subject, will be found in the 
 second chapter of our third volume, quoted from the work 
 of a Florentine architect of the fifteenth century.
 
 138 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 value to a single piece of equal weight), and 
 would put an end at once to the spectator's con- 
 fidence in the expression of wealth in any por- 
 tion of the structure, or of the spirit of sacrifice 
 in those who raised it. 
 
 xxxiv. LAW IV. The shafts may sometimes 
 be independent of the construction. Exactly in 
 proportion to the importance which the shaft as- 
 sumes as a large jewel, is the diminution of its 
 importance as a sustaining member; for the de- 
 light which we receive in its abstract bulk, and 
 beauty of color, is altogether independent of any 
 perception of its adaptation to mechanical ne- 
 cessities. Like other beautiful things in this 
 world, its end is to be beautiful; and, in propor- 
 tion to its beauty, it receives permission to be 
 otherwise useless. We do not blame emeralds 
 and rubies because we cannot make them into 
 heads of hammers. Nay, so far from our ad- 
 miration of the jewel shaft being dependent on 
 its doing work for us, it is very possible that a 
 chief part of its preciousness may consist in a 
 delicacy, fragility, and tenderness of material, 
 which must render it utterly unfit for hard work; 
 and therefore that we shall admire it the more, 
 because we perceive that if we were to put much 
 weight upon it, it would be crushed. But, at all 
 events, it is very clear that the primal object in 
 the placing of such shafts must be the display of
 
 57-. MARK'S. 139 
 
 their beauty to the best advantage, and that 
 therefore all imbedding of them in walls, or 
 crowding of them into groups, in any position in 
 which either their real size or any portion of 
 their surface would be concealed, is either inad- 
 missible together, or objectionable in proportion 
 to their value; that no symmetrical or scientific 
 arrangements of pillars are therefore ever to be 
 expected in buildings of this kind, and that all 
 such are even to be looked upon as positive er- 
 rors and misapplications of materials: but that, 
 on the contrary, we must be constantly prepared 
 to see, and to see with admiration, shafts of 
 great size and importance set in places where 
 their real service is little more than nominal, and 
 where the chief end of their existence is to catch 
 the sunshine upon their polished sides, and lead 
 the eye into delighted wandering among the 
 mazes of their azure veins. 
 
 xxxv. LAW V. The shafts may be of vari- 
 able size. Since the value of each shaft depends 
 upon its bulk, and diminishes with the diminu- 
 tion of its mass, in a greater ratio than the size 
 itself diminishes, as in the case of all other jew- 
 ellery, it is evident that we must not in general 
 expect perfect symmetry and equality among the 
 series of shafts, any more than definiteness of 
 application; but that, on the contrary, an accu- 
 rately observed' symmetry ought to give us a
 
 I4O THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 kind of pain, as proving that considerable and 
 useless loss has been sustained by some of the 
 shafts, in being cut down to match with the rest. 
 It is true that symmetry is generally sought for 
 in works of smaller jewellery; but, even there, 
 not a perfect symmetry, and obtained under cir- 
 cumstances quite different from those which af- 
 fect the placing of shafts in architecture. First: 
 the symmetry is usually imperfect. The stones 
 that seem to match each other in a ring or neck- 
 lace, appear to do so only because they are so 
 small that their differences are not easily meas- 
 ured by the eye; but there is almost always such 
 difference between them as would be strikingly 
 apparent if it existed in the same proportion 
 between two shafts nine or ten feet in height. 
 Secondly: the quantity of stones which pass 
 through a jeweller's hands, and the facility of 
 exchange of such small objects, enable the 
 tradesman to select any number of stones of ap- 
 proximate size; a selection, however, often re- 
 quiring so much time, that perfect symmetry in 
 a group of very fine stones adds enormously to 
 their value. But the architect has neither the 
 time nor the facilities of exchange. He cannot 
 lay aside one column in a corner of his church 
 till, in the course of traffic, he obtain another 
 that will match it; he has not hundreds of 
 shafts fastened up in bundles, out of which he
 
 ST. MARK'S. 141 
 
 can match sizes at his ease; he cannot send to 
 a brother-tradesman and exchange the useless 
 stones for available ones, to the convenience of 
 both. His blocks of stone, or his ready hewn 
 shafts, have been brought to him in limited 
 number, from immense distances; no others are 
 to be had; and for those which he does not 
 bring into use, there is no demand elsewhere. 
 His only means of obtaining symmetry will 
 therefore be, in cutting down the finer masses to 
 equality with the inferior ones; and this we 
 ought not to desire him often to do. And there- 
 fore, while sometimes in a Baldacchino, or an 
 important chapel or shrine, this costly symmetry 
 may be necessary, and admirable in proportion 
 to its probable cost, in the general fabric we 
 must expect to see shafts introduced of size and 
 proportion continually varying, and such sym- 
 metry as may be obtained among them never al- 
 together perfect, and dependent for its charm 
 frequently on strange complexities and unex- 
 pected rising and falling of weight and accent in 
 its marble syllables; bearing the same relation to 
 a rigidly chiselled and proportioned architect- 
 ure that the wild lyric rhythm of ^Eschylus or 
 Pindar bears to the finished measures of Pope. 
 
 xxxvi. The application of the principles of 
 jewellery to the smaller as well as the larger 
 blocks, will suggest to us another reason for the
 
 142 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 method of incrustation adopted in the walls. It 
 often happens that the beauty of the veining in 
 some varieties of alabaster is so great, that it be- 
 comes desirable to exhibit it by dividing the 
 stone, not merely to economize its substance, 
 but to display the changes in the disposition of 
 its fantastic lines. By reversing one of two thin 
 plates successively taken from the stone, and 
 placing their corresponding edges in contact, a 
 perfectly symmetrical figure may be obtained, 
 which will enable the eye to comprehend more 
 thoroughly the position of the veins. And this 
 is actually the method in which, for the most 
 part, the alabasters of St. Mark are employed; 
 thus accomplishing a double good, directing 
 the spectator, in the first place, to close observa- 
 tion of the nature of the stone employed, and in 
 the second, giving him a farther proof of the 
 honesty of intention in the builder: for wherever 
 similar veining is discovered in two pieces, the 
 fact is declared that they have been cut from 
 the same stone. It would have been easy to dis- 
 guise the similarity by using them in different 
 parts of the building; but on the contrary they 
 are set edge to edge, so that the whole system of 
 the architecture may be discovered at a glance 
 by any one acquainted with the nature of the 
 stones employed. Nay, but, it is perhaps an- 
 swered me, not by an ordinary observer; a person
 
 ST. MARK'S. 143 
 
 ignorant of the nature of alabaster might per- 
 haps fancy all these symmetrical patterns to 
 have been found in the stone itself, and thus be 
 doubly deceived, supposing blocks to be solid 
 and symmetrical which were in reality subdi- 
 vided and irregular. I grant it; but be it re- 
 membered, that in all things, ignorance is liable 
 to be deceived, and has no right to accuse any- 
 thing but itself as the source of the deception. 
 The style and the words are dishonest, not which 
 are liable to be misunderstood if subjected to no 
 inquiry, but which are deliberately calculated to 
 lead inquiry astray. There are perhaps no great 
 or noble truths, from those of religion downwards, 
 which present no mistakable aspect to casual or 
 ignorant contemplation. Both the truth and the 
 lie agree in hiding themselves at first, but the lie 
 continues to hide itself with effort, as we ap- 
 proach to examine it; and leads us, if undiscov- 
 ered, into deeper lies; the truth reveals itself in 
 proportion to our patience and knowledge, dis- 
 covers itself kindly to our pleading, and leads 
 us, as it is discovered, into deeper truths. 
 
 xxxvu. LAW VI. The decoration must be 
 shallow in cutting. The method of construction 
 being thus systematized, it is evident that a cer- 
 tain style of decoration must arise out of it, 
 based on the primal condition that over the 
 greater part of the edifice there can be no deep
 
 144 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 cutting. The thin sheets of covering stones do 
 not admit of it; we must not cut them through 
 to the bricks; and whatever ornaments we en- 
 grave upon them cannot, therefore, be more 
 than an inch deep at the utmost. Consider for 
 an instant the enormous differences which this 
 single condition compels between the sculptural 
 decoration of the incrusted style, and that of 
 the solid stones of the North, which may be 
 hacked and hewn into whatever cavernous hol- 
 lows and black recesses we choose; struck into 
 grim darknesses and grotesque projections, and 
 rugged ploughings up of sinuous furrows, in 
 which any form or thought may be wrought out 
 on any scale, mighty statues with robes of 
 rock and crowned foreheads burning in the 
 sun, or venomous goblins and stealthy dragons 
 shrunk into lurking-places of untraceable shade: 
 think of this, and of the play and freedom given 
 to the sculptor's hand and temper, to smite out 
 and in, hither and thither, as he will; and then 
 consider what must be the different spirit of the 
 design which is to be wrought on the smooth 
 surface of a film of marble, where every line 
 and shadow must be drawn with the most ten- 
 der pencilling and cautious reserve of resource, 
 where even the chisel must not strike hard, 
 lest it break through the delicate stone, nor the 
 mind be permitted in any impetuosity of con-
 
 57; MARK'S. 145 
 
 ception inconsistent with the fine discipline of 
 the hand. Consider that whatever animal or 
 human form is to be suggested, must be pro- 
 jected on a flat surface; that all the features of 
 the countenance, the folds of the drapery, the in- 
 volutions of the limbs, must be so reduced and 
 subdued that the whole work becomes rather a 
 piece of fine drawing than of sculpture; and then 
 follow out, until you begin to perceive their 
 endlessness, the resulting differences of character 
 which will be necessitated in every part of the 
 ornamental designs of these incrusted churches, 
 as compared with that of the Northern schools. 
 I shall endeavor to trace a few of them only. 
 
 xxxvin. The first would of course be a 
 diminution of the builder's dependence upon 
 human form as a source of ornament: since ex- 
 actly in proportion to the dignity of the form 
 itself is the loss which it must sustain in being 
 reduced to a shallow and linear bas-relief, as 
 well as the difficulty of expressing it at all 
 under such conditions. Wherever sculpture can 
 be solid, the nobler characters of the human 
 form at once lead the artist to aim at its repre- 
 sentation, rather than at that of inferior organ- 
 isms; but when all is to be reduced to outline, 
 the forms of flowers and lower animals are al- 
 ways more intelligible, and are felt to approach 
 much more to a satisfactory rendering of the
 
 146 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 objects intended, than the outlines of the hu- 
 man body. This inducement to seek for re- 
 sources of ornament in the lower fields of crea- 
 tion was powerless in the minds of the great 
 Pagan nations, Ninevite, Greek, or Egyptian: 
 first, because their thoughts were so concen- 
 trated on their own capacities and fates, that 
 they preferred the rudest suggestion of human 
 form to the best of an inferior organism; sec- 
 ondly, because their constant practice in solid 
 sculpture, often colossal, enabled them to bring 
 a vast amount of science into the treatment of 
 the lines, whether of the low relief, the mono- 
 chrome vase, or shallow hieroglyphic. 
 
 xxxix. But when various ideas adverse to 
 the representation of animal, and especially of hu- 
 man, form, originating with the Arabs and icon- 
 oclast Greeks, had begun at any rate to direct 
 the builders' minds to seek for decorative mate- 
 rials in inferior types, and when diminished 
 practice in solid sculpture had rendered it more 
 difficult to find artists capable of satisfactorily 
 reducing the high organisms to their elementary 
 outlines, the choice of subject for surface sculp- 
 ture would be more and more uninterruptedly 
 directed to floral organisms, and human and 
 animal form would become diminished in size, 
 frequency, and general importance. So that, 
 while in the Northern solid architecture we con-
 
 ST. MARK'S. 147 
 
 stantly find the effect of its noblest features de- 
 pendent on ranges of statues, often colossal, and 
 full of abstract interest, independent of their 
 architectural service, in the Southern incrusted 
 style we must expect to find the human form for 
 the most part subordinate and diminutive, and 
 involved among designs of foliage and flowers, 
 in the manner of which endless examples had 
 been furnished by the fantastic ornamentation of 
 the Romans, from which the incrusted style had 
 been directly derived. 
 
 XL. Farther. In proportion to the degree 
 in which his subject must be reduced to abstract 
 outline will be the tendency in the sculptor 
 to abandon naturalism of representation, and 
 subordinate every form to architectural service. 
 Where the flower or animal can be hewn into 
 bold relief, there will always be a temptation to 
 render the representation of it more complete 
 than is necessary, or even to introduce details 
 and intricacies inconsistent with simplicity of 
 distant effect. Very often a worse fault than 
 this is committed; and in the endeavor to give 
 vitality to the stone, the original ornamental 
 purpose of the design is sacrificed or forgotten. 
 But when nothing of this kind can be attempted, 
 and a slight outline is all that the sculptor can 
 command, we may anticipate that this outline 
 will be composed with exquisite grace; and that
 
 148 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the richness of its ornamental arrangement will 
 atone for the feebleness of its power of por- 
 traiture. On the porch of a Northern cathe- 
 dral we may seek for the images of the flowers 
 that grow in the neighboring fields, and as we 
 watch with wonder the gray stones that fret 
 themselves into thorns, and soften into blos- 
 soms, we may care little that these knots of 
 ornament, as we retire from them to contem- 
 plate the whole building, appear unconsidered 
 or confused. On the incrusted building we 
 must expect no such deception of the eye or 
 thoughts. It may sometimes be difficult to de- 
 termine, from the involutions of its linear sculp- 
 ture, what were the natural forms which origi- 
 nally suggested them: but we may confidently 
 expect that the grace of their arrangement will 
 always be complete; that there will not be a 
 line in them which could be taken away with- 
 out injury, nor one wanting which could be 
 added with advantage. 
 
 XLI. Farther. While the sculptures of the 
 incrusted school will thus be generally distin- 
 guished by care and purity rather than force, 
 and will be, for the most part, utterly wanting 
 in depth of shadow, there will be one means of 
 obtaining darkness peculiarly simple and obvi- 
 ous, and often in the sculptor's power. Wher- 
 ever he can, without danger, leave a hollow be-
 
 ST. MARK'S. 149 
 
 hind his covering slabs, or use them, like glass, 
 to fill an aperture in the wall, he can, by pierc- 
 ing them with holes, obtain points or spaces of 
 intense blackness to contrast with the light 
 tracing of the rest of his design. And we may 
 expect to find this artifice used the more exten- 
 sively, because, while it will be an effective 
 means of ornamentation on the exterior of the 
 building, it will be also the safest way of admit- 
 ting light to the interior, still totally excluding 
 both rain and wind. And it will naturally fol- 
 low that the architect, thus familiarized with the 
 effect of black and sudden points of shadow, 
 will often seek to carry the same principle into 
 other portions of his ornamentation, and by 
 deep drill-holes, or perhaps inlaid portions of 
 black color, to refresh the eye where it may be 
 wearied by the lightness of the general handling. 
 XLII. Farther. Exactly in proportion to the 
 degree in which the force of sculpture is sub- 
 dued, will be the importance attached to color 
 as a means of effect or constituent of beauty. 
 I have above stated that the incrusted style was 
 the only one in which perfect or permanent 
 color decoration was possible. It is also the only 
 one in which a true system of color decoration 
 was ever likely to be invented. In order to un- 
 derstand this, the reader must permit me to 
 review with some care the nature of the princi-
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 pies of coloring adopted by the Northern and 
 Southern nations. 
 
 XLIII. I believe that from the beginning of 
 the world there has never been a true or fine 
 school of art in which color was despised. It 
 has often been imperfectly attained and injudi- 
 ciously applied, but I believe it to be one of the 
 essential signs of life in a school of art. that it 
 loves color; and I know it to be one of the first 
 signs of death in the Renaissance schools, that 
 they despised color. 
 
 Observe, it is not now the question whether 
 our Northern cathedrals are better with color or 
 without. Perhaps the great monotone gray of 
 Nature and of Time is a better color than any 
 that the human hand can give; but that is noth- 
 ing to our present business. The simple fact is, 
 that the builders of those cathedrals laid upon 
 them the brightest colors they could obtain, and 
 that there is not, as far as I am aware, in Europe, 
 any monument of a truly noble school which has 
 not been either painted all over, or vigorously 
 touched with paint, mosaic, and gilding in its 
 prominent parts. Thus far Egyptians, Greeks, 
 Goths, Arabs, and mediaeval Christians all agree: 
 none of them, when in their right senses, ever 
 think of doing without paint; and, therefore, 
 when I said above that the Venetians were the 
 only people who had thoroughly sympathized
 
 ST. MARK'S. 151 
 
 with the Arabs in this respect, I referred, first, to 
 their intense love of color, which led them td 
 lavish the most expensive decorations on ordi- 
 nary dwelling-houses; and, secondly, to that per- 
 fection of the color-instinct in them, which 
 enabled them to render whatever they did, in 
 this kind, as just in principle as it was gorgeous 
 in appliance. It is this principle of theirs, as 
 distinguished from that of the Northern build- 
 ers, which we have finally to examine. 
 
 XLIV. In the second chapter of the first 
 volume, it was noticed that the architect of 
 Bourges Cathedral liked hawthorn, and that the 
 porch of his cathedral was therefore decorated 
 with a rich wreath of it; but another of the 
 predilections of that architect was there unno- 
 ticed, namely, that he did not at all like gray 
 hawthorn, but preferred it green, and he painted 
 it green accordingly, as bright as he could. 
 The color is still left in every sheltered inter- 
 stice of the foliage. He had, in fact, hardly the 
 choice of any other color; he might have gilded 
 the thorns, by way of allegorizing human life, 
 but if they were to be painted at all, they could 
 hardly be painted anything but green, and green 
 all over. People would have been apt to object 
 to any pursuit of abstract harmonies of color, 
 which might have induced him to paint his 
 hawthorn blue.
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 XLV. In the same way, whenever the subject 
 of the sculpture was definite, its color was of 
 necessity definite also; and, in the hands of the 
 Northern builders, it often became, in conse- 
 quence, rather the means of explaining and 
 animating the stories of their stone-work, than a 
 matter of abstract decorative science. Flowers 
 were painted red, trees green, and faces flesh- 
 color; the result of the whole being often far 
 more entertaining than beautiful. And also, 
 though in the lines of the mouldings and the 
 decorations of shafts or vaults, a richer and 
 more abstract method of coloring was adopted 
 (aided by the rapid development of the best 
 principles of color in early glass-painting), the 
 vigorous depths of shadow in the Northern sculp- 
 ture confused the architect's eye, compelling 
 him to use violent colors in the recesses, if these 
 were to be seen as color at all, and thus injured 
 his perception of more delicate color harmonies; 
 so that in innumerable instances it becomes 
 very disputable whether monuments even of the 
 best times were improved by the color bestowed 
 upon them, or the contrary. But, in the South, 
 the flatness and comparatively vague forms of 
 the sculpture, while they appeared to call for 
 color in order to enhance their interest, pre- 
 sented exactly the conditions which would set 
 it off to the greatest advantage; breadth of
 
 ST. MARK'S. 153 
 
 surface displaying even the most delicate tints 
 in the lights, and faintness of shadow joining 
 with the most delicate and pearly grays of color 
 harmony; while the subject of the design being 
 in nearly all cases reduced to mere intricacy of 
 ornamental line, might be colored in any way the 
 architect chose without any loss of rationality. 
 Where oak-leaves and roses were carved into 
 fresh relief and perfect bloom, it was necessary 
 to paint the one green and the other red; but in 
 portions of ornamentation where there was noth- 
 ing which could be definitely construed into 
 either an oak-leaf or a rose, but a mere labyrinth 
 of beautiful lines, becoming here something like 
 a leaf, and there something like a flower, the 
 whole tracery of the sculpture might be left 
 white, and grounded with gold or blue, or treated 
 in any other manner best harmonizing with the 
 colors around it. And as the necessarily feeble 
 character of the sculpture called for and was 
 ready to display the best arrangements of color, 
 so the precious marbles in the architect's hands 
 give him at once the best examples and the best 
 means of color. The best examples, for the 
 tints of all natural stones are as exquisite in 
 quality as endless in change ; and the best 
 means, for they are all permanent. 
 
 XLVI. Every motive thus concurred in urg- 
 ing him to the study of chromatic decoration,
 
 154 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 and every advantage was given him in the pur- 
 suit of it; and this at the very moment when, as 
 presently to be noticed, the na'ivete of barbaric 
 Christianity could only be forcibly appealed to 
 by the help of colored pictures: so that, both 
 externally and internally, the architectural con- 
 struction became partly merged in pictorial 
 effect; and the whole edifice is to be regarded 
 less as a temple wherein to pray, than as itself a 
 Book of Common Prayer, a vast illuminated 
 missal, bound with alabaster instead of parch- 
 ment, studded with porphyry pillars instead of 
 jewels, and written within and without in letters 
 of enamel and gold. 
 
 XLVII. LAW VII. That the impression of the 
 architecture is not to be dependent on size. And 
 now there is but one final consequence to be 
 deduced. The reader understands, I trust, by 
 this time, that the claims of these several parts 
 of the building upon his attention will depend 
 upon their delicacy of design, their perfection of 
 color, their preciousness of material, and their 
 legendary interest. All these qualities are inde- 
 pendent of size, and partly even inconsistent 
 with it. Neither delicacy of surface sculpture, 
 nor subtle gradations of color, can be appreciated 
 by the eye at a distance; and since we have seen 
 that our sculpture is generally to be only an inch 
 or two in depth, and that our coloring is in great
 
 ST. MARKS. 155 
 
 part to be produced with the soft tints and veins 
 of natural stones, it will follow necessarily that 
 none of the parts of the building can be re- 
 moved far from the eye, and therefore that the 
 whole mass of it cannot be large. It is not even 
 desirable that it should be so; for the temper in 
 which the mind addresses itself to contemplate 
 minute and beautiful details is altogether differ- 
 ent from that in which it submits itself to vague 
 impressions of space and size. And therefore 
 we must not be disappointed, but grateful, when 
 we find all the best work of the building con- 
 centrated within a space comparatively small; 
 and that, for the great cliff-like buttresses and 
 mighty piers of the North, shooting up into in- 
 discernible height, we have here low walls spread 
 before us like the pages of a book, and shafts 
 whose capitals we may touch with our hand. 
 
 XLVIII. The due consideration of the princi- 
 ples above stated will enable the traveller to 
 judge with more candor and justice of the archi- 
 tecture of St. Mark's than usually it would have 
 been possible for him to do while under the in- 
 fluence of the prejudices necessitated by famil- 
 iarity with the very different schools of Northern 
 art. I wish it were in my power to lay also 
 before the general reader some exemplification 
 of the manner in which these strange principles 
 are developed in the lovely building. But ex-
 
 156 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 actly in proportion to the nobility of any work, 
 is the difficulty of conveying a just impression 
 of it: and wherever I have occasion to bestow 
 high praise, there it is exactly most dangerous 
 for me to endeavor to illustrate my meaning, 
 except by reference to the work itself. And, in 
 fact, the principal reason why architectural 
 criticism is at this day so far behind all other, is 
 the impossibility of illustrating the best architec- 
 ture faithfully. Of the various schools of paint- 
 ing, examples are accessible to every one, and 
 reference to the works themselves is found suffi- 
 cient for all purposes of criticism; but there is 
 nothing like St. Mark's or the Ducal Palace to 
 be referred to in the National Gallery, and no 
 faithful illustration of them is possible on the 
 scale of such a volume as this. And it is ex- 
 ceedingly difficult on any scale. Nothing is so 
 rare in art, as far as my own experience goes, as 
 a fair illustration of architecture; perfect illustra- 
 tion of it does not exist. For all good architec- 
 ture depends upon the adaptation of its chisel- 
 ling to the effect at a certain distance from the 
 eye; and to render the peculiar confusion in the 
 midst of order, and uncertainty in the midst of 
 decision, and mystery in the midst of trenchant 
 lines, which are the result of distance, together 
 with perfect expression of the peculiarities of the 
 design, requires the skill of the most admirable
 
 ST. MARK'S. 157 
 
 artist, devoted to the work with the most severe 
 conscientiousness, neither the skill nor the de- 
 termination having as yet been given to the 
 subject. And in the illustration of details, every 
 building of any pretensions to high architectural 
 rank would require a volume of plates, and those 
 finished with extraordinary care. With respect 
 to the two buildings which are the principal sub- 
 jects of the present volume, St. Mark's and the 
 Ducal Palace, I have found it quite impossible 
 to do them the slightest justice by any kind of 
 portraiture; and I abandoned the endeavor in 
 the case of the latter with less regret, because in 
 the new Crystal Palace (as the poetical public 
 insist upon calling it, though it is neither a 
 palace, nor of crystal) there will be placed, I 
 believe, a noble cast of one of its angles. As 
 for St. Mark's, the effort was hopeless from the 
 beginning. For its effect depends not only upon 
 the most delicate sculpture in every part, but, as 
 we have just stated, eminently on its color also, 
 and that the most subtle, variable, inexpressible 
 color in the world, the color of glass, of trans- 
 parent alabaster, of polished marble, and lustrous 
 gold. It would be easier to illustrate a crest of 
 Scottish mountain, with its purple heather and 
 pale harebells at their fullest and fairest, or a 
 glade of Jura forest, with its floor of anemone 
 and moss, than a single portico of St. Mark's.
 
 158 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 The fragment of one of its archivolts, given at 
 the bottom of the opposite Plate, is not to illus- 
 trate the thing itself, but to illustrate the impos- 
 sibility of illustration. 
 
 XLIX. It is left a fragment, in order to get it 
 on a larger scale; and yet even on this scale it is 
 too small to show the sharp folds and points of 
 the marble vine-leaves with sufficient clearness. 
 The ground of it is gold, the sculpture in the 
 spandrils is not more than an inch and a half 
 deep, rarely so much. It is in fact nothing 
 more than an exquisite sketching of outlines in 
 marble, to about the same depth as in the Elgin 
 frieze; the draperies, however, being filled with 
 close folds, in the manner of the Byzantine pict- 
 ures, folds especially necessary here, as large 
 masses could not be expressed in the shallow 
 sculpture without becoming insipid; but the dis- 
 position of these folds is always most beautiful, 
 and often opposed by broad and simple spaces, 
 like that obtained by the scroll in the hand of 
 the prophet seen in the Plate. 
 
 The balls in the archivolt project considerably, 
 and the interstices between their interwoven 
 bands of marble are filled with colors like the 
 illuminations of a manuscript; violet, crimson, 
 blue, gold, and green alternately: but no green 
 is ever used without an intermixture of blue 
 pieces in the mosaic, nor any blue without a
 
 ST. MARK'S. 159 
 
 little centre of pale green; sometimes only a 
 single piece of glass a quarter of an inch square, 
 so subtle was the feeling for color which was 
 thus to be satisfied.* The intermediate circles 
 have golden stars set on an azure ground, varied 
 in the same manner; and the small crosses seen 
 in the intervals are alternately blue and subdued 
 scarlet, with two small circles of white set in the 
 golden ground above and beneath them, each 
 only about half an inch across (this work, re- 
 member, being on the outside of the building, 
 and twenty feet above the eye), while the blue 
 crosses have each a pale green centre. Of all 
 this exquisitely mingled hue, no plate, however 
 large or expensive, could give any adequate con- 
 ception; but, if the reader will supply in imagi- 
 nation to the engraving what he supplies to a 
 common woodcut of a group of flowers, the de- 
 cision of the respective merits of modern and of 
 Byzantine architecture may be allowed to rest 
 on this fragment of St. Mark's alone. 
 
 From the vine-leaves of that archivolt, though 
 there is no direct imitation of nature in them,, 
 but on the contrary a studious subjection to 
 
 * The fact is, that no two tesserae of the glass are ex- 
 actly of the same tint, the greens being all varied with 
 blues, the blues of different depths, the reds of different 
 clearness, so that the effect of each mass of color is full of 
 variety, like the stippled color of a fruit piece.
 
 160 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 architectural purpose more particularly to be 
 noticed hereafter, we may yet receive the same 
 kind of pleasure which we have in seeing true 
 vine-leaves and wreathed branches traced upon 
 golden light; its stars upon their azure ground 
 ought to make us remember, as its builder re- 
 membered, the stars' that ascend and fall in the 
 great arch of the sky: and I believe that stars, 
 and boughs, and leaves, and bright colors are 
 everlastingly lovely, and to be by all men be- 
 loved; and, moreover, that church walls grimly 
 seared with squared lines, are not better nor 
 nobler things than these. I believe the man 
 who designed and the men who delighted in that 
 archivolt to have been wise, happy, and holy. 
 Let the reader look back to the archivolt I have 
 already given out of the streets of London 
 (Plate XIII. Vol. I., Stones of Venice), and see 
 what there is in it to make us any of the three. 
 Let him remember that the men who design 
 such work as that call St. Mark's a barbaric 
 monstrosity, and let him judge between us. 
 
 L. Some farther details of the St. Mark's 
 architecture, and especially a general account of^ 
 Byzantine capitals, and of the principal ones at 
 the angles of the church, will be found in the 
 following chapter.* Here I must pass on to the 
 
 * Some illustration, also, of what was said in xxxin- 
 above, respecting the value of the shafts of St. Mark's as
 
 ST. MARK'S. l6l 
 
 second part of our immediate subject, namely, 
 the inquiry how far the exquisite and varied 
 ornament of St. Mark's fits it, as a Temple, for 
 its sacred purpose, and would be applicable in 
 the churches of modern times. We have here 
 evidently two questions: the first, that wide and 
 continually agitated one, whether richness of 
 ornament be right in churches at all; the second, 
 whether the ornament of St. Mark's be of a truly 
 ecclesiastical and Christian character. 
 
 LI. In the first chapter of the " Seven Lamps 
 of Architecture" I endeavored to lay before the 
 reader some reasons why churches ought to be 
 richly adorned, as being the only places in 
 which the desire of offering a portion of all 
 precious things to God could be legitimately ex- 
 pressed. But I left wholly untouched the ques- 
 tion: whether the church, as such, stood in 
 need of adornment, or would be better fitted for 
 its purposes by possessing it. This question I 
 would now ask the reader to deal with briefly 
 and candidly. 
 
 The chief difficulty in deciding it has arisen 
 from its being always presented to us in an un- 
 fair form. It is asked of us, or we ask of our- 
 selves, whether the sensation which we now feel 
 in passing from our own modern dwelling-house, 
 
 large jewels, will be found in Appendix 9, " Shafts of St. 
 Mark's."
 
 162 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 through a newly built street, into a cathedral of 
 the thirteenth century, be safe or desirable as a 
 preparation for public worship. But we never 
 ask whether that sensation was at all calculated 
 upon by the builders of the cathedral. 
 
 LIT. Now I do not say that the contrast of 
 the ancient with the modern building, and the 
 strangeness with which the earlier architectural 
 forms fall upon the eye, are at this day disad- 
 vantageous. But I do say, that their effect, 
 whatever it may be, was entirely uncalculated 
 upon by the old builder. He endeavored to 
 make his work beautiful, but never expected it 
 to be strange. And we incapacitate ourselves 
 altogether from fair judgment of its intention, if 
 we forget that, when it was built, it rose in the 
 midst of other work fanciful and beautiful as it- 
 self; that every dwelling-house in the middle 
 ages was rich with the same ornaments and 
 quaint with the same grotesques which fretted 
 the porches or animated the gargoyles of the 
 cathedral; that what we now regard with doubt 
 and wonder, as well as with delight, was then the 
 natural continuation, into the principal edifice 
 of the city, of a style which was familiar to 
 every eye throughout all its lanes and streets; 
 and that the architect had often no more idea 
 of producing a peculiarly devotional impression 
 by the richest color and the most elaborate
 
 ST. MARK'S. 163 
 
 carving, than the builder of a modern meeting- 
 house has by his white-washed walls and square- 
 cut casements.* 
 
 LIU. Let the reader fix this great fact well 
 in his mind, and then follow out its important 
 corollaries. We attach, in modern days, a kind 
 of sacredness to the pointed arch and the groined 
 roof, because, while we look habitually out of 
 square windows and live under flat ceilings, we 
 meet with the more beautiful forms in the ruins 
 of our abbeys. But when those abbeys were 
 built, the pointed arch was used for every shop 
 door, as well as for that of the cloister, and the 
 feudal baron and freebooter feasted, as the monk 
 sang, under vaulted roofs; not because the 
 vaulting was thought especially appropriate to 
 either the revel or psalm, but because it was then 
 the form in which a strong roof was easiest 
 built. We have destroyed the goodly architect- 
 ure of our cities; we have substituted one 
 wholly devoid of beauty or meaning; and then 
 we reason respecting the strange effect upon our 
 minds of the fragments which, fortunately, we 
 have left in our churches, as if those churches 
 had always been designed to stand out in strong 
 relief from all the buildings around them, and 
 Gothic architecture had always been, what it is 
 
 * See the farther notice of this subject in Vol. III., 
 Chap. IV. Stones of Venice.
 
 164 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 now, a religious language, like Monkish Latin. 
 Most readers know, if they would arouse their 
 knowledge, that this was not so; but they take 
 no pains to reason the matter out: they abandon 
 themselves drowsily to the impression that 
 Gothic is a peculiarly ecclesiastical style; and 
 sometimes, even, that richness in church orna- 
 ment is a condition or furtherance of the Ro- 
 mish religion. Undoubtedly it has become so in 
 modern times: for there being no beauty in our 
 recent architecture, and much in the remains of 
 the past, and these remains being almost exclu- 
 sively ecclesiastical, the High Church and Ro- 
 manist parties have not been slow in availing 
 themselves of the natural instincts which were 
 deprived of all food except from this source; 
 and have willingly promulgated the theory, that 
 because all the good architecture that is now 
 left is expressive of High Church or Romanist 
 doctrines, all good architecture ever has been 
 and must be so, a piece of absurdity from 
 which, though here and there a country clergy- 
 man may innocently believe it, I hope the com- 
 mon sense of the nation will soon manfully quit 
 itself. It needs but little inquiry into the spirit 
 of the past, to ascertain what, once for all, I 
 would desire here clearly and forcibly to assert, 
 that wherever Christian church architecture has 
 been good and lovely, it has been merely the
 
 ST. MARK'S. 165 
 
 perfect development of the common dwelling- 
 house architecture of the period; that when the 
 pointed arch was used in the street, it was used 
 in the church; when the round arch was used in 
 in the street, it was used in the church; when 
 the pinnacle was set over the garret window, 
 it was set over the belfry tower; when the 
 flat roof was used for the drawing-room, it 
 was used for the nave. There is no sacredness 
 in round arches, nor in pointed; none in pin- 
 nacles, nor in buttresses; none in pillars, nor 
 traceries. Churches were larger than in most 
 other buildings, because they had to hold more 
 people; they were more adorned than most 
 other buildings, because they were safer from 
 violence, and were the fitting subjects of devo* 
 tional offering: but they were never built in 
 any separate, mystical, and religious style; they 
 were built in the manner that was common 
 and familiar to everybody at the time. The 
 flamboyant traceries that adorn the facade oi 
 Rouen Cathedral had once their fellows in 
 every window of every house in the market- 
 place; the sculptures that adorn the porches ot 
 St. Mark's had once their match on the walls, 
 of every palace on the Grand Canal; and the 
 only difference between the church and the 
 dwelling-house was, that there existed a symboli- 
 cal meaning in the distribution of the parts oi
 
 1 66 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 all buildings meant for worship, and that the 
 painting or sculpture was, in the one case, less 
 frequently of profane subject than in the other. 
 A more severe distinction cannot be drawn: for 
 secular history was constantly introduced into 
 church architecture; and sacred history or allu- 
 sion generally formed at least one half of the 
 ornament of the dwelling-house. 
 
 LIV. This fact is so important, and so little 
 considered, that I must be pardoned for dwell- 
 ing upon it at some length, and accurately mark- 
 ing the limits of the assertion I have made. 1 
 do not mean that every dwelling-house of medi- 
 aeval cities was as richly adorned and as ex- 
 quisite in composition as the fronts of their ca- 
 thedrals, but that they presented features of the 
 same kind, often in parts quite as beautiful; 
 and that the churches were not separated by 
 any change of style from the buildings round 
 them, as they are now, but were merely more 
 finished and full examples of a universal style, 
 rising out of the confused streets of the city as 
 an oak tree does out of an oak copse, not differ- 
 ing in leafage, but in size and symmetry. Of 
 course the quainter and smaller forms of turret 
 and window necessary for domestic service, the 
 inferior materials, often wood instead of stone, 
 and the fancy of the inhabitants, which had free 
 play in the design, introduced oddnesses, vul-
 
 ST. MARK'S. 167 
 
 garities, and variations into house architecture, 
 which were prevented by the traditions, the 
 wealth, and the skill of the monks and free- 
 masons; while, on the other hand, conditions of 
 vaulting, buttressing, and arch and tower build- 
 ing, were necessitated by the mere size of the 
 cathedral, of which it would be difficult to find 
 examples elsewhere. But there was nothing 
 more in these features than the adaptation of 
 mechanical skill to vaster requirements; there 
 was nothing intended to be, or felt to be, espe- 
 cially ecclesiastical in^anyof the forms so devel- 
 oped; and the inhabitants of every village and 
 city, when they furnished funds for the decora- 
 tion of their church, desired merely to adorn 
 the house of God as they adorned their own, 
 only a little more richly, and with a somewhat 
 graver temper in the subjects of the carving. 
 Even this last difference is not always clearly 
 discernible: all manner of ribaldry occurs in the 
 details of the ecclesiastical buildings of the 
 North, and at the time when the best of them 
 were built, every man's house was a kind of 
 temple; a figure of the Madonna, or of Christ, 
 almost always occupied a niche over the princi- 
 pal door, and the Old Testament histories were 
 curiously interpolated amidst the grotesques of 
 the brackets and the gables. 
 
 LV. And the reader will now perceive that
 
 1 68 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the question respecting fitness of church deco- 
 ration rests in reality on totally different grounds 
 from those commonly made foundations of argu- 
 ment. So long as our streets are walled with 
 barren brick, and our eyes rest continually, in 
 our daily life, on objects utterly ugly, or oi 
 inconsistent and meaningless design, it may be 
 a doubtful question whether the faculties of 
 eye and mind which are capable of perceiving 
 beauty, having been left without food during 
 the whole of our active life, should be suddenly 
 feasted upon entering a place of worship; and 
 color, and music, and sculpture should delight 
 the senses, and stir the curiosity of men un- 
 accustomed to such appeal, at the moment when 
 they are required to compose themselves for 
 acts of devotion; this, I say, may be a doubt- 
 ful question: but it cannot be a question at all, 
 that if once familiarized with beautiful form and 
 color, and accustomed to see in whatever human 
 hands have executed for us, even for the lowest 
 services, evidence of noble thought and admi- 
 rable skill, we shall desire to see this evidence 
 also in whatever is built or labored for the house 
 of prayer; that the absence of the accustomed 
 loveliness would disturb instead of assisting 
 devotion; and that we should feel it as vain to 
 ask whether, with our own house full of goodly 
 craftsmanship, we should worship God in a
 
 ST. MARK'S. 169 
 
 house destitute of it, as to ask whether a pilgrim 
 whose day's journey had led him through fair 
 woods and by s^eet waters, must at evening 
 turn aside into some barren place to pray. 
 
 LVI. Then the second question submitted to 
 us, whether the ornament of St. Mark's be truly 
 ecclesiastical and Christian, is evidently deter- 
 mined together with the first; for, if not only 
 the permission of ornament at all, but the beau- 
 tiful execution of it, be dependent on our being 
 familiar with it in daily life, it will follow that 
 no style of noble architecture can be exclusively 
 ecclesiastical. It must be practised in the dwell- 
 ing before it be perfected in the church, and 
 it is the test of a noble style that it shall be 
 applicable to both; for if essentially false and 
 ignoble, it may be made to fit the dwelling- 
 house, but never can be made to fit the church : 
 and just as there are many principles which will 
 bear the light of the world's opinion, yet will 
 nut bear the light of God's word, while all prin- 
 ciples which will bear the test of Scripture will 
 also bear that of practice, so in architecture 
 there are many forms which expediency and 
 convenience may apparently justify, or at least 
 render endurable, in daily use, which will yet 
 be found offensive the moment they are used 
 for church service; but there are none good for 
 church service, which cannot bear daily use.
 
 170 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 Thus the Renaissance manner of building is a 
 convenient style for dwelling-houses, but the 
 natural sense of all religious men causes them 
 to turn from it with pain when it has been used 
 in churches; and this has given rise to the popu- 
 lar idea that the Roman style is good for houses 
 and the Gothic for churches. This is not so; 
 the Roman style is essentially base, and we can 
 bear with it only so long as it gives us conveni- 
 ient windows and spacious rooms; the moment 
 the question of convenience is set aside, and the 
 expression or beauty of the style it tried by its 
 being used in a church, we find it fails. But 
 because the Gothic and Byzantine styles are 
 fit for churches they are not therefore less fit 
 for dwellings. They are in the highest sense fit 
 and good for both, nor were they ever brought 
 to perfection except where they were used for 
 both. 
 
 LVII. But there is one character of Byzan- 
 tine work which, according to the time at which 
 it was employed, may be considered as either 
 fitting or unfitting it for distinctly ecclesiastical 
 purposes; I mean the essentially pictorial char- 
 acter of its decoration. We have already seen 
 what large surfaces it leaves void of bold archi- 
 tectural features, to be rendered interesting 
 merely by surface ornament or sculpture. In 
 this respect Byzantine work differs essentially
 
 ST. MARK'S. I/I 
 
 from pure Gothic styles, which are capable of 
 filling every vacant space by features purely 
 architectural, and may be rendered, if we please, 
 altogether independent of pictorial aid. A 
 Gothic church may be rendered impressive by 
 mere successions of arches, accumulations of 
 niches, and entanglements of tracery. But a 
 Byzantine church requires expression and in- 
 teresting decoration over vast plane surfaces, 
 decoration which becomes noble only by be- 
 coming pictorial; that is to say, by represent- 
 ing natural objects, men, animals, or flowers. 
 And, therefore, the question whether the Byzan- 
 tine style be fit for church service in modern 
 days, becomes involved in the inquiry, what 
 effect upon religion has been or may yet be 
 produced by pictorial art, and especially by 
 the art of the mosaicist? 
 
 LVIII. The more I have examined the sub- 
 ject the more dangerous I have found it to 
 dogmatize respecting the character of the art 
 which is likely, at a given period, to be most 
 useful to the cause of religion. One great fact 
 first meets me. I cannot answer for the ex- 
 perience of others, but I never yet met with a 
 Christian whose heart was thoroughly set upon 
 the world to come, and, so far as human judg- 
 ment could pronounce, perfect and right before 
 God, who cared about art at all. I have known
 
 1/2 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 several very noble Christian men who loved it 
 intensely, but in them there was always trace- 
 able some entanglement of the thoughts with 
 the matters of this world, causing them to fall 
 into strange distresses and doubts, and often 
 leading them into what they themselves would 
 confess to be errors in understanding, or even 
 failures in duty. I do not say that these men 
 may not, many of them, be in very deed nobler 
 than those whose conduct is more consistent; 
 they may be more tender in the tone of all their 
 feelings, and farther-sighted in soul, and for 
 that very reason exposed to greater trials and 
 fears, than those whose hardier frame and natu- 
 rally narrower vision enable them with less 
 effort to give their hands to God and walk with 
 Him. But still, the general fact is indeed so, 
 that I have never known a man who seemed 
 altogether right and calm in faith, who seriously 
 cared about art; and when casually moved by 
 it, it is quite impossible to say beforehand by 
 what class of art this impression will on such 
 men be made. Very often it is by a theatrical 
 commonplace, more frequently still by false 
 sentiment. I believe that the four painters who 
 have had, and still have, the most influence, 
 such as it is, on the ordinary Protestant Chris- 
 tian mind, are Carlo Dolci, Guercino, Benjamin 
 West, and John Martin. Raphael, much as he
 
 ST. MARK'S. 173 
 
 is talked about, is, I believe in very fact, rarely 
 looked at by religious people; much less his 
 master, or any of the truly great religious men 
 of old. But a smooth Magdalen of Carlo Dolci 
 with a tear on each cheek, or a Guercino Christ 
 or St. John, or a Scripture illustration of West's, 
 or a black cloud with a flash of lightning in it 
 of Martin's, rarely jails of being verily, often 
 deeply, felt for the time. 
 
 LIX. There are indeed many very evident rea- 
 sons for this; the chief one being that, as all truly 
 great religious painters have been hearty Roman- 
 ists, there are none of their works which do not 
 embody, in some portions of them, definitely Ro- 
 manist doctrines. The Protestant mind is in- 
 stantly struck by these, and offended by them, so 
 as to be incapable of entering, or at least rendered 
 indisposed to enter, farther into the heart of the 
 work, or to the discovering those deeper charac- 
 ters of it, which are not Romanist, but Chris- 
 tian, in the everlasting sense and power of Chris- 
 tianity. Thus most Protestants, entering for the 
 first time a Paradise of Angelico, would be irrevo- 
 cably offended by finding that the first person 
 the painter wished them to speak to was St. Dom- 
 inic; and would retire from such a heaven as 
 speedily as possible, not giving themselves time 
 to discover, that whether dressed in black, or 
 white, or gray, and by whatever name in the
 
 1/4 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 calendar they might be called, the figures that 
 filled that Angelico heaven were indeed more 
 saintly, and pure, and full of love in every feat- 
 ure, than any that the human hand ever traced 
 before or since. And thus Protestantism, hav- 
 ing foolishly sought for the little help it requires 
 at the hand of painting from the men who em- 
 bodied no Catholic doctrine, has been reduced 
 to receive it from those who believed neither 
 Catholicism nor Protestantism, but who read the 
 Bible in search of the picturesque. We thus re- 
 fuse to regard the painters who passed their lives 
 in prayer, but are perfectly ready to be taught by 
 those who spent them in debauchery. There is 
 perhaps no more popular Protestant picture than 
 Salvator's " Witch of Endor," of which the sub- 
 ject was chosen by the painter simply because, 
 under the names of Saul and the Sorceress, he 
 could paint a captain of banditti, and a Neapoli- 
 tan hag. 
 
 LIV. The fact seems to be that strength of 
 religious feeling is capable of supplying for 
 itself whatever is wanting in the rudest sugges- 
 tions of art, and will either, on the one hand, 
 purify what is coarse into inoffensiveness, or, on 
 the other, raise what is feeble into impressive- 
 ness. Probably all art, as such, is unsatisfactory 
 to it; and the effort which it makes to supply 
 the void will be induced rather by association
 
 ST. MARK'S. 175 
 
 and accident than by the real merit of the work 
 submitted to it. The likeness to a beloved 
 friend, the correspondence with a habitual con- 
 ception, the freedom from any strange or offen- 
 sive particularity, and, above all, an interesting 
 choice of incident, will win admiration for a pict- 
 ure when the noblest efforts of religious imagi- 
 nation would otherwise fail of power. How 
 much more, when to the quick capacity of emo- 
 tion is joined a childish trust that the picture 
 does indeed represent a fact! It matters little 
 whether the fact be well or ill told; the moment 
 we believe the picture to be true, we complain 
 little of its being ill-painted. Let it be consid- 
 ered for a moment, whether the child, with its 
 colored print, inquiring eagerly and gravely which 
 is Joseph, and which is Benjamin, is not more 
 capable of receiving a strong, even a sublime, 
 impression from .the rude symbol which it in- 
 vests with reality by its own effort, than the con- 
 noisseur who admires the grouping of the three 
 figures in Raphael's "Telling of the Dreams;" 
 and whether also, when the human mind is in 
 right religious tone, it has not always this child- 
 ish power I speak advisedly, this power a 
 noble one, and possessed more in youth than at 
 any period of after life, but always, I think, re- 
 stored in a measure by religion of raising into
 
 176 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 sublimity and reality the rudest symbol which 
 is given to it of accredited truth. 
 
 LXI. Ever since the period of the Renais- 
 sance, however, the truth has not been accredi- 
 ted; the painter of religious subject is no longer 
 regarded as the narrator of a fact, but as the in- 
 ventor of an idea.* We do not severely criti- 
 cise the manner in which a true history is told> 
 but we become harsh investigators of the faults 
 of an invention; so that in the modern religious 
 mind, the capacity of emotion, which renders 
 judgment uncertain, is joined with an incredulity 
 which renders it severe; and this ignorant emo- 
 tion, joined with ignorant observance of faults, 
 is the worst possible temper in which any art can 
 
 * I do not mean that modern Christians believe less in 
 ihe facts than ancient Christians, but they do not believe 
 in the representation of the facts as true. We look upon 
 the picture as this or that painter's conception ; the elder 
 Christians looked upon it as this or that painter's descrip- 
 tion of what had actually taken place. And in the Greek 
 Church all painting is, to this day, strictly a branch of 
 tradition. See M. Dideron's admirably written introduc- 
 tion to his Iconographie Chretienne, p. 7: " Un de mes 
 compagnons s'6tonnait de re trouver a la Panagia de St. 
 Luc, le saint Jean Chrysostome qu'il avait dessine dans le 
 baptistere de St. Marc, a Venise. Le costume des per- 
 sonnages est partout et en tout temps le meme, non-seule- 
 ment pour la forme, mais pour la couleur, mais pour le 
 dessin, mais jusque pour le nombre et le'paisseur des 
 plis."
 
 S7\ MARK'S. 1/7 
 
 be regarded, but more especially sacred art. 
 For as religious faith renders emotion facile, so 
 also it generally renders expression simple; that 
 is to say a truly religious painter will very often 
 be ruder, quainter, simpler, and more faulty in 
 his manner of working, than a great irreligious 
 one. And it was in this artless utterance, and 
 simple acceptance, on the part of both the work- 
 man and the beholder, that all noble schools of 
 art have been cradled; it is in them that they 
 must be cradled to the end of time. It is impos- 
 sible to calculate the enormous loss of power in 
 modern days, owing to the imperative require- 
 ment that art shall be methodical and learned: 
 for as long as the constitution of this world re- 
 mains unaltered, there will be more intellect in 
 it than there can be education; there will be 
 many men capable of just sensation and vivid 
 invention, who never will have time to cultivate 
 or polish their natural powers. And all unpol- 
 ished power is in the present state of society 
 lost; in other things as well as in the arts, but 
 in the arts especially: nay, in nine cases out of 
 ten, people mistake the polish for the power. 
 Until a man has passed through a course of 
 academy studentship, and can draw in an ap- 
 proved manner with French chalk, and knows 
 foreshortening, and perspective, and something 
 of anatomy, we do not think he can possibly be
 
 178 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 an artist; what is worse, we are very apt to 
 think that we can make him an artist by teach- 
 ing him anatomy, and how to draw with French 
 chalk; whereas the real gift in him is utterly 
 independent of all such accomplishments: and I 
 believe there are many peasants on every estate,, 
 and laborers in every town of Europe, who have 
 imaginative powers of a high order, which never- 
 theless cannot be used for our good, because we 
 do not choose to look at anything but what is 
 expressed in a legal and scientific way. I be- 
 lieve there is many a village mason who, set to 
 carve a series of Scripture or any other histories, 
 would find many a strange and noble fancy in 
 his head, and set it down, roughly enough in- 
 deed, but in a way well worth our having. But 
 we are too grand to let him do this, or to set up 
 his clumsy work when it is done; and accord- 
 ingly the poor stone-mason is kept hewing stones 
 smooth at the corners, and we build our church 
 of the smooth square stones, and consider our- 
 selves wise. 
 
 LXII. I shall pursue this subject farther in 
 another place; but I allude to it here in order 
 to meet the objections of those persons who 
 suppose the mosaics of St. Mark's, and others of 
 the period, to be utterly barbarous as represen- 
 tations of religious history. Let it be granted 
 that they are so; we are not for that reason to
 
 ST. MARK'S. 179 
 
 suppose they were ineffective in religious teach- 
 ing. I have above spoken of the whole church 
 as a great Book of Common Prayer; the mosaics 
 were its illuminations, and the common peo- 
 ple of the time were taught their Scripture his- 
 tory by means of them, more impressively per- 
 haps, though far less fully, than ours are now by 
 Scripture reading. They had no other Bible, 
 and Protestants do not often enough consider 
 this ceutdhave no other. We find it somewhat 
 difficult to furnish our poor with printed Bibles; 
 consider what the difficulty must have been when 
 they could be given only in manuscript. The 
 walls of the church necessarily became the poor 
 man's Bible, and a picture was more easily read 
 upon the walls than a chapter. Under this 
 view, and considering them merely as the Bible 
 pictures of a great nation in its youth, I shall 
 finally invite the reader to examine the connec- 
 tion and subjects of these mosaics; but in the 
 meantime I have to deprecate the idea of their 
 execution being in any sense barbarous. I have 
 conceded too much to modern prejudice, in 
 permitting them to be rated as mere childish 
 efforts at colored portraiture : they have charac- 
 ters in them of a very noble kind; nor are they 
 by any means devoid of the remains of the sci- 
 ence of the later Roman empire. The character 
 of the features is almost always fine, the expres-
 
 180 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 sion stern and quiet, and very solemn, the atti- 
 tudes and draperies always majestic in the single 
 figures, and in those of the groups which are not 
 in violent action;* while the bright coloring and 
 disregard of chiaroscuro cannot be regarded as 
 imperfections, since they are the only means by 
 which the figures could be rendered clearly in- 
 telligible in the distance and darkness of the 
 vaulting. So far am I from considering them 
 barbarous, that 1 believe of all works of religi- 
 ous art whatsoever, these, and such as these, 
 have been the most effective. They stand ex- 
 actly midway between the debased manufacture 
 of wooden and waxen images which is the sup- 
 port of Romanist idolatry all over the world, 
 and the great art which leads the mind away 
 from the religious subject to the art itself. Re- 
 specting neither of these branches of human 
 skill is there, nor can there be, any question. 
 The manufacture of puppets, however influential 
 
 * All the effects of Byzantine art to represent violent 
 action are inadequate, most of them ludicrously so, even 
 when the sculptural art is in other respects far advanced. 
 The early Gothic sculptors, on the other hand, fail in all 
 points of refinement, but hardly ever in expression of ac- 
 tion. This distinction is of course one of the necessary 
 consequences of the difference in all respects between the 
 repose of the Eastern, and activity of the Western mind, 
 which we shall have to trace out completely in the inquiry 
 into the nature of Gothic.
 
 ir. MARK'S. l8l 
 
 on the Romanist inind of Europe, is certainly 
 not deserving of consideration as one of the 
 fine arts. It matters literally nothing to a 
 Romanist what the image he worships is like. 
 Take the vilest doll that is screwed together in a 
 cheap toy-shop, trust it to the keeping of a large 
 family of children, let it be beaten about the house 
 by them till it is reduced to a shapeless block, 
 then dress it in a satin frock and declare it to 
 have fallen from heaven, and it will satisfactorily 
 answer all Romanist purposes. Idolatry,* it 
 cannot be too often repeated, is no encourager 
 of the fine arts. But, on the other hand, the 
 highest branches of the fine arts are no encour- 
 agers either of idolatry or of religion. No pict- 
 ure of Leonardo's or Raphael's, no statue of 
 Michael Angelo's, has ever been worshipped, 
 except by accident. Carelessly regarded, and 
 by ignorant persons, there is less to attract in 
 them than in commoner works. Carefully re- 
 garded, and by intelligent persons, they instantly 
 divert the mind from their subject to their art, 
 so that admiration takes the place of devotion. 
 I do not say that the Madonna di S. Sisto, the 
 Madonna del Cardellino, and such others, have 
 not had considerable religious influence on cer- 
 tain minds, but I say that on the mass of the 
 
 * Appendix x, " Proper Sense of the word Idolatry."
 
 1 82 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 people of Europe they have had none whatever; 
 while by far the greater number of the most 
 celebrated statues and pictures are never re- 
 garded with any other feelings than those of 
 admiration of human beauty, or reverence for 
 human skill. Effective religious art, therefore, 
 has always lain, and I believe must always lie, 
 between the two extremes of barbarous idol- 
 fashioning on one side, and magnificent crafts- 
 manship on the other. It consists partly in 
 missal-painting, and such book-illustrations as, 
 since the invention of printing, have taken its 
 place; partly in glass-painting; partly in rude 
 sculpture on the outsides of buildings; partly in 
 mosaics; and partly in the frescoes and tempera 
 pictures which, in the fourteenth century, formed 
 the link between this powerful, because imper- 
 fect, religious art, and the impotent perfection 
 which succeeded it. 
 
 LXIII. But of all these branches the most 
 important are the inlaying and mosaic of the 
 twelfth and thirteenth centuries, represented in 
 a central manner by these mosaics of St. Mark's. 
 Missal-painting could not, from its minuteness, 
 produce the same sublime impressions, and fre- 
 quently merged itself in mere ornamentation of 
 the page. Modern book-illustration has been 
 so little skilful as hardly to be worth naming. 
 Sculpture, though in some positions it becomes
 
 ST. MARK'S. 183 
 
 of great importance, has always a tendency to 
 lose itself in architectural effect; and was prob- 
 ably seldom deciphered, in all its parts, by the 
 common people, still less the traditions annealed 
 in the purple burning of the painted window. 
 Finally, tempera pictures and frescoes were often 
 of limited size or of feeble color. But the great 
 mosaics of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries 
 covered the walls and roofs of the churches with 
 inevitable lustre; they could not be ignored or 
 escaped from; their size rendered them majes- 
 tic, their distance mysterious, their color attrac- 
 tive. They did not pass into confused or infe- 
 rior decorations; neither were they adorned with 
 any evidences of skill or science, such as might 
 withdraw the attention from their subjects. 
 They were before the eyes of the devotee at 
 every interval of his worship; vast shadowings 
 forth of scenes to whose realization he looked 
 forward, or of spirits whose presence he invoked. 
 And the man must be little capable of receiving 
 a religious impression of any kind, who, to this 
 day, does not acknowledge some feeling of awe, 
 as he looks up at the pale countenances and 
 ghastly forms which haunt the dark roofs of the 
 Baptisteries of Parma and Florence, or remains 
 altogether untouched by the majesty of the co- 
 lossal images of apostles, and of Him who sent
 
 1 84 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 apostles, that look down from the darkening gold 
 of the domes of Venice and Pisa. 
 
 LXIV. I shall, in a future portion of this work, 
 endeavor to discover what probabilities there 
 are of our being able to use this kind of art in 
 modern churches ; but at present it remains 
 for us to follow out the connection of the sub- 
 jects represented in St. Mark's so as to fulfil our 
 immediate object, and form an adequate concep- 
 tion of the feelings of its builders, and of its 
 uses to those for whom it was built. 
 
 Now, there is one circumstance to which I 
 must, in the outset, direct the reader's special 
 attention, as forming a notable distinction be- 
 tween ancient and modern days. Our eyes are 
 now familiar and wearied with writing ; and if 
 an inscription is put upon a building, unless it 
 be large and clear, it is ten to one whether we 
 ever trouble ourselves to decipher it. But the 
 old architect was sure of readers. He knew 
 that every one would be glad to decipher all 
 that he wrote; that they would rejoice in pos- 
 sessing the vaulted leaves of his stone manu- 
 script; and that the more he gave them, the 
 more grateful would the people be. We must 
 take some pains, therefore, when we enter St. 
 Mark's, to read all that is inscribed, or we shall 
 not penetrate into the feeling either of the 
 builder or of his times.
 
 ST. MARK'S. 185 
 
 LXV. A large atrium or portico is attached to 
 two sides of the church, a space which was espe- 
 cially reserved for unbaptized persons and new 
 converts. It was thought right that, before their 
 baptism, these persons should be led to contem- 
 plate the great facts of the Old Testament his- 
 tory; the history of the Fall of Man, and of the 
 lives of Patriarchs up to the period of the Cove- 
 nant by Moses: the order of the subjects in this 
 series being very nearly the same as in 1 many 
 Northern churches, but significantly closing with 
 the Fall of the Manna, in order to mark to the 
 catechumen the insufficiency of the Mosaic cove- 
 nant for salvation, " Our fathers did eat 
 manna in the wilderness, and are dead," and to 
 turn his thoughts to the true Bread of which the 
 manna was the type. 
 
 LXVI. Then, when after his baptism he was 
 permitted to enter the church, over its main en- 
 trance he saw, on looking back, a mosaic of 
 Christ enthroned, with the Virgin on one side 
 and St. Mark on the other, in attitudes of adora- 
 tion. Christ is represented as holding a book 
 open upon his knee, on which is written: " I AM 
 
 THE DOOR; BY ME IF ANY MAN ENTER IN, HE 
 
 SHALL BE SAVED." On the red marble mould- 
 ing which surrounds the mosaic is written: "I 
 
 AM THE GATE OF LIFE; LET THOSE WHO ARE 
 
 MINE ENTER BY ME." Above, on the red marble
 
 1 86 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 fillet which forms the cornice of the west end of 
 the church, is written, with reference to the fig- 
 ure of Christ below: " WHO HE WAS, AND FROM 
 
 WHOM HE CAME, AND AT WHAT PRICE HE RE- 
 DEEMED THEE, AND WHY HE MADE THEE, AND 
 GAVE THEE ALL THINGS, DO THOU CONSIDER." 
 
 Now observe, this was not to be seen and 
 read only by the catechumen when he first en- 
 tered the church; every one who at any time 
 entered, was supposed to look back and to read 
 this writing; their daily entrance into the church 
 was thus made a daily memorial of their first 
 entrance into the spiritual Church; and we shall 
 find that the rest of the book which was opened 
 for them upon its walls continually led them in 
 the same manner to regard the visible temple as 
 in every part a type of the invisible Church of 
 God. 
 
 LXVII. Therefore the mosaic of the first 
 dome, which is over the head of the spectator 
 as soon as he has entered by the great door 
 (that door being the type of baptism), represents 
 the effusion of the Holy Spirit, as the first conse- 
 quence and seal of the entrance into the Church 
 of God. In the centre of the cupola is the Dove, 
 enthroned in the Greek manner, as the Lamb 
 is enthroned, when the Divinity of the Sec- 
 ond and Third Persons is to be insisted upon 
 together with their peculiar offices. From the
 
 57'. MARK'S. IS/ 
 
 central symbol of the Holy Spirit twelve streams 
 of fire descend upon the heads of the twelve 
 apostles, who are represented standing around 
 the dome; and below them, between the win- 
 dows which are pierced in its walls, are repre- 
 sented, by groups of two figures for each sepa- 
 rate people, the various nations who heard the 
 apostles speak, at Pentecost, every man in his 
 own tongue. Finally, on the vaults, at the four 
 angles which support the cupola, are pictured^ 
 four angels, each bearing a tablet upon the end 
 of a rod in his hand: on each of the tablets of 
 the three first angels is inscribed the word 
 "Holy;" on that of the fourth is written 
 "Lord;" and the beginning of the hymn being 
 thus put into the mouths of the four angels, 
 the words of it are continued around the border 
 of the dome, uniting praise to God for the gift 
 of the Spirit, with welcome to the redeemed 
 soul received into His Church: 
 
 " HOLY, HOLY, HOLY, LORD GOD OF SABAOTH : 
 HEAVEN AND EARTH ARE FULL OF THY GLORY. 
 
 HOSANNA IN THE HIGHEST : 
 BLESSED is HE THAT COMETH IN THE NAME OF THE LORD. " 
 
 And observe in this writing that the convert 
 is required to regard the outpouring of the 
 Holy Spirit especially as a work of sanctification. 
 It is the holiness of God manifested in the giving
 
 1 88 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 of His Spirit to sanctify those who had become 
 His children, which the four angels celebrate in 
 their ceaseless praise; and it is on account of 
 this holiness that the heaven and earth are said 
 to be full of His glory. 
 
 LXVIII. After thus hearing praise rendered 
 to God by the angels for the salvation of the 
 newly-entered soul, it was thought fittest that 
 the worshipper should be led to contemplate, in 
 the most comprehensive forms possible, the past 
 evidence and the future hopes of Christianity,, 
 as summed up in three facts without assurance 
 of which all faith is vain; namely that Christ 
 died, that He rose again, and that He ascended 
 into heaven, there to prepare a place for His 
 elect. On the vault between the first and sec- 
 ond cupolas are represented the crucifixion and 
 resurrection of Christ, with the usual series of 
 intermediate scenes, the treason of Judas, the 
 judgment of Pilate, the crowning with thorns, 
 the descent into Hades, the visit of the women 
 to the sepulchre, and the apparition to Man- 
 Magdalene. The second cupola itself, which is 
 the central and principal one of the church, is 
 entirely occupied by the subject of the Ascen- 
 sion. At the highest point of it Christ is repre- 
 sented as rising into the blue heaven, borne up 
 by four angels, and throned upon a rainbow, the 
 type of reconciliation. Beneath him, the twelve
 
 57^. MARK'S. 189 
 
 apostles are seen upon the Mount of Olives, 
 with the Madonna, and, in the midst of them, 
 the two men in white apparel who appeared 
 at the moment of the Ascension, above whom, 
 as uttered by them, are inscribed the words, 
 " Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up 
 into heaven ? This Christ, the Son of God, as 
 He is taken from you, shall so come, the arbiter 
 of the earth, trusted to do judgment and justice." 
 
 LXIX. Beneath the circle of the apostles, 
 between the windows of the cupola, are repre- 
 sented the Christian virtues, as sequent upon the 
 crucifixion of the flesh, and the spiritual ascen- 
 sion together with Christ. Beneath them, on 
 the vaults which support the angles of the 
 cupola, are placed the four Evangelists, because 
 on their evidence our assurance of the fact of 
 the ascension rests ; and, finally, beneath their 
 feet, as symbols of the sweetness and fulness of 
 the Gospel which they declared, are represented 
 the four rivers of Paradise, Pison, Gihon, Ti- 
 gris, and Euphrates. 
 
 LXX. The third cupola, that over the altar, 
 represents the witness of the Old Testament to 
 Christ; showing him enthroned in its centre, 
 and surrounded by the patriarchs and prophets. 
 But this dome was little seen by the people;* 
 
 * It is also of inferior workmanship, and perhaps later 
 than the rest. Vide Lor-d Lindsay, vol. i. p. 124, note.
 
 190 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 their contemplation was intended to be chiefly 
 drawn to that of the centre of the church, and 
 thus the mind of the worshipper was at once 
 fixed on the main groundwork and hope of 
 Christianity, " Christ is risen," and " Christ 
 shall come." If he had time to explore the 
 minor lateral chapels and cupolas, he could find 
 in them the whole series of New Testament his- 
 tory, the events of the Life of Christ, and the 
 Apostolic miracles in their order, and finally the 
 scenery of the Book of Revelation;* but if he 
 only entered, as often the common people do to 
 this hour, snatching a few moments before be- 
 ginning the labor of the day to offer up an ejac- 
 ulatory prayer, and advanced but from the 
 main entrance as far as the altar screen, all the 
 splendor of the glittering nave and variegated 
 dome, if they smote upon his heart, as they 
 might often, in strange contrast with his reed 
 cabin among the shallows of the lagoon, smote 
 upon it only that they might proclaim the two 
 great messages" Christ is risen," and " Christ 
 shall come." Daily, as the white cupolas rose 
 like wreaths of sea-foam in the dawn, while the 
 
 * The old mosaics from the Revelation have perished, 
 and have been replaced by miserable work of the seven- 
 teenth century.
 
 ST. MARK'S. Ipl 
 
 shadowy campanile and frowning palace were 
 still withdrawn into the night, they rose with 
 the Easter Voice of Triumph, " Christ is 
 risen;" and daily, as they looked down upon 
 the tumult of the people, deepening and eddy- 
 ing in the wide square that opened from their 
 feet to the sea, they uttered above them the 
 sentence of warning, "Christ shall come." 
 
 LXXI. And this thought may surely dispose 
 the reader to look with some change of temper 
 upon the gorgeous building and wild blazonry of 
 that shrine of St. Mark's. He now perceives that 
 it was in the hearts of the old Venetian people far 
 more than a place of worship. It was at once 
 a type of the Redeemed Church of God, and a 
 scroll for the written word of God. It was to 
 be to them, both an image of the Bride, all 
 glorious within, her clothing of wrought gold; 
 and the actual Table of the Law and the Testi- 
 mony, written within and without. And whether 
 honored as the Church or as the Bible, was it 
 not fitting that neither the gold nor the crystal 
 should be spared in the adornment of it; that, 
 as the symbol of the Bride, the building of the 
 wall thereof should be of jasper,* and the founda- 
 tions of it garnished with all manner of precious 
 
 * Rev. xxi. 1 8.
 
 I9 2 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 stones; and that, as the channel of the World, 
 that triumphant utterance of the Psalmist should 
 be true of it, " I have rejoiced in the way of 
 thy testimonies, as much as in all riches " ? And 
 shall we not look with changed temper down 
 the long perspective of St. Mark's Place towards 
 the sevenfold gates and glowing domes of its 
 temple, when we know with what solemn pur- 
 pose the shafts of it were lifted above the pave- 
 ment of the populous square ? Men met there 
 from all countries of the earth, for traffic or for 
 pleasure; but, above the crowd swaying for ever 
 to and fro in the restlessness of avarice or thirst 
 of delight, was seen perpetually the glory of the 
 temple, attesting to them, whether they would 
 hear or whether they would forbear, that there 
 was one treasure which the merchantmen might 
 buy without a price, and one delight better than 
 all others, in the word and the statutes of God. 
 Not in the wantonness of wealth, not in vain min- 
 istry to the desire of the eyes or the pride of 
 life, were those marbles hewn into transparent 
 strength, and those arches arrayed in the colors 
 of the iris. There is a message written in the dyes 
 of them, that once was written in blood; and a 
 sound in the echoes of their vaults, that one day 
 shall fill the vault of heaven, " He shall return, 
 to do judgment and justice." The strength of
 
 ST. MARK'S. 193 
 
 Venice was given her, so long as she remem- ' 
 bered this: her destruction found her when she 
 had forgotten this; and it found her irrevoca- 
 bly, because she forgot it without excuse. Never 
 had city a more glorious Bible. Among the 
 nations of the North, a rude and shadowy sculp- 
 ture filled their temples with confused and 
 hardly legible imagery; but, for her, the skill 
 and the treasures of the East had gilded every 
 letter, and illumined every page, till the Book- 
 Temple shone from afar off like the star of the 
 Magi. In other cities, the meetings of the peo- 
 ple were often in places withdrawn from re- 
 ligious association, subject to violence and to 
 change; and on the grass of the dangerous ram- 
 part, and in the dust of the troubled street, 
 there were deeds done and counsels taken, 
 which, if we cannot justify, we may sometimes 
 forgive. But the sins of Venice, whether in her 
 palace or in her piazza, were done with the 
 Bible at her right hand. The walls on which its 
 testimony was written were separated but by a 
 few inches of marble from those which guarded 
 the secrets of her councils, or confined the vic- 
 tims of her policy. And when in her last hours 
 she threw off all shame and all restraint, and the 
 great square of the city became filled with the 
 madness of the whole earth, be it remembered
 
 194 
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 how much her sin was greater, because it was 
 done in the face of the House of God, burning 
 with the letters of His Law. Mountebank and 
 masker laughed their laugh, and went their way; 
 and a silence has followed them, not unfo retold; 
 for amidst them all, through century after cen- 
 tury of gathering vanity and festering guilt, that 
 white dome of St. Mark's had uttered in the 
 dead ear of Venice, " Know thou, that for all 
 these things God will bring thee into judgment."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 
 
 i. IT was stated in the commencement of 
 the preceding chapter that the Gothic art of 
 Venice was separated by the building of the 
 Ducal Palace into two distinct periods; and that 
 in all the domestic edifices which were raised 
 for half a century after its completion, their 
 characteristic and chiefly effective portions were 
 more or less directly copied from it. The fact 
 is, that the Ducal Palace was the great work of 
 Venice at this period, itself the principal effort 
 of her imagination, employing her best archi- 
 tects in its masonry, and her best painters in its 
 decoration, for a long series of years; and we 
 must receive it as a remarkable testimony to the 
 influence which it possessed over the minds of 
 those who saw it in its progress, that, while in 
 the other cities of Italy every palace and church 
 was rising in some original and daily more dar- 
 
 195
 
 196 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 ing form, the majesty of this single building was 
 able to give pause to the Gothic imagination in 
 its full career; stayed the restlessness of innova- 
 tion in an instant, and forbade the powers which 
 had created it thenceforth to exert themselves in 
 new directions, or endeavor to summon an image 
 more attractive. 
 
 ii. The reader will hardly believe that while 
 the architectural invention of the Venetians was 
 thus lost, Narcissus-like, in self-contemplation, 
 the various accounts of the progress of the 
 building thus admired and beloved are so con- 
 fused as frequently to leave it doubtful to what 
 portion of the palace they refer; and that there 
 is actually, at the time being, a dispute between 
 the best Venetian antiquaries, whether the main 
 facade of the palace be of the fourteenth or fif- 
 teenth century. The determination of this ques- 
 tion is of course necessary before we proceed to 
 draw any conclusions from the style of the work; 
 and it cannot be determined without a careful 
 review of the entire history of the palace, and of 
 all the documents relating to it. I trust that 
 this review may not be found tedious, assuredly 1 " 
 it will not be fruitless, bringing many facts be- 
 fore us, singularly illustrative of the Venetian 
 character. 
 
 in. Before, however, the reader can enter 
 upon any inquiry into the history of this build-
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 197 
 
 ing, it is necessary that he should be thoroughly 
 familiar with the arrangement and names of its 
 principal parts, as it at present stands; other- 
 wise he cannot comprehend so much as a single 
 sentence of any of the documents referring to 
 it. I must do what I can, by the help of a rough 
 plan and bird's-eye view, to give him the neces- 
 sary topographical knowledge: 
 
 Opposite is a rude ground plan of the build- 
 ings round St. Mark's Place; and the following 
 references will clearly explain their relative po- 
 sitions: 
 
 A. St. Mark's Place. 
 
 B. Piazzetta. 
 
 P. V. Procuratie Vecchie. 
 
 P. N. (opposite) Procuratie Nuove. 
 
 P. L. Libreria Vecchia. 
 
 I. Piazzetta de' Leoni. 
 
 T. Tower of St. Mark. 
 
 F F. Great Faade of St. Mark's Church. 
 
 M. St. Mark's. (It is so united with the Ducal Palace, 
 that the separation cannot be indicated in the 
 plan, unless all the walls had been marked, 
 which would have confused the whole.) 
 
 D D D. Ducal Palace. g s. Giant's stair. 
 
 C. Court of Ducal Palace. J. Judgment angle, 
 c. Porta della Carta. a. Fig-tree angle. 
 
 p p. Ponte della Paglia (Bridge of Straw). 
 S. Ponte de' Sospiri (Bridge of Sighs). 
 R R. Riva de' Schiavoni.
 
 198 
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 
 
 199 
 
 The reader will observe that the Ducal Palace 
 is arranged somewhat in the form of a hollow 
 
 square, of which one side faces the Piazzetta, B, 
 and another the quay called the Riva de' Schia-
 
 200 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 voni, R R; the third is on the dark canal called 
 the " Rio del Palazzo," and the fourth joins the 
 Church of St. Mark. 
 
 Of this fourth side, therefore, nothing can be 
 seen. Of the other three sides we shall have to 
 speak constantly; and they will be respectively 
 called, that towards the Piazzetta, the " Piaz- 
 zetta Fa9ade;" that towards the Riva de' Schia- 
 voni, the "Sea Facade;" and that towards the 
 Rio del Palazzo, the " Rio Facade." This Rio, 
 or canal, is usually looked upon by the traveller 
 with great respect, or even horror, because it 
 passes under the Bridge of Sighs. It is, how- 
 ever, one of the principal thoroughfares of the 
 city; and the bridge and its canal together oc- 
 cupy, in the mind of a Venetian, very much the 
 position of Fleet Street and Temple Bar in that 
 of a Londoner, at least, at the time when Tem- 
 ple Bar was occasionally decorated with human 
 heads. The two buildings closely resemble each 
 other in form. 
 
 iv. We must now proceed to obtain some 
 rough idea of the appearance and distribution 
 of the palace itself; but its arrangement will be 
 better understood by supposing ourselves raised 
 some hundred and fifty feet above the point in 
 the lagoon in front of it, so as to get a general view 
 of the Sea Facade and Rio Facade (the latter in 
 very steep perspective), and to look down into
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2OI 
 
 its interior court. Fig. II. roughly represents 
 such a view, omitting all details on the roofs, in 
 order to avoid confusion. In this drawing we 
 have merely to notice that, of the two bridges 
 seen on the right, the uppermost, above the 
 black canal, is the Bridge of Sighs; the lower 
 one is the Ponte della Paglia, the regular thor- 
 oughfare from quay to quay, and, I believe, 
 called the Bridge of Straw, because the boats 
 which brought straw from the mainland used to 
 sell it at this place. The corner of the palace, 
 rising above this bridge, and formed by the meet- 
 ing of the Sea Facade and Rio Fagade, will al- 
 ways be called the Vine angle, because it is 
 decorated by a sculpture of the drunkenness of 
 Noah. The angle opposite will be called the 
 Fig-tree angle, because it is decorated by a 
 sculpture of the Fall of Man. The long and 
 narrow range of building, of which the roof is 
 seen in perspective behind this angle, is the part 
 of the palace fronting the Piazzetta; and the 
 angle under the pinnacle most to the left of the 
 two which terminate it will be called, for a rea- 
 son presently to be stated, the Judgment angle. 
 Within the square formed by the building is seen 
 its interior court (with one of its wells), termi- 
 nated by small and fantastic buildings of the 
 Renaissance period, which face the Giant's Stair,
 
 202 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 of which the extremity is seen sloping clown on 
 the left. 
 
 v. The great fagade which fronts the spec- 
 tator looks southward. Hence the two traceried 
 windows lower than the rest, and to the right of 
 the spectator, may be conveniently distinguished 
 as the " Eastern Windows/' There are two 
 others like them, filled with tracery, and at the 
 same level, which look upon the narrow canal 
 between the Ponte della Paglia and the Bridge 
 of Sighs: these we may conveniently call the 
 " Canal Windows." The reader will observe a 
 vertical line in this dark side of the palace, sepa- 
 rating its nearer and plainer wall from a long 
 four-storied range of rich architecture. This 
 more distant range is entirely Renaissance: its 
 extremity is not indicated, because I have no 
 accurate sketch of the small buildings and 
 bridges beyond it, and we shall have nothing 
 whatever to do with this part of the palace in 
 our present inquiry. The nearer and undeco- 
 rated wall is part of the older palace, though 
 much defaced by modern opening of common 
 windows, refittings of the brickwork, etc. 
 
 vi. It will be observed that the fa?ade is 
 composed of a smooth mass of wall, sustained 
 on two tiers of pillars, one above the other. 
 The manner in which these support the whole
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE, 2O$ 
 
 fabric will be understood at once by the rough 
 section, Fig. III., which is sup- 
 posed to be taken right through 
 the palace to the interior court, 
 from near the middle of the 
 Sea Fagade. Here a and </are 
 the rows of shafts, both in the 
 inner court and on the Facade, 
 which carry the main walls; 
 /;, c are solid walls variously 
 strengthened with pilasters. 
 A, B, C are the three stories of the interior of 
 the palace. 
 
 The reader sees that it is impossible for any 
 plan to be more simple, and that if the inner 
 floors and walls of the stories A, B were re- 
 moved, there would be left merely the form of 
 a basilica, two high walls, carried on ranges of 
 shafts, and roofed by a low gable. 
 
 The stories A, B are entirely modernized, and 
 divided into confused ranges of small apart- 
 ments, among which what vestiges remain of 
 ancient masonry are entirely undecipherable, 
 except by investigations such as I have had 
 neither the time nor, as in most cases they would 
 involve the removal of modern plastering, the 
 opportunity, to make. With the subdivisions of 
 this story, therefore, I shall not trouble the
 
 204 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 reader; but those of the great tipper story, C, are 
 highly important. 
 
 vn. In the bird's-eye view above, Fig. II., 
 it will be noticed that the two windows on the 
 right are lower than the other four of the fagade. 
 In this arrangement there is one of the most 
 remarkable instances I know of the daring sacri- 
 fice of symmetry to convenience, which was no- 
 ticed in Chap. VII. as one of the chief noble- 
 nesses of the Gothic schools. 
 
 The part of the palace in which the two lower 
 windows occur, we shall find, was first built, and 
 arranged in four stories in order to obtain the 
 necessary number of apartments. Owing to cir- 
 cumstances, of which we shall presently give an 
 account, it became necessary, in the beginning 
 of the fourteenth century, to provide another 
 large and magnificent chamber for the meeting 
 of the senate. That chamber was added at the 
 side of the older building; but, as only one room 
 was wanted, there was no need to divide the 
 added portion into two stories. The entire 
 height was given to the single chamber, being 
 indeed not too great for just harmony with its 
 enormous length and breadth. And then came 
 the question how to place the windows, whether 
 o^-a line with the two others, or above them. 
 
 ,f The ceiling of the new room was to be adorned 
 by the paintings of the best masters in Venice,
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2O$ 
 
 and it "became of great importance to raise the 
 light near that gorgeous roof, as well as to keep 
 the tone of illumination in the Council Chamber 
 serene; and therefore to introduce light rather 
 in simple masses than in many broken streams. 
 A modern architect, terrified at the idea of vio- 
 lating external symmetry, would have sacrificed 
 both the pictures and the peace of the council. 
 He would have placed the larger windows at 
 the same level with the other two, and have in- 
 troduced above them smaller windows, like 
 those of the upper story in the older building, 
 as if that upper story had been continued along 
 the fa9ade. But the old Venetian thought of 
 the honor of the paintings, and the comfort of 
 the senate, before his own reputation. He un- 
 hesitatingly raised the large windows to their 
 proper position with reference to the interior of 
 the chamber, and suffered the external appear- 
 ance to take care of itself. And I believe the 
 whole pile rather gains than loses in effect by 
 the variation thus obtained in the spaces of wall 
 above and below the windows. 
 
 vin. On the party wall, between the second 
 and third windows, which faces the eastern ex- 
 tremity of the Great Council Chamber, is painted 
 the Paradise of Tintoret; and this wall will there- 
 fore be hereafter called the " Wall of the Para- 
 dise."
 
 206 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 In nearly the centre of the Sea Fa?ade, and 
 between the first and second windows of the 
 Great Council Chamber, is a large window to 
 the ground, opening on a balcony, which is one 
 of the chief ornaments of the palace, and will 
 be called in future the " Sea Balcony." 
 
 The fagade which looks on the Piazzetta is 
 very nearly like this to the Sea, but the greater 
 part of it was built in the fifteenth century, when 
 people had become studious of their symmetries. 
 Its side windows are all on the same level. Two 
 light the west end of the Great Council Cham- 
 ber, one lights a small room anciently called the 
 Quarantia Civil Nuova; the other three, and 
 the central one, with a balcony like that to the 
 Sea, light another large chamber, called Sala 
 del Scrutinio, or " Hall of Enquiry," which ex- 
 tends to the extremity of the palace above the 
 Porta della Carta. 
 
 ix. The reader is now well enough acquainted 
 with the topography of the existing building, to 
 be able to follow the accounts of its history. 
 
 We have seen above, that there were three 
 principal styles of Venetian architecture; Byzan- 
 tine, Gothic, and Renaissance. 
 
 The Ducal Palace, which was the great work 
 of Venice, was built successively in the three 
 styles. There was a Byzantine Ducal Palace, a 
 Gothic Ducal Palace, and a Renaissance Ducal
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2O/ 
 
 Palace. The second superseded the first to- 
 tally; a few stones of it (if indeed so much) are 
 all that is left. But the third superseded the 
 second in part only, and the existing building is 
 formed by the union of the two. 
 
 We shall review the history of each in suc- 
 cession.* 
 
 ist. The BYZANTINE PALACE. 
 
 In the year of the death of Charlemagne, 813,! 
 
 * The reader will find it convenient to note the follow- 
 ing editions of the printed books which have been prin- 
 cipally consulted in the following inquiry. The numbers 
 of the manuscripts referred to in the Marcian Library are 
 given with the quotations. 
 
 Sansovino. Venetia Descritta. 410, Venice, 1663. 
 Sansovino. Lettera intorno al Palazzo Ducale. 
 
 8vo, Venice, 1829. 
 Temanza. Antica Pianta di Venezia, with text. 
 
 Venice, 1780. 
 Cadorin. Pareri di XV. Architetti. 8vo, Venice, 
 
 1838. 
 
 Filiasi. Memorie storiche. 8vo, Padua, 1811. 
 Bettio. Lettera discorsiva del Palazzo Ducale. 
 
 8vo, Venice, 1837. 
 Selvatico. Architettura di Venezia. 8vo, Venice, 
 
 1847, 
 
 f The year commonly given is 810, as in the Savina 
 Chronicle (Cod. Marcianus), p. 13. " Del 810 fece prin- 
 cipiar el pallazzo Ducal nel luogo ditto Bruolo in confin 
 di S. Moise, et fece riedificar la isola di Eraclia." The 
 Sagornin Chronicle gives 804; and Filiasi, vol. vi. chap, 
 i, corrects this date to 813.
 
 208 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the Venetians determined to make the island of 
 Rialto the seat of the government and capital 
 of their state. Their Doge, Angelo or Agnello 
 Participazio, instantly took vigorous means for 
 the enlargement of the small group of buildings 
 which were to be the nucleus of the future Ven- 
 ice. He appointed persons to superintend the 
 raising of the banks of sand, so as to form more 
 secure foundations, and to build wooden bridges 
 over the canals. For the offices of religion, he 
 built the Church of St. Mark; and on, or near, 
 the spot where the Ducal Palace now stands, he 
 built a palace for the administration of the gov- 
 ernment.* 
 
 The history of the Ducal Palace therefore be- 
 gins with the birth of Venice, and to what re- 
 mains of it, at this day, is entrusted the last 
 representation of her power. 
 
 x. Of the exact position and form of this 
 palace of Participazio little is ascertained. San- 
 
 * " Amplio la citta, fornilla di casamenti, e per il culto 
 d' Iddio e I' amministrazione della giustizia eresse la 
 capella di S. Marco, e il palazzo di sua residenza." 
 Pareri, p. 120. Observe, that piety towards God, and 
 justice towards man, have been at least the nominal pur- 
 poses of every act and institution of ancient Venice. 
 Compare also Temanza, p. 24. " Quello che abbiamo 
 di certo si e che il suddetto Agnello lo incommincio da 
 fondamenti, e cosi pure la capella ducale di S. Marco."
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 209 
 
 sovino says that it was " built near the Ponte 
 della Paglia, and answeringly on the Grand 
 Canal,"* towards San Giorgio; that is to say, in 
 the place now occupied by the Sea Fagade; but 
 this was merely the popular report of his day. 
 We know, however, positively, that it was some- 
 where upon the site of the existing palace; and 
 that it had an important front towards the Piaz- 
 zetta, with which, as we shall see hereafter, the 
 present palace at one period was incorporated. 
 We know, also, that it was a pile of some mag- 
 nificence, from the account given by Sagornino 
 of the visit paid by the Emperor Otho the 
 
 * What I call the Sea, was called " the Grand Canal " 
 by the Venetians, as well as the great water street of the 
 city; but I prefer calling it " the Sea," in order to dis- 
 tinguish between that street and the broad water in front 
 of the Ducal Palace, which, interrupted only by the island 
 of San Giorgio, stretches for many miles to the south, 
 and for more than two to the boundary of the Lido. It 
 was the deeper channel, just in front of the Ducal Palace, 
 continuing the line of the great water street itself which 
 the Venetians spoke of as "the Grand Canal." The 
 words of Sansovino are: "Fu cominciato dove si vede, 
 vicino al ponte della paglia, et rispondente sul canal 
 grande." Filiasi says simply: " The palace was built 
 where it now is." " II palazio fu fatto dove ora pure 
 csiste." Vol. iii. chap. 27. The Savina Chronicle, 
 already quoted, says: " in the place called the Bruolo (or 
 Broglio), that is to say on the Piazzetta."
 
 210 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 Great, to the Doge Pietro Orseolo II. The 
 chronicler says that the Emperor " beheld care- 
 fully all the beauty of the palace;" * and the 
 Venetian historians express pride in the buildings 
 being worthy of an emperor's examination. This 
 was after the palace had been much injured by 
 fire in the revolt against Candiano IV. ,f and 
 just repaired, and richly adorned by Orseolo him- 
 self, who is spoken of by Sagornino as having 
 also " adorned the chapel of the Ducal Palace " 
 
 * "Omni decoritate illius perlustrata. " Sagornino, 
 quoted by Cadorin and Temanza. 
 
 f There is an interesting account of this revolt in 
 Monaci, p. 68. Some historians speak of the palace as 
 having been destroyed entirely; but, that it did not even 
 need important restorations, appears from Sagornino's 
 expression, quoted by Cadorin and Temanza. Speaking 
 of the Doge Participazio, he says: " Qui Palatii hucusque 
 manentis fuerit fabricator." The reparations of the 
 palace are usually attributed to the successor of Candiano, 
 Pietro Orseolo I.; but the legend, under the picture of 
 that Doge in the Council Chamber, speaks only of his 
 rebuilding St. Mark's, and " performing many miracles." 
 His whole mind seems to have been occupied with eccle- 
 siastical affairs; and his piety was finally manifested in a 
 way somewhat startling to the state, by absconding with 
 a French priest to St. Michael's in Gascony, and there 
 becoming a monk. What repairs, therefore, were neces- 
 sary to the Ducal Palace, were left to be undertaken by 
 his son, Orseolo II., above named.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 211 
 
 (St. Mark's) with ornaments of marble and gold.* 
 There can be no doubt whatever that the palace 
 at this period resembled and impressed the 
 other Byzantine edifices of the city, such as the 
 Fondaco de Turchi, &c., whose remains have 
 been already described; and that, like them, it 
 was covered with sculpture, and richly adorned 
 with gold and color. 
 
 xi. In the year 1106, it was for the second 
 time injured by fire,'f but repaired before 1116, 
 when it received another emperor, Henry V. (of 
 Germany), and was again honored by imperial 
 praise. \ Between 1173 and the close of the 
 century, it seems to have been again repaired 
 and much enlarged by the Doge Sebastian Ziani. 
 Sansovino says that this Doge not only repaired 
 it, but " enlarged it in every direction;" and, 
 after this enlargement, the palace seems to have 
 
 * " Quam non modo marmoreo, verum aureo compsit 
 ornamento." Temanza, p. 25. 
 
 f " L'anno 1106, uscito fuoco d'una casa privata, arse 
 parte del palazzo." Sansovino. Of the beneficial effect 
 of these fires, vide Cadorin, p. 121, 123. 
 
 \ " Urbis situm, aedificiorum decorem, et regitninis 
 aequitatem multipliciter commendavit. " Cronaca Dan- 
 dolo, quoted by Cadorin. 
 
 "Non solamente rinovo il palazzo, ma lo aggrandi 
 per ogni verso." Sansovino. Zanotto quotes the Altinat 
 Chronicle for account of these repairs.
 
 212 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 remained untouched for a hundred years, until, 
 in the commencement of the fourteenth century, 
 the works of the Gothic Palace were begun. 
 As, therefore, the old Byzantine building was, 
 at the time when those works first interfered 
 with it, in the form given to it by Ziani, I shall 
 hereafter always speak of it as the Ziani Palace; 
 and this the rather, because the only chronicler 
 whose words are perfectly clear respecting the 
 existence of part of this palace so late as the 
 year 1422, speaks of it as built by Ziani. The 
 old " palace of which half remains to this day, 
 was built, as we now see it, by Sebastian Ziani."* 
 
 So far, then, of the Byzantine Palace. 
 
 xn. 2nd. The GOTHIC PALACE. The reader, 
 doubtless, recollects that the important change 
 in the Venetian government which gave stability 
 to the aristocratic power took place about the 
 year 1297,! under the Doge Pietro Gradenigo, 
 a man thus characterized by Sansovino: " A 
 prompt and prudent man, of unconquerable de- 
 termination and great eloquence, who laid, so 
 
 * " El palazzo che anco di mezzo se vede vecchio, per 
 M. Sebastian Ziani fu fatto compir, come el se vede." 
 Chronicle of Pietro Dolfino, Cod. Ven. p. 47. This Chroni- 
 cle is spoken of by Sansovino as ' ' molto particolare 
 e distinta." Sansovino, Venezia descritta, p. 593. It 
 terminates in the year 1422. 
 
 \ See Vol. I. Appendix 3, Stones of Venice.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 21$ 
 
 to speak, the foundations of the eternity of this 
 republic, by the admirable regulations which he 
 introduced into the government." 
 
 We may now, with some reason, doubt of 
 their admirableness ; but their importance, and 
 the vigorous will and intellect of the Doge, are 
 not to be disputed. Venice was in the zenith of 
 her strength, and the heroism of her citizens 
 was displaying itself in every quarter of the 
 world.* The acquiescence in the secure estab 
 lishment of the aristocratic power was an ex- 
 pression, by the people, of respect for the fami- 
 lies which had been chiefly instrumental in 
 raising the commonwealth to such a height of 
 prosperity. 
 
 The Serrar del Consiglio fixed the numbers of 
 the Senate within certain limits, and it con- 
 ferred upon them a dignity greater than they 
 had ever before possessed. It was natural that 
 the alteration in the character of the assembly 
 should be attended by some change in the size, 
 arrangement, or decoration of the chamber in 
 which they sat. 
 
 We accordingly find it recorded by Sansovino, 
 that "in 1301 another saloon was begun on the 
 Rio del Palazzo, under the Doge Gradenigo, and 
 
 * Vide Sansovino's enumeration of those who flour- 
 ished in the reign of Gradenigo, p. 564.
 
 214 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 finished in 1309, in which year the Grand Coun- 
 cil first sat in it." * In the first year, therefore, 
 of the fourteenth century, the Gothic Ducal 
 Palace of Venice was begun; and as the Byzan- 
 tine Palace was, in its foundation, coeval with 
 that of the state, so the Gothic Palace was, in 
 its foundation, coeval with that of the aristo- 
 cratic power. Considered as the principal 
 representation of the Venetian school of archi- 
 tecture, the Ducal Palace is the Parthenon of 
 Venice, and Gradenigo its Pericles. 
 
 xiii. Sansovino, with a caution very fre- 
 quent among Venetian historians, when allud- 
 ing to events connected with the Serrar del 
 Consiglio, does not specially mention the cause 
 for the requirement of the new chamber; but 
 the Sivos Chronicle is a little more distinct in 
 expression. " In 1301, it was determined to 
 build a great saloon for the assembling of the 
 Great Council, and the room was built which is 
 now called the Sala del Scrutinio."f Now, that 
 
 * Sansovino, 324, I. 
 
 f " 1301 fu presa parte di fare una sala grande per la 
 riduzione del gran consiglio, e fu fatta quella che ora si 
 chiama dello Scrutinio." Cronaca Sivos, quoted by Ca- 
 dorin. There is another most interesting entry in the 
 Chronicle of Magno, relating to this event; but the pas- 
 sage is so ill written, that I am not sure if I have deci- 
 phered it correctly : " Del 1301 fu preso de fabrichar la
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 21$ 
 
 is to say, at the time when the Sivos Chronicle 
 was written; the room has long ago been de- 
 stroyed, and its name given to another chamber 
 on the opposite side of the palace: but I wish 
 the reader to remember the date 1301, as mark- 
 ing the commencement of a great architectural 
 epoch, in which took place the first appliance 
 of the energy of the aristocratic power, and of 
 the Gothic style, to the works of the Ducal 
 Palace. The operations then begun were con- 
 tinued, with hardly an interruption, during the 
 whole period of the prosperity of Venice. We 
 shall see the new buildings consume, and take 
 the place of, the Ziani Palace, piece by piece: 
 and when the Ziani Palace was destroyed, they 
 fed upon themselves; being continued round 
 the square, until, in the sixteenth century, they 
 reached the point where they had been begun 
 in the fourteenth, and pursued the track they 
 had then followed some distance beyond the 
 junction; destroying or hiding their own com- 
 
 sala fo ruina e fu fata (fatta) quella se adoperava a far el 
 pregadi e fu adopera per far el Gran Consegio fin 1423, 
 che fu anni 122." This last sentence, which is of great 
 importance, is luckily unmistakable: " The room was 
 used for the meetings of the Great Council until 1423, 
 that is to say, for 122 years." Cod. Ven. torn. i. p. 126. 
 The Chronicle extends from 1253 to 1454. 
 
 Abstract 1301 to 1309 ; Gradenigo's room 1340-42, 
 page 295 1419. New proposals, p. 298.
 
 2i6 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 mencement, as the serpent, which is the type of 
 eternity, conceals its tail in its jaws. 
 
 xiv. We cannot, therefore, see the extremi- 
 ty, wherein lay the sting and force of the whole 
 creature, the chamber, namely, built by the 
 Doge Gradenigo; but the reader must keep that 
 commencement and the date of it carefully in 
 his mind. The body of the Palace Serpent will 
 soon become visible to us. 
 
 The Gradenigo Chamber was somewhere on 
 the Rio Fa9ade, behind the present position of 
 the Bridge of Sighs; i. e. about the point marked 
 on the roof by the dotted lines in the woodcut; 
 it is not known whether low or high, but proba- 
 bly on a first story. The great faade of the 
 Ziani Palace being, as above mentioned, on the 
 Piazzetta, this chamber was as far back and out 
 of the way as possible; secrecy and security be- 
 ing obviously the points first considered. 
 
 xv. But the newly constituted Senate had 
 need of other additions to the ancient palace 
 besides the Council Chamber. A short, but 
 most significant, sentence is added to Sanso- 
 vino's account of the construction of that room. 
 " There were, near it" he says, " the Cancella- 
 ria, and the Gheba or Gabbia, afterwards called 
 the Little Tower."* 
 
 * " Vi era appresso la Cancellaria, e la Gheba o Gabbia, 
 chiamata poi Torresella." P. 324. A small square
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2 1/ 
 
 Gabbia means a " cage;" and there can be no 
 question that certain apartments were at this 
 time added at the top of the palace and on the 
 Rio Facade, which were to be used as prisons. 
 Whether any portion of the old Torresella still 
 remains is a doubtful question; but the apart- 
 ments at the top of the palace, in its fourth 
 story, were still used for prisons as late as the 
 beginning of the seventeenth century.* I wish 
 the reader especially to notice that a separate 
 tower or range of apartments was built for this 
 purpose, in order to clear the government of the 
 accusations so constantly made against them,, 
 by ignorant or partial historians, of wanton 
 cruelty to prisoners. The stories commonly told 
 respecting the " piombi " of the Ducal Palace 
 are utterly false. Instead of being, as usually 
 reported, small furnaces under the leads of the 
 palace, they were comfortable rooms, with good 
 flat roofs of larch, and carefully ventilated. f 
 
 tower is seen above the Vine angle in the view of Venice 
 dated 1 500, and attributed to Albert Durer. It appears 
 about 25 feet square, and is very probably the Torresella 
 in question. 
 
 * Vide Bettio, Lettera, p. 23. 
 
 \ Bettio, Lettera, p. 20. ' ' Those who wrote without 
 having seen them described them as covered with lead; 
 and those who have seen them know that, between their
 
 2l8 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 The new chamber, then, and the prisons, being 
 built, the Great Council first sat in their retired 
 chamber on the Rio in the year 1309. 
 
 xvi. Now, observe the significant progress 
 of events. They had no sooner thus established 
 themselves in power than they were disturbed 
 by the conspiracy of the Tiepolos, in the year 
 1310. In consequence of that conspiracy the 
 Council of Ten was created, still under the Doge 
 Gradenigo; who, having finished his work and 
 left the aristocracy of Venice armed with this 
 terrible power, died in the year 1312, some say 
 by poison. He was succeeded by the Doge 
 Marino Giorgio, who reigned only one year; 
 and then followed the prosperous government 
 of John Soranzo. There is no mention of any 
 additions to the Ducal Palace during his reign, 
 but he was succeeded by that Francesco Dan- 
 dolo, the sculptures on whose tomb, still exist- 
 ing in the cloisters of the Salute, may be com- 
 pared by any traveller with those of the Ducal 
 Palace. Of him it is recorded in the Savina 
 Chronicle: "This Doge also had the great gate 
 built which is at the entry of the palace, above 
 which is his statue kneeling, with the gonfalon 
 
 flat timber roofs and the sloping leaden roof of the pal- 
 ace the interval is five metres where it is least, and nine 
 where it is greatest."
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 
 
 in hand, before the feet of the Lion of St. 
 Mark's."* 
 
 xvii. It appears, then, that after the Senate 
 
 had completed their Council Chamber and the 
 
 prisons, they required a nobler door than that 
 
 of the old Ziani Palace for their Magnificences 
 
 to enter by. This door is twice spoken of in 
 
 the government accounts of expenses, which are 
 
 fortunately preserved,! in the following terms: 
 
 " X 335> June i. We, Andrew Dandolo and Mark 
 
 Loredano, procurators of St. Mark's, have 
 
 paid to Martin the stone-cutter and his 
 
 associates J . . . . for a stone of which the 
 
 lion is made which is put over the gate of 
 
 the palace." 
 
 " 1344, November 4. We have paid thirty-five 
 
 golden ducats for making gold leaf, to gild 
 
 the lion which ifi over the door of the 
 
 palace stairs." 
 
 The position of this door is disputed, and is of 
 
 * " Questo Dose anche fese far la porta grand a che se 
 al intrar del Pallazzo, in su la qual vi e la sua statua che 
 sta in zenocchioni con lo confalon in man, davanti li pie 
 de lo Lion S. Marco." Savin Chronicle, Cod. Ven. p. 
 1 20. 
 
 f These documents I have not examined myself, being 
 satisfied of the accuracy of Cadorin, from whom I take 
 the passages quoted. 
 
 | " Libras tres, soldos isgrossorum." Cadorin, 189, i.
 
 220 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 no consequence to the reader, the door itself 
 having long ago disappeared, and been replaced 
 by the Porta della Carta. 
 
 xvm. But before it was finished, occasion 
 had been discovered for farther improvements. 
 The Senate found their new Council Chamber in- 
 conveniently small, and, about thirty years after 
 its completion, began to consider where a larger 
 and more magnificent one might be built. The 
 government was now thoroughly established, 
 and it was probably felt that .there was some 
 meanness in the retired position, as well as in- 
 sufficiency in the size, of the Council Chamber 
 on the Rio. The first definite account which I 
 find of their proceedings, under these circum- 
 stances, is in the Caroldo Chronicle:* 
 
 " 1340. On the 28th of December, in the 
 preceding year, Master Marco Erizzo, Nicolo 
 Soranzo, and Thomas Gradenigo, were chosen 
 to examine where a new saloon might be built 
 in order to assemble therein the Greater Coun- 
 cil On the 3rd of June, 1341, the Great 
 
 Council elected two procurators of the work 
 of this saloon, with a salary of eighty ducats a 
 year." 
 
 It appears from the entry still preserved in 
 the Archivio, and quoted by Cadorin, that it 
 
 * Cod. Ven., No. cxu. p. 365.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 221 
 
 was on the 28th of December, 1340, that the 
 commissioners appointed to decide on this im- 
 portant matter gave in their report to the Grand 
 Council, and that the decree passed thereupon 
 for the commencement of a new Council Cham- 
 ber on the Grand Canal.* 
 
 The room then begun is the one now in existence^ 
 and its building involved the building of all that 
 is best and most beautiful in the present Ducal 
 Palace, the rich arcades of the lower stories 
 being all prepared for sustaining this Sala del 
 Gran Consiglio. 
 
 xix. In saying that it is the same now in 
 existence, I do not mean that it has undergone 
 no alterations; as we shall see hereafter, it has 
 been refitted again and again, and some portions 
 of its walls rebuilt; but in the place and form 
 in which it first stood, it still stands; and by a 
 glance at the position which its windows occupy, 
 as shown in Figure II. above, the reader will 
 see at once that whatever can be known re- 
 specting the design of the Sea Facade, must 
 
 * Sansovino is more explicit than usual in his reference 
 to this decree: "For it having appeared that the place 
 (the first Council Chamber) s not capacious enough, 
 the saloon on the Grand Canal was ordered." " Per cio 
 parendo che il luogo non fosse capace, fu ordinata la Sala 
 sul Canal Grande." P. 324.
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 be gleaned out of the entries which refer to 
 the building of this Great Council Chamber. 
 
 Cadorin quotes two of great importance, to 
 which we shall return in due time, made during 
 the progress of the work in 1342 and 1344; then 
 one of 1349, resolving that the works at the 
 Ducal Palace, which had been discontinued dur- 
 ing the plague, should be resumed; and finally 
 one in 1362, which speaks of the Great Council 
 Chamber as having been neglected and suffered 
 to fall into " great desolation," and resolves that 
 it shall be forthwith completed.* 
 
 The interruption had not been caused by the 
 plague only, but by the conspiracy of Faliero, 
 and the violent death of the master builder, f 
 The work was resumed in 1362, and completed 
 within the next three years, at least so far as 
 that Guariento was enabled to paint his Para- 
 dise on the walls; \ so that the building must, 
 at any rate, have been roofed by this time. Its 
 decorations and fittings, however, were long in 
 
 * Cadorin, 185, 2. The decree of 1342 is falsely given 
 as of 1345 by the Sivos Chronicle, and by Magno; while 
 Sanuto gives the decree to its right year, 1342, but speaks 
 of the Council Chamber as only begun in 1345. 
 
 f Calendario. See Appendix I., Vol. III. 
 
 % " II primo che vi colorisse fu Guariento tl quale V 
 anno 1365 vi fece il Paradiso in testa della sala." Sanso- 
 vino.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 22$ 
 
 completion; the paintings on the roof being 
 only executed in 1400. * They represented the 
 heavens covered with stars, f this being, says 
 Sansovino, the bearings of the Doge Steno. 
 Almost all ceilings and vaults were at this time 
 in Venice covered with stars, without any refer- 
 ence to armorial bearings; but Steno claims, 
 under his noble title of Stellifer, an important 
 share in completing the chamber, in an inscrip- 
 tion upon two square tablets, now inlaid in the 
 walls on each side of the great window towards 
 the sea: 
 
 " MlLLE QUADRINGENTI CURREBANT QUATUOR ANNI 
 
 HOC OPUS ILLUSTRIS MlCHAEL DUX STELLIFER AUXIT." 
 
 And in fact it is to this Doge that we owe the 
 beautiful balcony of that window, though the 
 work above it is partly of more recent date; and 
 I think the tablets bearing this important in- 
 scription have been taken out and reinserted in 
 the newer masonry. The labor of these final 
 decorations occupied a total period of sixty 
 
 * "L* an poi 1400 vi fece il cielo compartita a quad- 
 retti d' oro, ripieni di stelle, ch' era la insegna del Doge 
 Steno." Sansovino, lib. vm. 
 
 f " In questi tempi si messe in oro il cielo della sala del 
 Gran Consiglio et si fece il pergolo del finestra grande 
 chi guarda sul canale, adornato 1'uno e 1'altro di stelle, 
 ch' erano la insegne del Doge." Sansovino, lib. xm. 
 Compare also Pareri, p. 129.
 
 224 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 years. The Grand Council sat in the finished 
 chamber for the first time in 1423. In that 
 year the Gothic Ducal Palace of Venice was 
 completed. It had taken, to build it, the ener- 
 gies of the entire period which I have above 
 described as the central one of her life. 
 
 xx. 3rd. The RENAISSANCE PALACE. I 
 must go back a step or two, in order to be cer- 
 tain that the reader understands clearly the 
 state of the palace in 1423. The works of ad- 
 dition or renovation had now been proceeding, 
 at intervals, during a space of a hundred and 
 twenty-three years. Three generations at least 
 had been accustomed to witness the gradual 
 advancement of the form of the Ducal Palace 
 into more stately symmetry, and to contrast the 
 works of sculpture and painting with which it 
 was decorated, full of the life, knowledge, and 
 hope of the fourteenth century, with the rude 
 Byzantine chiselling of the palace of the Doge 
 Ziani. The magnificent fabric just completed, 
 of which the new Council Chamber was the 
 nucleus, was now habitually known in Venice as 
 the "Palazzo Nuovo;" and the old Byzantine 
 edifice, now ruinous, and more manifest in its 
 decay by its contrast with the goodly stones of 
 the building which had been raised at its side, 
 was of course known as the " Palazzo Vecchio." * 
 
 * Baseggio (Pareri, p. 127) is called the Proto of the
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 22 5 
 
 That fabric, however, still occupied the principal 
 position in Venice. The new Council Chamber 
 had been erected by the side of it towards the 
 Sea; but there was not then the wide quay in 
 front, the Riva dei Schiavoni, which now ren- 
 ders the Sea Fa?ade as important as that to the 
 Piazzetta. There was only a narrow walk be- 
 tween the pillars and the water; and the old 
 palace of Ziani still faced the Piazzetta, and in- 
 terrupted, by its decrepitude, the magnificence 
 of the square where the nobles daily met. 
 Every increase of the beauty of the new palace 
 rendered the discrepancy between it and the 
 companion building more painful; and then 
 began to arise in the minds of all men a vague 
 idea of the necessity of destroying the old pal- 
 ace, and completing the front of the Piazzetta 
 with the same splendor as the Sea Faade. But 
 no such sweeping measure of renovation had 
 been contemplated by the Senate when they 
 first formed the plan of their new Council Cham- 
 ber. First a single additional room, then a 
 gateway, then a larger room; but all considered 
 merely as necessary additions to the palace, not 
 as involving the entire reconstruction of the 
 ancient edifice. The exhaustion of the treas- 
 ury, and the shadows upon the political horizon, 
 
 New Palace. Farther notes will be found in Appendix I., 
 Vol. III.
 
 226 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 rendered it more than imprudent to incur the 
 vast additional expense which such a project in- 
 volved; and the Senate, fearful of itself, and 
 desirous to guard against the weakness of its 
 own enthusiasm, passed a decree, like the effort 
 of a man fearful of some strong temptation to 
 keep his thoughts averted from the point of 
 danger. It was a decree, not merely that the 
 old palace should not be rebuilt, but that no 
 one should propose rebuilding it. The feeling of 
 the desirableness of doing so was too strong to 
 permit fair discussion, and the Senate knew that 
 to bring forward such a motion was to carry it. 
 
 xxi. The decree, thus passed in order to 
 guard against their own weakness, forbade any 
 one to speak of rebuilding the old palace under 
 the penalty of a thousand ducats. But they had 
 rated their own enthusiasm too low: there was 
 a man among them whom the loss of a thousand 
 ducats could not deter from proposing what he 
 believed to be for the good of the state. 
 
 Some excuse was given him for bringing for- 
 ward the motion, by a fire which occurred in 
 1419, and which injured both the church of St. 
 Mark's, and part of the old palace fronting the 
 Piazzetta. What followed, I shall relate in the 
 words of Sanuto.* 
 
 * Cronaca Sanudo, No. cxxv. in the Marcian Library, 
 p. 568.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 
 
 xxii. " Therefore they set themselves with 
 all diligence and care to repair and adorn sump- 
 tuously, first God's house; but in the Prince's 
 house things went on more slowly, for it did not 
 please the Doge * to restore it in the form in which 
 it was before; and they could not rebuild it alto- 
 gether in a better manner, so great was the par- 
 simony of these old fathers; because it was for- 
 bidden by laws, which condemned in a penalty 
 of a thousand ducats any one who should pro- 
 pose to throw down the old palace, and to re- 
 build it more richly and with greater expense. 
 But the Doge, who was magnanimous, and who 
 desired above all things what was honorable to 
 the city, had the thousand ducats carried into 
 the Senate Chamber, and then proposed that the 
 palace should be rebuilt; saying: that, ' since the 
 late fire had ruined in great part the Ducal 
 habitation (not only his own private palace, but 
 all the places used for public business) this oc- 
 casion was to be taken for an admonishment 
 sent from God, that they ought to rebuild the 
 palace more nobly, and in a way more befitting 
 the greatness to which, by God's grace, their 
 dominions had reached; and that his motive 
 in proposing this was neither ambition, nor 
 selfish interest: that, as for ambition, they might 
 
 * Tomaso Mocenigo.
 
 228 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 have seen in the whole course of his life, through 
 so many years, that he had never done anything 
 for ambition, either in the city, or in foreign 
 business; but in all his actions had kept justice 
 first in his thoughts, and then the advantage of 
 the state, and the honor of the Venetian name: 
 and that, as far as regarded his private interest, 
 if it had not been for this accident of the fire, 
 he would never have thought of changing any- 
 thing in the palace into either a more sumptuous 
 or a more honorable form; and that during the 
 many years in which he had lived in it, he had 
 never endeavored to make any change, but had 
 always been content with it, as his predecessors 
 had left it; and that he knew well that, if they 
 took in hand to build it as he exhorted and be- 
 sought them, being now very old, and broken 
 down with many toils, God would call him to 
 another life before the walls were raised a pace 
 from the ground. And that therefore they 
 might perceive that he did not advise them to 
 raise this building for his own convenience, but 
 only for the honor of the city and its Dukedom; 
 and that the good of it would never be felt by 
 him, but by his successors.' Then he said, that 
 ' in order, as he had always done, to observe the 
 laws, ... he had brought with him the thou- 
 sand ducats which had been appointed as the 
 penalty for proposing such a measure, so that he
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 22$ 
 
 might prove openly to all men that it was not 
 his own advantage that he sought, but the dig- 
 nity of the state.' " There was no one (Sanuto 
 goes on to tell us) who ventured, or desired, to 
 oppose the wishes of the Doge; and the thou- 
 sand ducats were unanimously devoted to the 
 expenses of the work. " And they set them- 
 selves with much diligence to the work; and 
 the palace was begun in the form and manner in 
 which it is at present seen; but, as Mocenigo 
 had prophesied, not long after, he ended his life, 
 and not only did not see the work brought to a 
 close, but hardly even begun." 
 
 xxin. There are one or two expressions in 
 the above extracts which if they stood alone, 
 might lead the reader to suppose that the whole 
 palace had been thrown down and rebuilt. We 
 must however remember, that, at this time, the 
 new Council Chamber, which had been one 
 hundred years in building, was actually un- 
 finished, the council had not yet sat in it; and 
 it was just as likely that the Doge should then 
 propose to destroy and rebuild it, as in this year, 
 1853, it is that any one should propose in our 
 House of Commons to throw down the new 
 Houses of Parliament, under the title of the 
 " old palace," and rebuild them. 
 
 xxiv. The manner in which Sanuto ex- 
 presses himself will at once be seen to be per-
 
 230 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 fectly natural, when it is remembered that al- 
 though we now speak of the whole building as 
 the " Ducal Palace," it consisted, in the minds 
 of the old Venetians, of four distinct buildings. 
 There were in it the palace, the state prisons, the 
 senate-house, and the offices of public business; 
 in other words, it was Buckingham Palace, the 
 Tower of olden days, the Houses of Parliament, 
 and Downing Street, all in one; and any of 
 these four portions might be spoken of, without 
 involving an allusion to any other. " II Palazzo" 
 was the Ducal residence, which, with most of 
 the public offices, Mocenigo did propose to pull 
 down and rebuild, and which was actually pulled 
 down and rebuilt. But the new Council Cham- 
 ber, of which the whole facade to the Sea con- 
 sisted, never entered into either his or Sanuto's 
 mind for an instant, as necessarily connected 
 with the Ducal residence. 
 
 I said that the new Council Chamber, at the 
 time when Mocenigo brought forward his meas- 
 ure, had never yet been used. It was in the year 
 1422* that the decree passed to rebuild the 
 palace: Mocenigo died in the following year,f 
 
 * Vide notes in Appendix. 
 
 f On the 4th of April, 1423, according to the copy of the 
 Zancarol Chronicle in the Marcian Library, but previous- 
 ly, according to the Caroldo Chronicle, which makes Fos- 
 cari enter the Senate as Doge on the 3rd of April.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2$l 
 
 and Francesco Foscari was elected in his room. 
 The Great Council Chamber was used for the 
 first time on the day when Foscari entered the 
 Senate as Doge, the 3rd of April, 1423, accord- 
 ing to the Caroldo Chronicle;* the 23rd, which 
 is probably correct, by an anonymous MS., No. 
 60, in the Correr Museum ; f and, the follow- 
 ing year, on the 2yth of March, the first hammer 
 was lifted up against the old palace of Ziani.J 
 
 xxv. That hammer stroke was the first act 
 of the period properly called the " Renaissance '* 
 It was the knell of the architecture of Venice, 
 and of Venice herself. 
 
 The central epoch of her life was past; the 
 decay had already begun: I dated its commence- 
 ment above (Ch. I., Vol. I.) from the death of 
 Mocenigo. A year had not yet elapsed since that 
 great Doge had been called to his account: his- 
 patriotism, always sincere, had been in this in- 
 
 * " Nella quale (the Sala del Gran Consiglio) non si 
 fece Gran Consiglio salvo nell' anno 1423, alii 3, April, et 
 fu il primo giorno che il Duce Foscari venisse in Gran 
 Consiglio dopo la sua creatione." Copy in Marcian Li- 
 brary, p. 365. 
 
 f " E a di 23 April (1423, by the context) sequente fo 
 fatto Gran Conseio in la salla nuovo dovi avanti non esta 
 piu fatto Gran Conseio si che el primo Gran Conseio dopo 
 la sua (Foscari' s) creation fo fatto in la sala nuova, nel 
 qual conseio fu el Marchese di Mantoa, " &c., p. 426. 
 
 t Compare Appendix I, Vol. III.
 
 232 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 stance mistaken; in his zeal for the honor of 
 future Venice, he had forgotten what was due to 
 the Venice of long ago. A thousand palaces 
 might be built upon her burdened islands, but 
 none of them could take the place, or recall the 
 memory, of that which was first built upon her 
 unfrequented shore. It fell; and, as if it had 
 been the talisman of her fortunes, the city never 
 flourished again. 
 
 xxvi. I have no intention of following out, 
 in their intricate details, the operations which 
 were begun under Foscari and continued under 
 succeeding Doges till the palace assumed its 
 present form, for I am not in this work con- 
 cerned, except by occasional reference, with the 
 architecture of the fifteenth century: but the 
 main facts are the following. The palace of Ziani 
 was destroyed; the existing facade to the Piaz- 
 zetta built, so as both to continue and to re- 
 semble, in most particulars, the work of the 
 Great Council Chamber. It was carried back 
 from the Sea as far as the Judgment angle; be- 
 yond which is the Porta della Carta, begun in 
 1439, and finished in two years, under the Doge 
 Foscari;* the interior buildings connected with 
 
 * " Tutte queste failure si cotnpirono sotto il dogado 
 del Foscari, nel 1441." Pareri, p. 131.
 
 7'777i DUCAL PALACE. 233 
 
 it were added by the Doge Christopher More, 
 (the Othello of Shakspeare) * in 1462. 
 
 xxvu. By reference to the figure the reader 
 will see that we have now gone the round of the 
 palace, and that the new work of 1462 was close 
 upon the first piece of the Gothic palace, the new 
 Council Chamber of 1301. Some remnants of 
 the Ziani Palace were perhaps still left between 
 the two extremities of the Gothic Palace; or as is 
 more probable, the last stones of it may have 
 been swept away after the fire of 1419, and re- 
 placed by new apartments for the Doge. But 
 whatever buildings, old or new, stood on this 
 spot at the time of the completion of the Porta 
 della Carta were destroyed by another great fire 
 in 1479, together with so much of the palace on 
 the Rio that, though the saloon of Gradenigo, 
 then known as the Sala de' Pregadi, was not de- 
 stroyed, it became necessary to reconstruct the 
 entire fagades of the portion of the palace be- 
 
 * This identification has been accomplished, and I think 
 conclusively, by my friend Mr. Rawdon Brown, who has 
 devoted all the leisure which, during the last twenty years 
 his manifold office of kindness to almost every English 
 visitant of Venice have left him, in discovering and trans- 
 lating the passages of the Venetian records which bear 
 upon English history and literature. I shall have occasion 
 to take advantage hereafter of a portion of his labors, 
 which I trust will shortly be made public.
 
 234 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 hind the Bridge of Sighs, both towards the court 
 and canal. This work was entrusted to the best 
 Renaissance architects of the close of the fif- 
 teenth and opening of the sixteenth centuries; 
 Antonio Ricci executing the Giant's staircase, 
 and on his absconding with a large sum of the 
 public money, Pietro Lombardo taking his place. 
 The whole work must have been completed 
 towards the middle of the sixteenth century. 
 The architects of the palace, advancing round 
 the square and led by fire, had more than 
 reached the point from which they had set out; 
 and the work of 1560 was joined to the work of 
 1301 1340, at the point marked by the con- 
 spicuous vertical line in Figure n on the Rio 
 Facade. 
 
 xxvin. But the palace was not long per- 
 mitted to remain in this finished form. Another 
 terrific fire, commonly called the great fire, burst 
 out in 1574, and destroyed the inner fittings and 
 all the precious pictures of the Great Council 
 Chamber, and of all the upper rooms on the Sea 
 Faade, and most of those on the Rio Fagade, 
 leaving the building a mere shell, shaken and 
 blasted by the flames. It was debated in the 
 Great Council whether the ruin should not be 
 thrown down, and an entirely new palace built 
 in its stead. The opinions of all the leading ar- 
 chitects of Venice were taken, respecting the
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 235 
 
 safety of the walls, or the possibility of repairing 
 them as they stood. These opinions, given in 
 writing, have been preserved, and published by 
 the Abbe Cadorin, in the work already so often 
 referred to; and they form one of the most im- 
 portant series of documents connected with the 
 Ducal Palace. 
 
 I cannot help feeling some childish pleasure 
 in the accidental resemblance to my own name 
 in that of the architect whose opinion was first 
 given in favor of the ancient fabric, Giovanni 
 Rusconi. Others, especially Palladio, wanted 
 to pull down the .old palace, and execute designs 
 of their own; but the best architects in Venice, 
 and to his immortal honor, chiefly Francesco San- 
 sovino, energetically pleaded for the Gothic pile, 
 and prevailed. It was successfully repaired, and 
 Tintoret painted his noblest picture on the wall 
 from which the Paradise of Guariento had with- 
 ered before the flames. 
 
 xxix. The repairs necessarily undertaken at 
 this time were however extensive, and interfered 
 in many directions with the earlier work of the 
 palace: still the only serious alteration in its 
 form was the transposition of the prisons, former- 
 ly at the top of the palace to the other side of 
 the Rio del Palazzo; and the building of the 
 Bridge of Sighs, to connect them with the palace, 
 by Antonio da Ponte. The completion of this
 
 236 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 work brought the whole edifice into its present 
 form; with the exception of alterations in doors, 
 partitions, and staircases among the inner apart- 
 ments, not worth noticing, and such barbarisms 
 and defacements as have been suffered within 
 the last fifty years, by, I suppose nearly every 
 building of importance in Italy. 
 
 xxx. Now, therefore, we are at liberty to ex- 
 amine some of the details of the Ducal Palace, 
 without any doubt about their dates. I shall not 
 however, give any elaborate illustrations of them 
 here, because I could not do them justice on the 
 scale of the page of this volume, or by means of 
 line engraving. I believe a new era is opening 
 to us in the art of illustration,* and that I shall 
 be able to give large figures of the details of the 
 Ducal Palace at a price which will enable every 
 person who is interested in the subject to possess 
 them; so that the cost and labor of multiplying 
 illustrations here would be altogether wasted. I 
 shall therefore direct the reader's attention only 
 to such points of interest as can be explained in 
 the text. 
 
 xxxi. First, then, looking back to the wood- 
 cut at the beginning of this chapter, the reader 
 will observe that, as the building was very 
 
 * See the last chapter of the third volume, Stones of 
 Venice.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2$? 
 
 nearly square on the ground plan, a peculiar 
 prominence and importance were given to its 
 angles, which rendered it necessary that they 
 should be enriched and softened by sculpture. 
 I do not suppose that the fitness of this arrange- 
 ment will be questioned; but if the reader will 
 take the pains to glance over any series of 
 engravings of church towers or other four-square 
 buildings in which great refinement of form has 
 been attained, he will at once observe how their 
 effect depends on some modification of the 
 sharpness of the angle, either by groups of but- 
 tresses, or by turrets and niches rich in sculpt- 
 ure. It is to be noted also that this principle 
 of breaking the angle is peculiarly Gothic, 
 arising partly out of the necessity of strength- 
 ening the flanks of enormous buildings, where 
 composed of imperfect materials, by buttresses 
 or pinnacles; partly out of the conditions of 
 Gothic warfare, which generally required a tower 
 at the angle; partly out of the natural dislike 
 of the meagreness of effect in buildings which 
 admitted large surfaces of wall, if the angle 
 were entirely unrelieved. The Ducal Palace, in 
 its acknowledgment of this principle, makes a 
 more definite concession to the Gothic spirit 
 than any of the previous architecture of Venice. 
 No angle, up to the time of its erection, had 
 been otherwise decorated than by a narrow
 
 235 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 fluted pilaster of red marble, and the sculpture 
 was reserved always, as in Greek and Roman 
 work, for the plane surfaces of the building, 
 with, as far as I recollect, two exceptions only, 
 both in St. Mark's; namely, the bold and gro- 
 tesque gargoyle on its north-west angle, and the 
 angels which project from the four inner angles 
 under the main cupola; both of these arrange- 
 ments being plainly made under Lombardic 
 influence. And if any other instances occur, 
 which I may have at present forgotten, I am 
 very sure the Northern influence will always be 
 distinctly traceable in them. 
 
 xxxn. The Ducal Palace, however, accepts 
 the principle in its completeness, and throws 
 the main decoration upon its angles. The cen- 
 tral window, which looks rich and important in 
 the woodcut, was entirely restored in the Renais- 
 sance time, as we have seen, under the Doge 
 Steno; so that we have no traces of its early 
 treatment; and the principal interest of the 
 older palace is concentrated in the angle sculpt- 
 ure, which is arranged in the following manner. 
 The pillars of the two bearing arcades are much 
 enlarged in thickness at the angles, and their 
 capitals increased in depth, breadth, and fulness 
 of subject; above each capital, on the angle of 
 the wall, a sculptural subject is introduced, con- 
 sisting, in the great lower arcade, of two or more
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 239 
 
 figures of the size of life; in the upper arcade, 
 of a single angel holding a scroll: above these 
 angels rise the twisted pillars with their crown- 
 ing niches, already noticed in the account of 
 parapets in the seventh chapter; thus forming 
 an unbroken line of decoration from the ground 
 to the top of the angle. 
 
 xxxin. It was before noticed that one of 
 the corners of the palace joins the irregular outer 
 buildings connected with St. Mark's, and is not 
 generally seen. There remain, therefore, to be 
 decorated, only the three angles, above distin- 
 guished as the Vine angle, the Fig-tree angle, 
 and the Judgment angle; and at these we have, 
 according to the arrangement just explained, 
 
 First, Three great bearing capitals (lower 
 arcade). 
 
 Secondly, Three figure subjects of sculpture 
 above them (lower arcade). 
 
 Thirdly, Three smaller bearing capitals (upper 
 arcade). 
 
 Fourthly, Three angels above them (upper 
 arcade). 
 
 Fifthly, Three spiral shafts with niches. 
 
 xxxiv. I shall describe the bearing capitals 
 hereafter, in their order, with the others of the 
 arcade; for the first point to which the reader's 
 attention ought to be directed is the choice of 
 subject in the great figure sculptures above
 
 240 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 them. These, observe, are the very corner 
 stones of the edifice, and in them we may expect 
 to find the most important evidences of the 
 feeling, as well as the skill, of the builder. If 
 he has anything to say to us of the purpose with 
 which he built the palace, it is sure to be said 
 here; if there was any lesson which he wished 
 principally to teach to those for whom he built, 
 here it is sure to be inculcated; if there was 
 any sentiment which they themselves desired to 
 have expressed in the principal edifice of their 
 city, this is the place in which we may be 
 secure of finding it legibly inscribed. 
 
 xxxv. Now the first two angles, of the 
 Vine and Fig-tree, belong to the old, or true 
 Gothic, Palace; the third angle belongs to the 
 Renaissance imitation of it: therefore, at the 
 first two angles, it is the Gothic spirit which is 
 going to speak to us; and, at the third, the 
 Renaissance spirit. 
 
 The reader remembers, I trust, that the most 
 characteristic sentiment of all that we traced in 
 the working of the Gothic heart, was the frank 
 confession of its own weakness; and I must 
 anticipate, for a moment, the results of our 
 inquiry in subsequent chapters, so far as to 
 state that the principal element in the Renais- 
 sance spirit, is its firm confidence in its own 
 wisdom.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 24! 
 
 Hear, then, the two spirits speak for them- 
 selves. 
 
 The first main sculpture of the Gothic Palace 
 is on what I have called the angle of the Fig- 
 tree: 
 
 Its subject is the FALL OF MAN. 
 
 The second sculpture is on the angle of the 
 Vine: 
 
 Its subject is the DRUNKENNESS OF NOAH. 
 
 The Renaissance sculpture is on the Judg- 
 ment angle: 
 
 Its subject is the JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON. 
 
 It is impossible to overstate, or to regard with 
 too much admiration, the significance of this 
 single fact. It is as if the palace had been 
 built at various epochs, and preserved uninjured 
 to this day, for the sole purpose of teaching us 
 the difference in the temper of the two schools. 
 
 xxxvi. I have called the sculpture on the 
 Fig-tree angle the principal one; because it is at 
 the central bend of the palace, where it turns to 
 the Piazetta(the fagade upon the Piazetta being, 
 as we saw above, the more important one in 
 ancient times). The great capital, which sus- 
 tains this Fig-tree angle, is also by far more 
 elaborate than the head of the pilaster under the 
 Vine angle, marking the preeminence of the 
 former in the architect's mind. It is impossible 
 to say which was first executed, but that of the
 
 242 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 Fig-tree angle is somewhat rougher in execution, 
 and more stiff in the design of the figures, so 
 that I rather suppose it to have been the earliest 
 completed. 
 
 xxxvu. In both the subjects, of the Fall 
 and the Drunkenness, the tree, which forms the 
 chiefly decorative portion of the sculpture, fig 
 in the one case, vine in the other, was a neces- 
 sary adjunct. Its trunk, in both sculptures, 
 forms the true outer angle of the palace; boldly 
 cut separate from the stonework behind, and 
 branching out above the figures so as to enwrap 
 each side of the angle, for several feet, with its 
 deep foliage. Nothing can be more masterly 
 or superb than the sweep of this foliage on the 
 Fig-tree angle; the broad leaves lapping round 
 the budding fruit, and sheltering from sight, 
 beneath their shadows, birds of the most grace- 
 ful form and delicate plumage. The branches 
 are, however, so strong, and the masses of stone 
 hewn into leafage so large, that, notwithstanding 
 the depth of the undercutting, the work remains 
 nearly uninjured; not so at the Vine angle, 
 where the natural delicacy of the vine-leaf and 
 tendril having tempted the sculptor to greater 
 effort, he has passed the proper limits of his 
 art, and cut the upper stems so delicately that 
 half of them have been broken away by the 
 casualties to which the situation of the sculpt-
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE, 243 
 
 ure necessarily exposes it. What remains is, 
 however, so interesting in its extreme refinement, 
 that I have chosen it for the subject of the first 
 illustration* rather than the nobler masses of 
 the fig-tree, which ought to be rendered on a 
 larger scale. Although half of the beauty of 
 the composition is destroyed by the breaking 
 away of its central masses, there is still enough 
 in the distribution of the variously bending 
 leaves, and in the placing of the birds on the 
 lighter branches, to prove to us the power of 
 the designer. I have already referred to this 
 Plate as a remarkable instance of the Gothic 
 Naturalism; and, indeed, it is almost impossible 
 for the copying of nature to be carried farther 
 than in the fibres of the marble branches, and 
 the careful finishing of the tendrils: note espe- 
 cially the peculiar expression of the knotty joints 
 of the vine in the light branch which rises 
 highest. Yet only half the finish of the work 
 can be seen in the Plate: for, in several cases, 
 the sculptor has shown the under sides of the 
 leaves turned boldly to the light, and has literally 
 carved every rib and vein upon them, in relief; 
 not merely the main ribs which sustain the 
 lobes of the leaf, and actually project in nature, 
 but the irregular and sinuous veins which chequer 
 
 * See note at end of this chapter.
 
 244 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the membranous tissues between them, and 
 which the sculptor has represented conven- 
 tionally as relieved like the others, in order to 
 give the vine leaf its peculiar tessellated effect 
 upon the eye. 
 
 xxxvui. As must always be the case in early 
 sculpture, the figures are much inferior to the 
 leafage; yet so skilful in many respects, that it 
 was a long time before T could persuade myself 
 that they had indeed been wrought in the first 
 half of the fourteenth century. Fortunately, 
 the date is inscribed upon a monument in the 
 Church of San Simeon Grande, bearing a recum- 
 bent statue of the saint, of far finer workman- 
 ship, in every respect, than those figures of the 
 Ducal Palace, yet so like them, that I think 
 there can be no question that the head of Noah 
 v/as wrought by the sculptor of the palace in 
 emulation of that of the statue of St. Simeon. 
 In this latter sculpture, the face is represented 
 in death; the mouth partly open, the lips thin 
 and sharp, the teeth carefully sculptured beneath; 
 the face full of quietness and majesty, though 
 very ghastly; the hair and beard flowing in lux- 
 uriant wreaths, disposed with the most masterly 
 freedom, yet severity, of design, far down upon 
 the shoulders; the hands crossed upon the body, 
 carefully studied, and the veins and sinews per- 
 fectly and easily expressed, yet without any at-
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 245 
 
 tempt at extreme finish or display of technical 
 skill. This monument bears date 1317,* and its 
 sculptor was justly proud of it; thus recording 
 his name: 
 
 " CELAVIT MARCUS OPUS HOC INSIGNE ROMANIS, 
 LAUDIBUS NON PARCUS EST SUA DIGNAMANUS." 
 
 xxxix. The head of the Noah on the Ducal 
 Palace, evidently worked in emulation of this 
 statue, has the same profusion of flowing hair 
 and beard, but wrought in smaller and harder 
 curls; and the veins on the arms and .breast are 
 more sharply drawn, the sculptor being evident- 
 ly more practised in keen and fine lines of veg- 
 etation than in those of the figure; so that r 
 which is most remarkable in a workman of this 
 early period, he has failed in telling his story 
 plainly, regret and wonder being so equally 
 marked on the features of all the three brothers 
 that it is impossible to say which is intended for 
 Ham. Two of the heads of the brothers are 
 seen in the Plate; the third figure is not with the 
 rest of the group, but set at a distance of about 
 twelve feet, on the other side of the arch which 
 springs from the angle capital. 
 
 XL. It may be observed, as a farther evi- 
 
 * " IN XRI NOTE AMEN ANNINCARNATIONIS MCCCXVII. 
 
 1NKSETBR." " In the name of Christ, Amen, in the year 
 of the incarnation, 1317, in the month of September, "&c.
 
 246 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 dence of the date of the group, that, in the fig- 
 ures of all the three youths, the feet are pro- 
 tected simply by a bandage arranged in crossed 
 folds round the ankle and lower part of the 
 limb; a feature of dress which will be found in 
 nearly every piece of figure sculpture in Venice, 
 from the year 1300 to 1380, and of which the 
 traveller may see an example within three hun- 
 dred yards of this very group, in the bas-reliefs 
 on the tomb of the Doge Andrea Dandolo (in 
 St. Mark's), who died in 1354. 
 
 XLI. The figures of Adam and Eve, sculpt- 
 ured on each side of the Fig-tree angle, are 
 more stiff than those of Noah and his sons, but 
 are better fitted for their architectural service; 
 and the trunk of the tree, with the angular body 
 of the serpent writhed around it, is more nobly 
 treated as a terminal group of lines than that of 
 the vine. 
 
 The Renaissance sculptor of the figures of the 
 Judgment of Solomon has very nearly copied 
 the fig-tree from this angle, placing its trunk be- 
 tween the executioner and the mother, who leans 
 forward to stay his hand. But, though the 
 whole group is much more free in design than 
 those of the earlier palace, and in many ways 
 excellent in itself, so that it always strikes the 
 eye of a careless observer more than the others, 
 it is of immeasurably inferior spirit in the work-
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 247 
 
 manship; the leaves of the tree, though far more 
 studiously varied in flow than those of the fig- 
 tree from which they are partially copied, have 
 none of its truth to nature; they are ill set on 
 the stems, bluntly defined on the edges, and 
 their curves are not those of growing leaves, but 
 of wrinkled drapery. 
 
 XLII. Above these three sculptures are set, 
 in the upper arcade, the statues of the archangels 
 Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel: their positions 
 will be understood by reference to the lowest 
 figure in Plate XVII., where that of Raphael 
 above the Vine angle is seen on the right. A 
 diminutive figure of Tobit follows at his feet, 
 and he bears in his hand a scroll with this in- 
 scription: 
 
 EFICE Q 
 
 SOFRE 
 
 TUR AFA 
 
 EL REVE 
 
 RENDE_ 
 
 QUIETU 
 
 i. e. Effice (quaeso?) fretum, Raphael reverende, 
 quietum.* I could not decipher the inscription 
 
 * ''Oh, venerable Raphael, make thou the gulf calm, 
 we beseech thee." The peculiar office of the angel 
 Raphael is, in general, according to tradition, the restrain- 
 ing the harmful influences of evil spirits. Sir Charles 
 Eastlake told me, that sometimes in this office he is repre-
 
 248 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 on the scroll borne by the angel Michael; and 
 the figure of Gabriel, which is by much the most 
 beautiful feature of the Renaissance portion of 
 the palace, has only in its hand the Annuncia- 
 tion lily. 
 
 XLIII. Such are the subjects of the main 
 sculptures decorating the angles of the palace; 
 notable, observe, for their simple expression of 
 two feelings, the consciousness of human frailty, 
 and the dependence upon Divine guidance and 
 protection: this being, of course, the general 
 purpose of the introduction of the figures of the 
 angels; and, I imagine, intended to be more 
 particularly conveyed by the manner in which 
 the small figure of Tobit follows the steps of 
 Raphael, just touching the hem of his garment. 
 We have next to examine the course of divinity 
 and of natural history embodied by the old 
 sculpture in the great series of capitals which 
 support the lower arcade of the palace; and 
 which, being at a height of little more than 
 eight feet above the eye, might be read, like the 
 pages of a book, by those (the noblest men in 
 Venice) who habitually walked beneath the 
 
 sented bearing the gall of the fish caught by Tobit; and 
 reminded me of the peculiar superstitions of the Venetians 
 respecting the raising of storms by fiends, as embodied 
 in the well known tale of the Fisherman and St. Mark's 
 ring.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 249 
 
 shadow of this great arcade at the time of their 
 first meeting each other for morning converse. 
 
 XLIV. We will now take the pillars of the 
 Ducal Palace in their order. It has already been 
 mentioned (Vol. I. Chap. I. XLVI.) that there 
 are, in all, thirty-six great pillars supporting the 
 lower story; and that these are to be counted 
 from right to left, because then the more an- 
 cient of them come first: and that, thus ar- 
 ranged, the first, which is not a shaft, but a pi- 
 laster, will be the support of the Vine angle; the 
 eighteenth will be the great shaft of the Fig-tree 
 angle; and the thirty-sixth, that of the Judgment 
 angle. 
 
 XLV. All their capitals, except that of the 
 first, are octagonal, and are decorated by sixteen 
 leaves, differently enriched in every capital, but 
 arranged in the same way; eight of them rising 
 to the angles, and there forming volutes; the 
 eight others set between them, on the sides, ris- 
 ing half-way up the bell of the capital; there 
 nodding forward, and showing above them, ris- 
 ing out of their luxuriance, the groups or single 
 figures which we have to examine.* In some 
 
 * I have given one of these capitals carefully already 
 in my folio work, and hope to give most of the others in 
 due time. It was of no use to draw them here, as the 
 scale would have been too small to allow me to show th? 
 expression of the figures.
 
 250 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 instances, the intermediate or lower leaves are 
 reduced to eight sprays of foliage; and the capi- 
 tal is left dependent for its effect on the bold 
 position of the figures. In referring to the fig- 
 ures on the octagonal capitals, I shall call the 
 outer side, fronting either the Sea or the Piaz- 
 zetta, the first side; and so count round from left 
 to right; the fourth side being thus, of course, 
 the innermost. As, however, the first five arches 
 were walled up after the great fire, only three 
 sides of their capitals are left visible, which we 
 may describe as the front and the eastern and 
 western sides of each. 
 
 XLVI. FIRST CAPITAL: i.e. of the pilaster at 
 the Vine angle. 
 
 In front, towards the Sea. A child holding a 
 bird before him, with its wings expanded, cover- 
 ing his breast. 
 
 On its eastern side. Children's heads among 
 leaves. 
 
 On its western side. A child carrying in one 
 hand a comb; in the other, a pair of scissors. 
 
 It appears curious, that this, the principal pi- 
 laster of the faade, should have been decorated 
 only by these graceful grotesques, for I can 
 hardly suppose them anything more. There may 
 be meaning in them, but I will not venture to 
 conjecture any, except the very plain and prac- 
 tical meaning conveyed by the last figure to all
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2$ I 
 
 Venetian children, which it would be well if they 
 would act upon. For the rest, I have seen the 
 comb introduced in grotesque work as early as 
 the thirteenth century, but generally for the 
 purpose of ridiculing too great care in dressing 
 the hair, which assuredly is not its purpose here. 
 The children's heads are very sweet and full of 
 life, but the eyes sharp and small. 
 
 XLVII. SECOND CAPITAL. Only three sides 
 of the original work are left unburied by the 
 mass of added wall. Each side has a bird, one 
 web-footed, with a fish, one clawed, with a ser- 
 pent, which opens its jaws, and darts its tongue 
 at the bird's breast; the third pluming itself, 
 with a feather between the mandibles of its bill. 
 It is by far the most beautiful of the three capi- 
 tals decorated with birds. 
 
 THIRD CAPITAL. Also has three sides only 
 left. They have three heads, large, and very ill 
 cut; one female, and crowned. 
 
 FOURTH CAPITAL. Has three children. The 
 eastern one is defaced: the one in front holds 
 a small bird, whose plumage is beautifully indi- 
 cated, in its right hand; and with its left holds 
 up half a walnut, showing the nut inside: the 
 third holds a fresh fig, cut through, showing the 
 seeds. 
 
 The hair of all the three children is differently 
 worked: the first has luxuriant flowing hair, and
 
 252 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 a double chin ; the second, light flowing hair fall- 
 ing in pointed locks on the forehead; the third, 
 crisp curling hair, deep cut with drill holes. 
 
 This capital has been copied on the Renais- 
 sance side of the palace, only with such changes 
 in the ideal of the children as the workman 
 thought expedient and natural. It is highly in- 
 teresting to compare the child of the fourteenth 
 with the child of the fifteenth century. The 
 early heads are full of youthful life, playful, 
 humane, affectionate, beaming with sensation 
 and vivacity, but with much manliness and firm- 
 ness, also, not a little cunning, and some cruelty 
 perhaps, beneath all; the features small and hard, 
 and the eyes keen. There is the making of rough 
 and great men in them. But the children of the 
 fifteenth century are dull smooth-faced dunces, 
 without a single meaning line in the fatness of 
 their stolid cheeks; and, although, in the vulgar 
 sense, as handsome as the other children are ugly, 
 capable of becoming nothing but perfumed cox- 
 combs. 
 
 FIFTH CAPITAL. Still three sides only left, 
 bearing three half-length statues of kings; this is 
 the first capital which bears any inscription. In 
 front, a king with a sword in his right hand 
 points to a handkerchief embroidered and 
 fringed, with a head on it, carved on the cavetto 
 of the abacus. His name is written above,
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 255, 
 
 "TITUS VESPASIAN IMPERATOR" (contracted 
 
 On eastern side, "TRAJANUS IMPERATOR." 
 Crowned, a sword in right hand, and sceptre in 
 left. 
 
 On western, " (OCT)AVIANUS AUGUSTUS IMPER- 
 ATOR." The " OCT " is broken away. He bears 
 a globe in his right hand, with " MUNDUS PACIS " 
 upon it; a sceptre in his left, which I think has 
 terminated in a human figure. He has a flow- 
 ing beard, and a singularly high crown; the face 
 is much injured, but has once been very noble 
 in expression. 
 
 SIXTH CAPITAL. Has large male and female 
 heads, very coarsely cut, hard, and bad. 
 
 XLVIII. SEVENTH CAPITAL. This is the first 
 of the series which is complete; the first open 
 arch of the lower arcade being between it and 
 the sixth. It begins the representation of the 
 Virtues. 
 
 First side. Largitas, or Liberality: always 
 distinguished from the higher Charity. A male 
 figure, with his lap full of money, which he pours 
 out of his hand. The coins are plain, circular, 
 and smooth; there is no attempt to mark device 
 upon them. The inscription above is, " LARGI- 
 TAS ME ONORAT." 
 
 In the copy of this design on the twenty-fifth
 
 254 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 capital, instead of showering out the gold from 
 his open hand, the figure holds it in a plate or 
 salver, introduced for the sake of disguising the 
 direct imitation. The changes thus made in the 
 Renaissance pillars are always injuries. 
 
 This virtue is the proper opponent of Avarice; 
 though it does not occur in the systems of Or- 
 cagna or Giotto, being included in Charity. It 
 was a leading virtue with Aristotle and the 
 other ancients. 
 
 XLIX. Second side. Constancy; not very 
 characteristic. An armed man with a sword in 
 his hand, inscribed, " CONSTANTIA SUM, NIL 
 TIMENS." 
 
 This virtue is one of the forms of fortitude, 
 and Giotto therefore sets as the vice opponent 
 to Fortitude, " Inconstantia," represented as a 
 woman in loose drapery, falling from a rolling 
 globe. The vision seen in the interpreter's house 
 in the Pilgrim's Progress, of the man with a very- 
 bold countenance, who says to him who has the 
 writer's ink-horn by his side, " Set down my 
 name," is the best personification of the Venetian 
 " Constantia " of which I am aware in literature. 
 It would be well for us all to consider whether 
 we have yet given the order to the man with the 
 ink-horn, " Set down my name." 
 
 L. Third side. Discord ; holding up her 
 finger, but needing the inscription above to as-
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE, 255 
 
 sure us of her meaning, " DISCORDIA SUM, DIS- 
 CORDIANS." In the Renaissance copy she is a 
 meek and nun-like person with a veil. 
 
 She is the Ate of Spencer; " mother of de- 
 bate," thus described in the fourth book : 
 
 " Her face most fowle and filthy was to see, 
 With squinted eyes contrarie wayes intended ; 
 And loathly mouth, unmeete a mouth to bee, 
 That nought but gall and venim comprehended, 
 And wicked wordes that God and man offended : 
 Her lying tongue was in two parts divided, 
 And both the parts did speake, and both contended; 
 And as her tongue, so was her hart discided, 
 
 That never thoght one thing, but doubly stil was guided." 
 
 Note the fine old meanimg of " discided," cut 
 in two; it is a great pity we have lost this 
 powerful expression. We might keep " deter- 
 mined " for the other sense of the word. 
 
 LI. Fourth side. Patience. A female figure, 
 very expressive and lovely, in a hood, with her 
 right hand on her breast, the left extended, in- 
 scribed " PATIENTIA MANET MECUM." 
 
 She is one of the principal virtues in all the 
 Christian systems: a masculine virtue in Spenser, 
 and beautifully placed as the Physician in the 
 House of Holinesse. The opponent vice, Im- 
 patience, is one of the hags who attend the 
 Captain of the Lusts of the Flesh; the other 
 being Impotence. In like manner, in the " Pil-
 
 256 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 grim' s Progress," the opposite of Patience is 
 Passion; but Spenser's thought is farther carried. 
 His two hags, Impatience and Impotence, as at- 
 tendant upon the evil spirit of Passion, embrace 
 all the phenomena of human conduct, down 
 even to the smallest matters, according to the 
 adage, " More haste, worse speed." 
 
 LII. Fifth side. Despair. A female figure 
 thrusting a dagger into her throat, and tearing her 
 long hair, which flows down among the leaves of 
 the capital below her knees. One of the finest 
 figures of the series; inscribed " DESPERACIO 
 MOS (mortis ?) CRUDELIS." In the Renaissance 
 copy she is totally devoid of expression, and ap- 
 pears, instead of tearing her hair, to be dividing 
 it into long curls on each side. 
 
 This vice is the proper opposite of Hope. By 
 Giotto she is represented as a woman hanging 
 herself, a fiend coming for her soul. Spenser's 
 vision of Despair is well known, it being indeed 
 currently reported that this part of the Faerie 
 Queen was the first which drew to it the atten- 
 tion of Sir Philip Sidney. 
 
 LIU. Sixth side. Obedience: with her arms 
 folded; meek, but rude and commonplace, look- 
 ing at a little dog standing on its hind legs and 
 begging, with a collar round its neck. Inscribed 
 " OBEDIENTI* *;" the rest of the sentence is
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 
 
 much defaced, but looks like A'ODO | KIP^Q 
 
 I suppose the note of contraction above the final 
 A has disappeared and that the inscription was 
 " Obedientiam domino exhibeo." 
 
 This virtue is, of course, a principal one in 
 the monkish systems; represented by Giotto at 
 Assisi as " an angel robed in black, placing the 
 finger of his left hand on his mouth, and passing 
 the yoke over the head of a Franciscan monk 
 kneeling at his feet." * 
 
 Obedience holds a less principal place in 
 Spenser. We have seen her above associated 
 with the other peculiar virtues of womanhood. 
 
 LIV. Seventh side. Infidelity. A man in a 
 turban, with a small image in his hand, or the 
 image of a child. Of the inscription nothing 
 but " INFIDELITATE * * * " and some fragment- 
 ary letters, " ILI, CERO," remain. 
 
 By Giotto Infidelity is most nobly symbolized 
 as a woman helmeted, the helmet having a 
 broad rim which keeps the light from her eyes. 
 She is covered with heavy drapery, stands in- 
 firmly as if about to fall, is bound by a cord round 
 her neck to an image which she carries in her 
 hand, and has flames bursting forth at her feet. 
 
 * Lord Lindsay, vol. ii. p. 226.
 
 258 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 In Spenser, Infidelity is the Saracen knight 
 Sans Foy, 
 
 ' ' Full large of limbe and every joint 
 He was, and cared not for God or man a point." 
 
 For the part which he sustains in the contest 
 with Godly Fear, or the Red-cross knight, see 
 Appendix 2, Vol. III. 
 
 LV. Eighth side. Modesty; bearing a pitcher. 
 (In the Renaissance copy, a vase like a coffee- 
 pot.) Inscribed " MODESTIA JK>Bl!OATIl{(|0* 
 
 I do not find this virtue in any of the Italian 
 series, except that of Venice. In Spenser she is 
 of course one of those attendant on Woman- 
 hood, but occurs as one of the tenants of the 
 Heart of Man, thus portrayed in the second 
 book: 
 
 " Straunge was her tyre, and all her garment blew. 
 Close rownd about her tuckt with many a plight: 
 Upon her fist the bird which shonneth vew. 
 
 And ever and anone with rosy red 
 
 The bashfull blood her snowy cheekes did dye, 
 
 That her became, as polisht yvory 
 
 Which cunning craftesman hand hath overlayd 
 
 With fayre vermilion or pure castory." 
 
 LVI. EIGHTH CAPITAL. It has no inscrip- 
 tions, and its subjects are not, by themselves,
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 259 
 
 intelligible; but they appear to be typical of the 
 degradation of human instincts. 
 
 First side. A caricature of Arion on his 
 dolphin; he wears a cap ending in a long pro- 
 boscis-like horn, and plays a violin with a curious 
 twitch of the bow and wag of the head, very 
 graphically expressed, but still without anything 
 approaching to the power of Northern grotesque. 
 His dolphin has a goodly row of teeth, and the 
 waves beat over his back. 
 
 Second side. A human figure, with curly hair 
 and the legs of a bear; the paws laid, with great 
 sculptural skill, upon the foliage. It plays a 
 violin, shaped like a guitar, with a bent double- 
 stringed bow. 
 
 Third side. A figure with a serpent's tail and 
 a monstrous head, founded on a Negro type, 
 hollow-cheeked, large-lipped, and wearing a cap 
 made of a serpent's skin, holding a fir-cone in its 
 hand. 
 
 Fourth side. A monstrous figure, terminating 
 below in a tortoise. It is devouring a gourd, 
 which it grasps greedily with both hands; it wears 
 a cap ending in a hoofed leg. 
 
 Fifth side. A centaur wearing a crested 
 helmet, and holding a curved sword. 
 
 Sixth side. A knight, riding a headless horse, 
 and wearing a chain armor, with a triangular
 
 26O THE Sl^ONES OF VENICE. 
 
 shield flung behind his back, and a two-edged 
 sword. 
 
 Seventh side. A figure like that on the fifth,, 
 wearing a round helmet, and with the legs and 
 tail of a horse. He bears a long mace with a 
 top like a fir-cone. 
 
 Eighth side. A figure with curly hair, and an 
 acorn in its hand, ending below in a fish. 
 
 LVII. NINTH CAPITAL. First side. Faith. 
 She has her left hand on her breast, and the 
 cross on her right. Inscribed " FIDES OPTIMA IN 
 DEO." The Faith of Giotto holds the cross in 
 her right hand; in her left, a scroll with the 
 Apostles' Creed. She treads upon cabalistic 
 books, and has a key suspended to her waist. 
 Spenser's Faith (Fidelia) is still more spiritual 
 and noble: 
 
 " She was araied all in lilly white, 
 
 And in her right hand bore a cup of gold, 
 
 With wine and water fild up to the hight, 
 
 In which a serpent did himself e enfold, 
 
 That horrour made to all that did behold; 
 
 But she no whitt did chaunge her constant mood : 
 
 And in her other hand she fast did hold 
 
 A booke, that was both signd and seald with blood ; 
 
 Wherein darke things were writt, hard to be understood. " 
 
 LVIII. Second side. Fortitude. A long-beard- 
 ed man [Samson?] tearing open a lion's jaw. The 
 inscription is illegible, and the somewhat vulgar
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 26 1 
 
 personification appears to belong rather to 
 Courage than Fortitude. On the Renaissance 
 copy it is inscribed " FORTITUDO SUM VIRILIS." 
 The Latin word has, perhaps, been received by 
 the sculptor as merely signifying " Strength," the 
 rest of the perfect idea of this virtue having 
 been given in " Constantia" previously. But 
 both these Venetian symbols together do not 
 at all approach the idea of Fortitude as given 
 generally by Giotto and the Pisan sculptors; 
 clothed with a lion's skin, knotted about her 
 neck, and falling to her feet in deep folds; draw- 
 ing back her right hand, with the sword pointed 
 towards her enemy; and slightly retired behind 
 her immovable shield, which, with Giotto, is 
 square, and rested on the ground like a tower, 
 covering her up to above her shoulders; bearing 
 on it a lion, and with broken heads of javelins 
 deeply infixed. 
 
 Among the Greeks, this is, of course, one of 
 the principal virtues; apt, however, in their ordi- 
 nary conception of it to degenerate into mere 
 manliness or courage. 
 
 LIX. Third side. Temperance; bearing a 
 pitcher of water and a cup. Inscription, illegible 
 here, and on the Renaissance copy nearly so, 
 
 " TEMPERANTIA SUM" (iNOM* L 8 )? Only left. In 
 
 this somewhat vulgar and most frequent concep- 
 tion of this virtue (afterwards continually re-
 
 262 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 peated, as by Sir Joshua in his window at New 
 College) temperance is confused with mere 
 abstinence, the opposite of Gula, or gluttony; 
 whereas the Greek Temperance, a truly cardinal 
 virtue, is the moderator of all the passions, and 
 so represented by Giotto, who has placed a bridle 
 upon her lips, and a sword in her hand, the hilt 
 of which she is binding to the scabbard. In his 
 system, she is opposed among the vices, not by 
 Gula or Gluttony, but by Ira, Anger. So also 
 the Temperance of Spenser, or Sir Guyon, but 
 with mingling of much sternness: 
 
 ' ' A goodly knight, all armd in harnesse meete, 
 That from his head no place appeared to his feete, 
 His carriage was full comely and upright; 
 His countenance demure and temperate; 
 But yett so sterne and terrible in sight, 
 That cheard his friendes, and did his foes amate." 
 
 The Temperance of the Greeks, 
 involves the idea of Prudence, and is a most 
 noble virtue, yet properly marked by Plato as 
 inferior to sacred enthusiasm, though necessary 
 for its government. He opposes it, under the 
 name " Mortal Temperance" or " the Temper- 
 ance which is of men," to divine madness, f*avia, 
 or inspiration; but he most justly and nobly ex- 
 presses the general idea of it under the term 
 vfipis, which, in the " Phaedrus," is divided into 
 various intemperances with respect to various
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 263 
 
 objects, and set forth under the image of a black, 
 vicious, diseased and furious horse, yoked by the 
 side of Prudence or Wisdom (set forth under the 
 figure of a white horse with a crested and noble 
 head, like that which we have among the Elgin 
 Marbles) to the chariot of the Soul. The system 
 of Aristotle, as above stated, is throughout a 
 mere complicated blunder, supported by soph- 
 istry, the laboriously developed mistake of Tem- 
 perance for the essence of the virtues which it 
 guides. Temperance in the mediaeval systems 
 is generally opposed by Anger, or by Folly, or 
 Gluttony: but her proper opposite is Spenser's 
 Acrasia, the principal enemy of Sir Guyon, at 
 whose gates we find the subordinate vice " Ex- 
 cesse," as the introduction to Intemperance; a 
 graceful and feminine image, necessary to illus- 
 trate the more dangerous forms of subtle intem- 
 perance, as opposed to the brutal " Gluttony" in 
 the first book. She presses grapes into a cup, 
 because of the words of St. Paul, " Be not drunk 
 with wine, wherein is excess;" but always deli- 
 cately, 
 
 " Into her cup she scruzd with daintie breach 
 Of her fine fingers, without fowle empeach, 
 That so faire winepresse made the wine more sweet." 
 
 The reader will, I trust, pardon these frequent 
 extracts from Spenser, for it is nearly as neces- 
 sary to point out the profound divinity and phi-
 
 264 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 losophy of our great English poet, as the beauty 
 of the Ducal Palace. 
 
 LX. Fourth side. Humility; with a veil 
 upon her head, carrying a lamp in her lap. In- 
 scribed in the copy, " HUMILITAS HABITAT IN 
 ME." 
 
 This virtue is of course a peculiarly Christian 
 one, hardly recognized in the Pagan systems, 
 though carefully impressed upon the Greeks in 
 early life in a manner which at this day it would 
 be well if we were to imitate, and, together with 
 an almost feminine modesty, giving an exquisite 
 grace to the conduct and bearing of the well- 
 educated Greek youth. It is, of course, one of 
 the leading virtues in all the monkish systems, 
 but I have not any notes of the manner of its 
 representation. 
 
 LXI. Fifth side. Charity. A woman with 
 her lap full of loaves (?), giving one to a child, 
 who stretches his arm out for it across a broad 
 gap in the leafage of the capital. 
 
 Again very far inferior to the Giottesque 
 rendering of this virtue. In the Arena Chapel 
 she is distinguished ^from all the other virtues 
 by having a circular glory round her head, and 
 a cross of fire; she is crowned with flowers, pre- 
 sents with her right hand a vase. of corn and 
 fruit, and with her left receives treasure from 
 Christ, who appears above her, to provide her
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 26$ 
 
 with the means of continual offices of benefi- 
 cence, while she tramples under foot the treas- 
 ures of the earth. 
 
 The peculiar beauty of most of the Italian 
 conceptions of Charity, is in the subjection of 
 mere munificence to the glowing of her love, 
 always represented by flames; here in the form 
 of a cross round her head; in Orcagna's shrine 
 at Florence, issuing from a censer in her hand; 
 and, with Dante, inflaming her whole form, so 
 that, in a furnace of clear fire, she could not 
 have been discerned. 
 
 Spenser represents her as a mother surrounded 
 by happy children, an idea afterwards grievously 
 hackneyed and vulgarized by English painters 
 and sculptors. 
 
 LXII. Sixth side. Justice. Crowned, and 
 with sword. Inscribed in the copy, " REX SUM 
 JUSTICIE." 
 
 This idea was afterwards much amplified and 
 adorned in the only good capital of the Renais- 
 sance series, under the Judgment angle. Giotto 
 has also given his whole strength to the painting 
 of this virtue, representing her as enthroned 
 under a noble Gothic canopy, holding scales, 
 not by the beam, but one in each hand; a beau- 
 tiful idea, showing that the equality of the scales 
 of Justice is not owing to natural laws, but to her 
 own immediate weighing the opposed causes in
 
 266 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 her own hands. In one scale is an executioner 
 beheading a criminal; in the other an angel 
 crowning a man who seems (in Selvatico's plate) 
 to have been working at a desk or table. 
 
 Beneath her feet is a small predella, repre- 
 senting various persons riding securely in the 
 woods, and others dancing to the sound of music. 
 
 Spenser's Justice, Sir Artegall, is the hero of 
 an entire book, and the betrothed knight of 
 Britomart, or chastity. 
 
 LXIII. Seventh side. Prudence. A man 
 with a book and a pair of compasses, wearing the 
 noble cap, hanging down towards the shoulder, 
 and bound in a fillet round the brow, which oc- 
 curs so frequently during the fourteenth century 
 in Italy in the portraits of men occupied in any 
 civil capacity. 
 
 This virtue is, as we have seen, conceived 
 under very different degrees of dignity, from 
 mere worldly prudence up to heavenly wisdom, 
 being opposed sometimes by Stultitia, sometimes 
 by Ignorantia. I do not find, in any of the rep- 
 resentations of her, that her truly distinctive 
 character, namely, forethought, is enough in- 
 sisted upon: Giotto expresses her vigilance and 
 just measurement or estimate of all things by 
 painting her as Janus-headed, and gazing into 
 a convex mirror, with compasses in her right 
 hand; the convex mirror showing her power of
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 267 
 
 looking at many things in small compass. But 
 forethought or anticipation, by which, indepen- 
 dently of greater or less natural capacities, one 
 man becomes more prudent than another, is 
 never enough considered or symbolized. 
 
 The idea of this virtue oscillates, in the Greek 
 systems, between Temperance and Heavenly 
 Wisdom. 
 
 LXIV. Eighth side. Hope. A figure full of 
 devotional expression, holding up its hands as 
 in prayer, and looking to a hand which is ex- 
 tended towards it out of sunbeams. In the 
 Renaissance copy this hand does not appear. 
 
 Of all the virtues, this is the most distinct- 
 ively Christian (it could not, of course, enter 
 definitely into any Pagan scheme); and above 
 all others, it seems to me the testing virtue, 
 that by the possession of which we may most 
 certainly determine whether we are Christians 
 or not; for many men have charity, that is to 
 say, general kindness of heart, or even a kind of 
 faith, who have not any habitual hope of, or 
 longing for, heaven. The Hope of Giotto is 
 represented as winged, rising in the air, while an 
 angel holds a crown before her. I do not know 
 if Spenser was the first to introduce our marine 
 virtue, leaning on an anchor, a symbol as inac- 
 curate as it is vulgar: for, in the first place, an- 
 chors are not for men, but for ships; and in the
 
 268 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 second, anchorage is the characteristic not of 
 Hope, but of Faith. Faith is dependent, but 
 Hope is aspirant. Spenser, however, introduces 
 Hope twice, the first time as the Virtue with 
 the anchor; but afterwards fallacious Hope, far 
 more beautifully, in the Masque of Cupid: 
 ' ' She always smyld, and in her hand did hold 
 An holy-water sprinckle, dipt in deowe." 
 
 LXV. TENTH CAPITAL. First side. Luxury 
 (the opposite of chastity, as above explained). 
 A woman with a jewelled chain across her fore- 
 head, smiling as she looks into a mirror, expos- 
 ing her breast by drawing down her dress with 
 one hand. Inscribed " LUXURIA SUM IMENSA." 
 
 These subordinate forms of vice are not met 
 with so frequently in art as those of the oppo- 
 site virtues, but in Spenser we find them all. 
 His Luxury rides upon a goat: 
 
 " In a greene gowne he clothed was full faire, 
 Which underneath did hide his filthinesse, 
 And in his hand a burning heart he bare." 
 
 But, in fact, the proper and comprehensive 
 expression of this vice is the Cupid of the an- 
 cients; and there is not any minor circumstance 
 more indicative of the intense difference between 
 the mediaeval and the Renaissance spirit, than 
 the mode in which this god is represented. 
 
 I have above said, that all great European art 
 is rooted in the thirteenth century; and it
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 269 
 
 seems to me that there is a kind of central year 
 about which we may consider the energy of the 
 middle ages to be gathered; a kind of focus of 
 time which, by what is to my mind a most 
 touching and impressive Divine appointment, 
 has been marked for us by the greatest writer of 
 the middle ages, in the first words he utters^ 
 namely, the year 1300, the " mezzo del cammin " 
 of the life of Dante. Now, therefore, to Giotto, 
 the contemporary of Dante, and who drew 
 Dante's still existing portrait in this very year,. 
 1300, we may always look for the central medi- 
 aeval idea in any subject: and observe how he 
 represents Cupid; as one of three, a terrible 
 trinity, his companions being Satan and Death; 
 and he himself " a lean scarecrow, with bow, 
 quiver, and fillet, and feet ending in claws,"* 
 thrust down into Hell by Penance, from the 
 presence of Purity and Fortitude. Spenser, 
 who has been so often noticed as furnishing the 
 exactly intermediate type of conception between 
 the mediaeval and the Renaissance, indeed rep- 
 resents Cupid under the form of a beautiful 
 winged god, and riding on a lion, but still no 
 plaything of the Graces, but full of terror: 
 " With that the darts which his right hand did straine 
 Full dreadfully he shooke, that all did quake, 
 And clapt on hye his coloured winges twaine, 
 That all his many it afraide did make." 
 
 * Lord Lindsay, vol. ii. letter iv.
 
 2/O THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 His many, that is to say, his company; and ob- 
 serve what a company it is. Before him go 
 Fancy, Desire, Doubt, Danger, Fear, Fallacious 
 Hope, Dissemblance, Suspicion, Grief, Fury, 
 Displeasure, Despite, and Cruelty. After him, 
 Reproach, Repentance, Shame, 
 
 " Unquiet Care, and fond Unthriftyhead, 
 Lewd Losse of Time, and Sorrow seeming dead, 
 Inconstant Chaunge, and false Disloyalty, 
 Consuming Riotise, and guilty Dread 
 Of heavenly vengeaunce; faint Infirmity, 
 Vile Poverty, and lastly Death with infamy. " 
 
 Compare these two pictures of Cupid with the 
 Love-god of the Renaissance, as he is repre- 
 sented to this day, confused with angels, in 
 every faded form of ornament and allegory, in 
 our furniture, our literature, and our minds. 
 
 LXVI. Second side. Gluttony. A woman in 
 a turban, with a jewelled cup in her right hand. 
 In her left, the clawed limb of a bird, which she 
 is gnawing. Inscribed " GULA SINE ORDINE 
 SUM." 
 
 Spenser's Gluttony is more than usually fine: 
 "His belly was upblowne with luxury, 
 And eke with fatnesse swollen were his eyne, 
 And like a crane his necke was long and fyne, 
 Wherewith he swallowed up excessive feast, 
 For want whereof poore people oft did pyne." 
 
 He rides upon a swine, and is clad in vine- 
 leaves, with a garland of ivy. Compare the ac-
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2/1 
 
 count of Excesse, above, as opposed to Tem- 
 perance. 
 
 LXVII. Third side. Pride. A knight, with 
 a heavy and stupid face, holding a sword with 
 three edges: his armor covered with ornaments 
 in the form of roses, and with two ears attached 
 to his helmet. The inscription indecipherable, 
 all but " SUPERBIA." 
 
 Spenser has analyzed this vice with great 
 care. He first represents it as the Pride of life; 
 that is to say, the pride which runs in a deep 
 under-current through all the thoughts and acts 
 of men. As such, it is a feminine vice, directly 
 opposed to Holiness, and mistress of a castle 
 called the House of Pryde, and her chariot is 
 driven by Satan, with a team of beasts, ridden 
 by the mortal sins. In the throne chamber of 
 her palace she is thus described: 
 
 " So proud she shyned in her princely state, 
 
 Looking to Heaven, for Earth she did disdayne; 
 And sitting high, for lowly she did hate: 
 Lo, underneath her scornefull feete was layne 
 A dreadfull dragon with an hideous trayne; 
 And in her hand she held a mirrhour bright, 
 Wherein her face she often vewed fayne." 
 
 The giant Orgoglio is a baser species of pride, 
 born of the Earth and Eolus; that is to say, of 
 sensual and vain conceits. His foster-father
 
 272 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 and the keeper of his castle is Ignorance. 
 (Book I. canto vin.) 
 
 Finally, Disdain is introduced, in other places, 
 as the form of pride which vents itself in insult 
 to others. 
 
 LXVIII. Fourth side. Anger. A woman tear- 
 ing her dress open at her breast. Inscription 
 here undecipherable; but in the Renaissance 
 
 Copy it is " IRA CRUDELIS EST IN ME." 
 
 Giotto represents this vice under the same 
 symbol; but it is the weakest of all the figures 
 in the Arena Chapel. The " Wrath" of Spenser 
 rides upon a lion, brandishing a firebrand, his 
 garments stained with blood. Rage, or Furor, 
 occurs subordinately in other places. It ap- 
 pears to me very strange that neither Giotto nor 
 Spenser should have given any representation 
 of the restrained Anger, which is infinitely the 
 most terrible; both of them make him violent. 
 
 LXIX. Fifth side. Avarice. An old woman 
 with a veil over her forehead, and a bag of 
 money in each hand. A figure very marvellous 
 for power of expression. The throat is all made 
 up of sinews with skinny channels deep between 
 them, strained as by anxiety, and wasted by fam- 
 ine; the features hunger-bitten, the eyes hollow, 
 the look glaring and intense, yet without the 
 slightest caricature. Inscribed in the Renais- 
 sance COpy, " AVARITIA IMPLETOR."
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 273 
 
 Spenser's Avarice (the vice) is much feebler 
 than this; but the god Mammon and his king 
 dom have been described by him with his usual 
 power. Note the position of the house of 
 Richesse: 
 
 " Betwixt them both was but a little stride, 
 
 That did the House of Richesse from Hell-mouth divide." 
 
 It is curious that most moralists confuse avar- 
 ice with covetousness, although they are vices 
 totally different in their operation on the human 
 heart, and on the frame of society. The love 
 of money, the sin of Judas and Ananias, is in- 
 deed the root of all evil in the hardening of the 
 heart; but " covetousness, which is idolatry," 
 the sin of Ahab, that is, the inordinate desire of 
 some seen or recognized good, thus destroying 
 peace of mind, is probably productive of much 
 more misery in heart, and error in conduct, than 
 avarice itself, only covetousness is not so incon- 
 sistent with Christianity: for covetousness may 
 partly proceed from vividness of the affections 
 and hopes, as in David, and be consistent with 
 much charity; not so avarice. 
 
 LXX. Sixth side. Idleness. Accidia. A figure 
 much broken away, having had its arms round 
 two branches of trees. 
 
 I do not know why Idleness should be repre- 
 sented as among trees, unless, in the Italy of
 
 2/4 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the fourteenth century, forest country was con- 
 sidered as desert, and therefore the domain of 
 Idleness. Spenser fastens this vice especially 
 upon the clergy, 
 
 " Upon a slouthfull asse he chose to ryde, 
 Arayd in habit blacke, and amis thin, 
 Like to an holy monck, the service to begin. 
 And in his hand his portesse still he bare, 
 That much was worne, but therein little redd." 
 
 And he properly makes him the leader of the 
 train of the vices: 
 
 " May seem the wayne was very evil ledd, 
 When such an one had guiding of the way." 
 
 Observe that subtle touch of truth in the " wear- 
 ing" of the portesse, indicating the abuse of 
 books by idle readers, so thoroughly character- 
 istic of unwilling studentship from the school- 
 boy upwards. 
 
 LXXI. Seventh side. Vanity. She is smiling 
 complacently as she looks into a mirror in her 
 lap. Her robe is embroidered with roses, and 
 roses form her crown. Undecipherable. 
 
 There is some confusion in the expression of 
 this vice, between pride in the personal appear- 
 ance and lightness of purpose. The word Vani- 
 tas generally, I think, bears, in the mediaeval 
 period, the sense given it in Scripture. " Let not 
 him that is deceived trust in Vanity, for Vanity 
 shall be his recompense." " Vanity of Vanities."
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 
 
 *' The Lord knoweth the thoughts of the wise, 
 that they are vain." It is difficult to find this 
 sin, which, after Pride, is the most universal, 
 perhaps the most fatal, of all, fretting the whole 
 depth of our humanity into storm " to waft a 
 feather or to drown a fly," definitely expressed 
 in art. Even Spenser, I think, has only partially 
 expressed it under the figure of Phaedria, more 
 properly Idle Mirth, in the second book. The 
 idea is, however, entirely worked out in the 
 Vanity Fair of the " Pilgrim's Progress." 
 
 LXXII. Eighth side. Envy. One of the 
 noblest pieces of expression in the series. She 
 is pointing malignantly with her finger; a ser- 
 pent is wreathed about her head like a cap, an- 
 other forms the girdle of her waist, and a dragon 
 rests in her lap. 
 
 Giotto has, however, represented her, with 
 still greater subtlety, as having her fingers ter- 
 minating in claws, and raising her right hand 
 with an expression partly of impotent regret, 
 partly of involuntary grasping; a serpent, issu- 
 ing from her mouth, is about to bite her between 
 the eyes; she has long membranous ears, horns 
 on [her head, and flames consuming her body. 
 The Envy of Spenser is only inferior to that of 
 Giotto, because the idea of folly and quickness 
 of hearing is not suggested by the size of the 
 ear: in other respects it is even finer, joining the
 
 2/6 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 idea of fury, in the wolf on which he rides, with 
 that of corruption on his lips, and of discolora- 
 tion or distortion in the whole mind: 
 
 " Malicious Envy rode 
 Upon a ravenous wolfe, and still did chaw 
 Between his cankred teeth a venemous tode 
 That all the poison ran about his jaw. 
 And in a kirtle of discolour d say 
 He clothed was, ypaynted full of eies, 
 And in his bosome secretly there lay 
 An hatefull snake, the which his taile uptyes 
 In many folds, and mortall sting implyes." 
 
 He has developed the idea in more detail, 
 and still more loathsomely, in the twelfth canto 
 of the fifth book. 
 
 LXXIII. ELEVENTH CAPITAL. Its decoration 
 is composed of eight birds, arranged as shown 
 in Plate V. of the " Seven Lamps," which, how- 
 ever, was sketched from the Renaissance copy. 
 These birds are all varied in form and action, 
 but not so as to require special description. 
 
 LXXIV. TWELFTH CAPITAL. This has been 
 very interesting, but is grievously defaced, four 
 of its figures being entirely broken away, and 
 the character of two others quite undecipherable. 
 It is fortunate that it has been copied in the 
 thirty-third capital of the Renaissance series, 
 from which we are able to identify the lost 
 figures.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 
 
 first side. Misery. A man with a wan face, 
 seemingly pleading with a child who has its 
 hands crossed on its breast. There is a buckle 
 at his own breast in the shape of a cloven heart. 
 Inscribed " MISERIA." 
 
 The intention of this figure is not altogether 
 apparent, as it is by no means treated as a vice; 
 the distress seeming real, and like that of a 
 parent in poverty mourning over his child. Yet 
 it seems placed here as in direct opposition to- 
 the virtue of Cheerfulness, which follows next 
 in order; rather, however, I believe, with the 
 intention of illustrating human life, than the 
 character of the vice which, as we have seen, 
 Dante placed in the circle of hell. The word 
 in that case would, I think, have been "Tris- 
 titia," the " unholy Griefe" of Spenser 
 
 ' ' All in sable sorrowfully clad, 
 Downe hanging his dull head with heavy chere : 
 
 A pair of pincers in his hand he had , 
 
 With which he pinched people to the heart." 
 
 He has farther amplified the idea under an^ 
 other figure in the fifth canto of the fourth book:. 
 
 "His name was Care; a blacksmith by his trade, 
 That neither day nor night from working spared;, 
 But to small purpose yron wedges made: 
 Those be unquiet thoughts that carefull minds invade-
 
 2/8 THE STONES OF VENICE, 
 
 Rude was his garment, and to rags all rent, 
 
 Ne better had he, ne for better cared; 
 
 With blistered hands among the cinders brent." 
 
 It is to be noticed, however, that in the 
 Renaissance copy this figure is stated to be, not 
 Miseria, but " Misericordia." The contraction 
 is a very moderate one, Misericordia being in 
 old MS. written always as " Mia." If this read- 
 ing be right, the figure is placed here rather as 
 the companion, than the opposite, of Cheerful- 
 ness; unless, indeed, it is intended to unite the 
 idea of Mercy and Compassion with that of 
 Sacred Sorrow. 
 
 LXXV. Second side. Cheerfulness. A wo- 
 man with long flowing hair, crowned with roses, 
 playing on a tambourine, and with open lips, as 
 singing. Inscribed " ALACRITAS." 
 
 We have already met with this virtue among 
 those especially set by Spenser to attend on 
 Womanhood. It is inscribed in the Renaissance 
 
 Copy, " ALACHRITAS CHANIT MECUM." Note the 
 
 gutturals of the rich and fully developed Vene- 
 tian dialect now affecting the Latin, which is 
 free from them in the earlier capitals. 
 
 LXXVI. Third side. Destroyed; but, from 
 the copy, we find it has been Stultitia, Folly; 
 and it is there represented simply as a man rid- 
 ing, a sculpture worth the consideration of the 
 English residents Avho bring their horses to
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2/9 
 
 Venice. Giotto gives Stultitia a feather, cap, 
 and club. In early manuscripts he is always 
 eating with one hand, and striking with the 
 other; in later ones he has a cap and bells, or 
 cap crested with a cock's head, whence the word 
 " coxcomb." 
 
 LXXVII. Fourth side. Destroyed, all but a 
 book, which identifies it with the " Celestial 
 Chastity " of the Renaissance copy; there repre- 
 sented as a woman pointing to a book (connect- 
 ing the convent life with the pursuit of literature?). 
 
 Spenser's Chastity, Britomart, is the most ex- 
 quisitely wrought of all his characters; but, as 
 before noticed, she is not the Chastity of the 
 convent, but of wedded life. 
 
 LXXVIII. Fifth side. Only a scroll is left; 
 but, from the copy, we find it has been Honesty 
 or Truth. Inscribed " HONESTATEM DILIGO." 
 It is very curious, that among all the Christian 
 systems of the virtues which we have examined, 
 we should find this one in Venice only. 
 
 The Truth of Spenser, Una, is, after Chastity, 
 the most exquisite character in the " Faerie 
 Queen." 
 
 LXXIX. Sixth side. Falsehood. An old 
 woman leaning on a crutch; and inscribed in 
 the copy, " FALSITAS IN ME SEMPER EST." The 
 Fidessa of Spenser, the great enemy of Una, or 
 Truth, is far more subtly conceived, probably
 
 280 THE STONES OF VENICE, 
 
 not without special reference to the Papal de- 
 ceits. In her true form she is a loathsome hag, 
 but in her outward aspect, 
 
 "' A goodly lady, clad in scarlot red, 
 Purfled with gold and pearle; . . . 
 Her wanton palfrey all was overspred. 
 With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave, 
 Whose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses brave." 
 
 Dante's Fraud, Geryon, is the finest personifi- 
 cation of all, but the description (Inferno, canto 
 xvu.) is too long to be quoted. 
 
 LXXX. Seventh side. Injustice. An armed 
 figure holding a halbert; so also in the copy. 
 The figure used by Giotto with the particular 
 intention of representing unjust government, is 
 represented at the gate of an embattled castle 
 in a forest, between rocks, while various deeds 
 of violence are committed at his feet. Spenser's 
 " Adicia " is a furious hag, at last transformed 
 into a tiger. 
 
 Eighth side. A man with a dagger looking 
 sorrowfully at a child, who turns its back to him. 
 I cannot understand this figure. It is inscribed 
 an the copy, " ASTINECIA (Abstinentia?) OPITIMA?" 
 
 LXXXI. THIRTEENTH CAPITAL. It has 
 lions' heads all round, coarsely cut. 
 
 FOURTEENTH CAPITAL. It has various ani- 
 mals, each sitting on its haunches. Three dogs, 
 one a greyhound, one long-haired, one short-
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 28l 
 
 haired with bells about its neck; two monkeys, 
 one with fan-shaped hair projecting on each side 
 of its face; a noble boar, with its tusks, hoofs, 
 and bristles sharply cut; and a lion and lioness. 
 
 LXXXII. FIFTEENTH CAPITAL. The pillar 
 to which it belongs is thicker than the rest, as 
 well as the one over it in the upper arcade. 
 
 The sculpture of this capital is also much 
 coarser, and seems to me later than that of the 
 rest; and it has no inscription, which is embar- 
 rassing, as its subjects have had much meaning; 
 but I believe Selvatico is right in supposing it 
 to have been intended for a general illustration 
 of Idleness. 
 
 First side. A woman with a distaff ; her girdle 
 richly decorated, and fastened by a buckle. 
 
 Second side. A youth in a long mantle, with 
 a rose in his hand. 
 
 Third side. A woman in a turban stroking a 
 puppy, which she holds by the haunches. 
 
 Fourth side. A man with a parrot. 
 
 Fifth side. A woman in very rich costume, 
 with braided hair, and dress thrown into minute 
 folds, holding a rosary (?) in her left hand, her 
 right on her breast. 
 
 Sixth side. A man with a very thoughtful 
 face, laying his hand upon the leaves of the 
 capital.
 
 282 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 Seventh si^e. A crowned lady, witli a rose in 
 her hand. 
 
 Eighth side. A boy with a ball in his left hand, 
 and his right laid on his breast. 
 
 LXXXIII. SIXTEENTH CAPITAL. It is deco- 
 rated with eight large heads, partly intended to 
 be grotesque,* and very coarse and bad, except 
 only that in the sixth side, which is totally differ- 
 ent from all the rest, and looks like a portrait. 
 It is thin, thoughtful, and dignified; thoroughly 
 fine in every way. It wears a cap surmounted 
 by two winged lions; and, therefore, I think 
 Selvatico must have inaccurately written the list 
 given in the note, for this head is certainly meant 
 to express the superiority of the Venetian char- 
 acter over that of other nations. Nothing is 
 more remarkable in all early sculpture, than its 
 appreciation of the signs of dignity of character 
 in the features, and the way in which it can ex- 
 alt the principal figure in any subject by a few 
 touches. 
 
 LXXXIV. SEVENTEENTH CAPITAL. This has 
 been so destroyed by the sea wind, which sweeps 
 at this point of the arcade round the angle of 
 
 * Selvatico states that these are intended to be repre- 
 sentative of eight nations, Latins, Tartars, Turks, Hun- 
 garians, Greeks, Goths, Egyptians, and Persians. Either 
 the inscriptions are now defaced or I have carelessly 
 omitted to note them.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2-83 
 
 the palace, that its inscriptions are no longer 
 legible, and great part of its figures are gone. 
 Selvatico states them as" follows: Solomon, the 
 wise; Priscian, the grammarian; Aristotle, the 
 logician; Tully, the orator; Pythagoras, the 
 philosopher; Archimedes, the mechanic; Or- 
 pheus, the musician; Ptolemy, the astronomer. 
 The fragments actually remaining are the fol- 
 lowing: 
 
 First side. A figure with two books, in a robe 
 richly decorated with circles of roses. Inscribed 
 
 " SALOMON (SAP) TENS." 
 
 Second side. A man with one book, poring 
 over it: he has had a long stick or reed in his 
 hand. Of inscription only the letters " GRAM- 
 MATIC " remain. 
 
 Third side. " ARISTOTLE:" so inscribed. He 
 has a peaked double beard and a flat cap, from 
 under which his long hair falls down his back. 
 
 Fourth side. Destroyed. 
 
 Fifth side. Destroyed, all but a board with 
 three (counters?) on it. 
 
 Sixth side. A figure with compasses. In- 
 scribed " GEOMET * * " 
 
 Seventh side. Nothing is left but a guitar with 
 its handle wrought into a lion's head. 
 
 Eighth side. Destroyed. 
 
 LXXXV. We have now arrived at the EIGHT- 
 EENTH CAPITAL, the most interesting and
 
 284 
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 beautiful of the palace. It represents the 
 planets, and the sun and moon, in those divis- 
 ions of the zodiac known to astrologers as their 
 " houses;" and perhaps indicates, by the posi- 
 tion in which they are placed, the period of the 
 year at which this great corner-stone was laid. 
 The inscriptions above have been in quaint 
 Latin rhyme, but are now decipherable only in 
 fragments, and that with the more difficulty be- 
 cause the rusty iron bar that binds the abacus 
 has broken away, in its expansion, nearly all the 
 upper portions of the stone, and with them the 
 signs of contraction, which are of great impor- 
 tance. I shall give the fragments of them that[I 
 could decipher; first as the letters actually stand 
 (putting those of which I am doubtful in 
 brackets, with a note of interrogation), and then 
 as I would read them. 
 
 LXXXVI. It should be premised that, in 
 modern astrology, the houses of the planets are 
 thus arranged: 
 
 The house of the Sun, 
 
 Moon, 
 
 ' of Mars, 
 
 Venus, 
 Mercury 
 
 ' Jupiter, 
 
 Saturn, 
 
 is Leo. 
 
 " Cancer. 
 
 " Aries and Scorpio. 
 
 " Taurus and Libra. 
 
 " Gemini and Virgo. 
 
 " Sagittarius and Pisces. 
 
 " Capricorn. 
 
 Herschel, " Aquarius.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 285 
 
 The Herschel planet being of course unknown 
 to the old astrologers, we have only the other 
 six planetary powers, together with the sun; and 
 Aquarius is assigned to Saturn as his house. I 
 could not find Capricorn at all; but this sign 
 may have been broken away, as the whole capi- 
 tal is grievously defaced. The eighth side of 
 the capital, which the Herschel planet would 
 now have occupied, bears a sculpture of the 
 Creation of Man: it is the most conspicuous 
 side, the one set diagonally across the angle; or 
 the eighth in our usual mode of reading the capi- 
 tals, from which I shall not depart. 
 
 LXXXVII. The first side, then, or that towards 
 the Sea, has Aquarius, as the house of Saturn, 
 represented as a seated figure beautifully draped, 
 pouring a stream of water out of an amphora 
 over the leaves of the capital. His inscription 
 is: 
 
 "ET SATURNE DOMUS (ECLOCE^UNT?) I s yBRE." 
 
 LXXXVIII. Second side. Jupiter, in his houses 
 Sagittarius and Pisces, represented throned, 
 with an upper dress disposed in radiating folds 
 about his neck, and hanging down upon his 
 breast, ornamented by small pendent trefoiled 
 studs or bosses. He wears the drooping bonnet 
 and long gloves; but the folds about the neck, 
 shot forth to express the rays of the star, are the
 
 286 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 most remarkable characteristic of the figure. 
 He raises his sceptre in his left hand over Sagit- 
 tarius, represented as the centaur Chiron; and 
 holds two thunnies in his right. Something 
 rough, like a third fish, has been broken away 
 below them; the more easily because this part 
 of the group is entirely undercut, and the two 
 fish glitter in the light, relieved on the deep 
 gloom below the leaves. The inscription is: 
 
 " INDE JOVl'* DONA PISES SIMUL ATQ 8 CIRONA." 
 
 Or, 
 
 ' ' Inde Jovis dona 
 Pisces simulatque Chirona." 
 
 Domus is, I suppose, to be understood before 
 Jovis: " Then the house of Jupiter gives (or 
 governs?) the fishes and Chiron." 
 
 LXXXIX. Third side. Mars, in his houses 
 Aries and Scorpio. Represented as a very ugly 
 knight in chain mail, seated sideways on the 
 ram, whose horns are broken away, and having 
 a large scorpion in his left hand, whose tail is 
 broken also, to the infinite injury of the group, 
 for it seems to have curled across to the angle 
 leaf, and formed a bright line of light, like the 
 
 * The comma in these inscriptions stands for a small 
 cuneiform mark, I believe of contraction, and the small 
 for a zigzag mark of the same Icind. The dots or periods 
 are similarly marked on the stone.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 287 
 
 fish in the hand of Jupiter. The knight carries 
 a shield, on which fire and water are sculptured, 
 and bears a banner upon his lance, with the 
 word " DEFEROSUM," which puzzled me for some 
 time. It should be read, I believe, " De ferro 
 sum;" which would be good Venetian Latin for 
 " I am of iron." 
 
 xc. Fourth side. The Sun, in his house 
 Leo. Represented under the figure of Apollo, 
 sitting on the Lion, with rays shooting from his 
 head, and the world in his hand. The inscrip- 
 tion: 
 
 " TU ES DOMU' SOLIS (QUO* ?) SIGNE LEONI." 
 
 I believe the first phrase is, " Tune est Do- 
 mus solis;" but there is a letter gone after the 
 " quo," and I have no idea what case of signum 
 " signe" stands for. 
 
 xci. Fifth side. Venus, in her houses Taurus 
 and Libra. The most beautiful figure of the 
 series. She sits upon the bull, who is deep in 
 the dewlap, and better cut than most of the 
 animals, holding a mirror in her right hand, and 
 the scales in her left. Her breast is very nobly 
 and tenderly indicated under the folds of her 
 drapery, which is exquisitely studied in its fall. 
 What is left of the inscription, runs: 
 
 " LIBRA CUM TAURO DOMUS * * * PURIOR AUR*." 
 
 xcn. Sixth side. Mercury, represented as
 
 288 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 wearing a pendent cap, and nolding a book:' he 
 is supported by three children in reclining atti- 
 tudes, representing his houses Gemini and Virgo. 
 But I cannot understand the inscription, though 
 more than usually legible. 
 
 " OCCUPAT ERIGONE STIBONS GEMINUQ' LACONE. " 
 
 xcni. Seventh side. The Moon, in her 
 house Cancer. This sculpture, which is turned 
 towards the Piazzetta, is the most picturesque 
 of the series. The moon is represented as a 
 woman in a boat, upon the sea, who raises the 
 crescent in her right hand, and with her left 
 draws a crab out of the waves, up the boat's 
 side. The moon was, I believe, represented in 
 Egyptian sculptures as in a boat; but I rather 
 think the Venetian was not aware of this, and 
 that he meant to express the peculiar sweetness 
 of the moonlight at Venice, as seen across the 
 lagoons. Whether this was intended by putting 
 the planet in the boat, may be questionable, 
 but assuredly the idea was meant to be conveyed 
 by the dress of the figure. For all the draperies 
 of the other figures on this capital, as well as on 
 the rest of the facade, are disposed in severe 
 but full folds, showing little of the forms be- 
 neath them; but the moon's drapery ripples 
 down to her feet, so as exactly to suggest the 
 trembling of the moonlight on the waves. This
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 289 
 
 beautiful idea is highly characteristic of the 
 thoughtfulness of the early sculptors: five hun- 
 dred men may be now found who could have 
 cut the drapery, as such, far better, for one who 
 would have disposed its folds with this intention. 
 The inscription is: 
 
 "LUNE CANCER DOMU T. PBET IORBE SIGNORU." 
 
 xciv. Eighth side. God creating Man. 
 Represented as a throned figure, with a glory 
 round the head, laying his left hand on the head 
 of a naked youth, and sustaining him with his 
 right hand. The inscription puzzled me for a 
 long time; but except the lost r and m of " for- 
 mavit," and a letter quite undefaced, but to me 
 unintelligble, before the word Eva, in the shape 
 of a figure of 7, I have safely ascertained the 
 rest. 
 
 "DELIMO DSADA DECO STAFO * * AvixyEVA." 
 Or 
 
 " De limo Dominus Adam, de costa fo(rm) avit Evam;" 
 From the dust the Lord made Adam, and from the rib Eve. 
 
 I imagine the whole of this capital, therefore 
 the principal one of the old palace, to have 
 been intended to signify, first, the formation of 
 the planets for the service of man upon the 
 earth; secondly, the entire subjection of the 
 fates and fortune of man to the will of God, as
 
 290 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 determined from the time when the earth and 
 stars were made, and, in fact, written in the vol- 
 ume of the stars themselves. 
 
 Thus interpreted, the doctrines of judicial 
 astrology were not only consistent with, but an 
 aid to, the most spiritual and humble Christi- 
 anity. 
 
 In the workmanship and grouping of its foli- 
 age, this capital is, on the whole, the finest I 
 know in Europe. The Sculptor has put. his 
 whole strength into it. I trust that it will ap- 
 pear among the other Venetian casts lately 
 taken for the Crystal Palace; but if not, I have 
 myself cast all its figures, and two of its leaves, 
 and I intend to give drawings of them on a large 
 scale in my folio work. 
 
 xcv. NINETEENTH CAPITAL. This is, of 
 course, the second counting from the Sea, on 
 the Piazzetta side of the palace, calling that of 
 the Fig-tree angle the first. 
 
 It is the most important capital, as a piece of 
 evidence in point of dates, in the whole palace. 
 Great pains have been taken with it, and in 
 some portion of the accompanying furniture or 
 ornaments of each of its figures a small piece of 
 colored marble has been inlaid, with peculiar 
 significance: for the capital represents the arts 
 of sculpture and architecture; and the inlaying of 
 the colored stones (which are far too small to be 

 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 29 1 
 
 effective at a distance, and are found in this one 
 capital only of the whole series) is merely an ex- 
 pression of the architect's feeling of the essen- 
 tial importance of this art of inlaying, and of 
 the value of color generally in his own art. 
 
 xcvi. First side. "ST. SIMPLICIUS": so in- 
 scribed. A figure working with a pointed chisel 
 on a small oblong block of green serpentine, 
 about four inches long by one wide, inlaid in the 
 capital. The chisel is, of course, in the left 
 hand, but the right is held up open, with the 
 palm outwards. 
 
 Second side. A crowned figure, carving the 
 image of a child on a small statue, with a 
 ground of red marble. The sculptured figure is 
 highly finished, and is in type of head much 
 like the Ham or Japheth at the Vine angle. 
 Inscription effaced. 
 
 Third side. An old man, uncrowned, but with 
 curling hair, at work on a small column, with 
 its capital complete, and a little shaft of dark 
 red marble, spotted with paler red. The capital 
 is precisely of the form of that found in the 
 palace of the Tiepolos and the other thirteenth 
 century work of Venice. This one figure would 
 be quite enough, without any other evidence 
 whatever, to determine the date of this flank of 
 the Ducal Palace as not later, at all events, than
 
 292 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the first half of the fourteenth century. Its in- 
 scription is broken away, all but " DISIPULO." 
 
 Fourth side. A crowned figure; but the object 
 on which it has been working is broken away, 
 and all the inscription except " ST. E(N ?)AS." 
 
 Fifth side. A man with a turban, and a sharp 
 chisel, at work on a kind of panel or niche, the 
 back of which is of red marble. 
 
 Sixth side. A crowned figure, with hammer 
 and chisel, employed on a little range of windows 
 of the fifth order, having roses set, instead of 
 orbicular ornaments, between the spandrils, 
 with a rich cornice, and a band of marble in- 
 serted above. This sculpture assures us of the 
 date of the fifth order window, which it shows 
 to have been universal in the early fourteenth 
 century. 
 
 There are also five arches in the block on 
 which the sculptor is working, marking the fre- 
 quency of the number five in the window groups 
 of the time. 
 
 Seventh side. A figure at work on a pilaster, 
 with Lombardic thirteenth century capital (for 
 account of the series of forms in Venetian capi- 
 tals, see the final Appendix of the next volume), 
 the shaft of dark red spotted marble. 
 
 Eighth side. A figure with a rich open crown, 
 working on a delicate recumbent statue, the 
 head of which is laid on a pillow covered with a
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2$$ 
 
 rich chequer pattern; the whole supported on a 
 block of dark red marble. Inscription broken 
 away, all but " ST. SYM. (Symmachus ?) TV * * 
 ANVS." There appear, therefore, altogether to 
 have been five saints, two of them popes, if 
 Simplicius is the pope of that name (three in 
 front, two on the fourth and sixth sides), alter- 
 nating with the three uncrowned workmen in 
 the manual labor of sculpture. I did not, 
 therefore, insult our present architects in say- 
 ing above that they " ought to work in the ma- 
 son's yard with their men." It would be diffi- 
 cult to find a more interesting expression of the 
 devotional spirit in which all great work was un- 
 dertaken at this time. 
 
 xcvii. TWENTIETH CAPITAL. It is adorned 
 with heads of animals, and is the finest of the 
 whole series in the broad massiveness of its 
 effect; so simply characteristic, indeed, of the 
 grandeur of style in the entire building, that I 
 chose it for the first Plate in my folio work. In 
 spite of the sternness of its plan, however, it is 
 wrought with great care in surface detail; and 
 the ornamental value of the minute chasing ob- 
 tained by the delicate plumage of the birds, and 
 the clustered bees on the honeycomb in the bear's 
 mouth, opposed to the strong simplicity of its 
 general form, cannot be too much admired. 
 There are also more grace, life, and variety in
 
 294 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 the sprays of foliage on each side of it, and un- 
 der the heads, than in any other capital of the 
 series, though the earliness of the workmanship 
 ismarked by considerable hardness and coldness 
 in the larger heads. A Northern Gothic work- 
 man, better acquainted with bears and wolves 
 than it was possible to become in St. Mark's 
 Place, would have put far more life into these 
 heads, but he could not have composed them 
 more skilfully. 
 
 xcvin. First side. A lion with a stag's 
 haunch in his mouth. Those readers who have 
 the folio plate, should observe the peculiar way 
 in which the ear is cut into the shape of a ring, 
 jagged or furrowed on the edge; an archaic 
 mode of treatment peculiar, in the Ducal Pal- 
 ace, to the lion's heads of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury. The moment we reach the Renaissance 
 work, the lion's ears are smooth. Inscribed 
 simply, "LEO." 
 
 Second side. A wolf with a dead bird in his 
 mouth, its body wonderfully true in expression 
 of the passiveness of death. The feathers are 
 each wrought with a central quill and radiating 
 filaments. Inscribed " LUPUS." 
 
 Third side. A fox, not at all like one, with a 
 dead cock in his mouth, its comb and pendent 
 neck admirably designed so as to fall across the 
 great angle leaf of the capital, its tail hanging
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 2g$ 
 
 down on the other side, its long straight feath- 
 ers exquisitely cut. Inscribed (" VULP?)IS." 
 
 Fourth side. Entirely broken away. 
 
 Fifth side. "APER." Well tusked, with a 
 head of maize in his mouth; at least I suppose 
 it to be maize, though shaped like a pine-cone. 
 
 Sixth side. "CHANIS." With a [bone, very ill 
 cut; and a bald-headed species of dog, with 
 ugly flap ears. 
 
 Seventh side. " MUSCIPULUS." With a rat (?) 
 in his mouth. 
 
 Eighth side. " URSUS." With a honeycomb, 
 covered with large bees. 
 
 xcix. TWENTY-FIRST CAPITAL. Represents 
 the principal inferior professions. 
 
 First side. An old man, with his brow deeply 
 wrinkled, and very expressive features, beating 
 in a kind of mortar with a hammer. Inscribed 
 "LAPICIDA SUM." 
 
 Second side. I believe, a goldsmith; he is strik- 
 ing a small flat bowl or patera, on a pointed 
 anvil, with a light hammer. The inscription is 
 gone. 
 
 Third side. A shoemaker with a shoe in his 
 hand, and an instrument for cutting leather sus- 
 pended beside him. Inscription undeciphera- 
 ble. 
 
 Fourth side. Much broken. A carpenter
 
 296 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 planing a beam resting on two horizontal logs, 
 Inscribed " CARPENTARIUS SUM." 
 
 Fifth side. A figure shovelling fruit into a 
 tub; the latter very carefully carved from what 
 appears to have been an excellent piece of 
 cooperage. Two thin laths cross each other 
 over the top of it. The inscription, now lost, 
 was, according to Selvatico, " MENSURATOR"? 
 
 Sixth side. A man, with a large hoe, break- 
 ing the ground, which lies in irregular furrows 
 and clods before him. Now undecipherable,, 
 but according to Selvatico, "AGRICHOLA." 
 
 Seventh side. A man, in a pendent cap, writ- 
 ing on a large scroll which falls over his knee. 
 Inscribed " NOTARIUS SUM." 
 
 Eighth side. A man forging a sword, or 
 scythe-blade: he wears a large skull-cap; beats 
 with a large hammer on a solid anvil; and is in- 
 scribed " FABER SUM." 
 
 c. TWENTY-SECOND CAPITAL. The Ages of 
 Man; and the influence of the planets on hu- 
 man life. 
 
 first side. The moon, governing infancy for 
 four years, according to Selvatico. I have na 
 note of this side, having, I suppose, been pre- 
 vented from raising the ladder against it by 
 some fruit-stall or other impediment in the 
 regular course of my examination; and then 
 forgotten to return to it.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 297 
 
 Second side. A child with a tablet, and an al- 
 phabet inscribed on it. The legend above is 
 
 " MECUREU" DNT. PUERICIE PAN. X." 
 
 Or, " Mercurius dominatur pueritiae per annos 
 X." (Selvatico reads VII.) " Mercury governs 
 boyhood for ten (or seven) years." 
 
 Third side. An older youth, with another 
 tablet, but broken. Inscribed 
 
 " ADOLOSCENCIE * * * P. AN. VII." 
 
 Selvatico misses this side altogether, as I did 
 the first, so that the lost planet is irrecoverable, 
 as the inscription is now defaced. Note the o 
 for e in adolescentia; so also we constantly find 
 u for o; showing, together with much other in- 
 contestable evidence of the same kind, how full 
 and deep the old pronunciation of Latin always 
 remained, and how ridiculous our English minc- 
 ing of the vowels would have sounded to a 
 Roman ear. 
 
 Fourth side. A youth with a hawk on his fist. 
 
 " IUVENTUTI DNT. SOL. P. AN. XIX." 
 
 The sun governs youth for nineteen years. 
 
 Fifth side. A man sitting, helmed, with a 
 sword over his shoulder. Inscribed 
 
 " SENECTTTTI DNT MARS. P. AN. XV." 
 Mars governs manhood for fifteen years.
 
 298 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 Sixth side. A very graceful and serene figure, 
 in the pendent cap, reading. 
 
 " SENIC1E DNf JUPITER, P. ANN. XII." 
 
 Jupiter governs age for twelve years. 
 
 Seventh side. An old man in a skull-cap, 
 praying. 
 
 "DECREPITE DNT SATM 0<J* ADMOTE." (SatUlHUS USqUC ad 
 
 mortem.) 
 Saturn governs decrepitude until death. 
 
 Eighth aide. The dead body lying on a mat- 
 tress. 
 
 " ULTIMA EST MORS PENA PECCATI." 
 
 Last comes death, the penalty of sin. 
 
 ci. Shakespeare's Seven Ages are of course 
 merely the expression of this early and well- 
 known system. He has deprived the dotage of 
 its devotion; but I think wisely, as the Italian 
 system would imply that devotion was, or should 
 be, always delayed until dotage. 
 
 TWENTY-THIRD CAPITAL. I agree with Sel- 
 vatico in thinking this has been restored. It is 
 decorated with large and vulgar heads. 
 
 en. TWENTY-FOURTH CAPITAL. This be- 
 longs to the large shaft which sustains the great 
 party wall of the Sala del Gran Consiglio. The 
 shaft is thicker than the rest; but the capital, 
 though ancient, is coarse and somewhat inferior
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 299 
 
 in design to the others of the series. It repre- 
 sents the history of marriage: the lover first see- 
 ing his mistress at a window, then addressing 
 her, bringing her presents; then the bridal, the 
 birth and the death of a child. But I have not 
 been able to examine these sculptures properly, 
 because the pillar is encumbered by the railing 
 which surrounds the two guns set before the 
 Austrian guard-house. 
 
 cm. TWENTY-FIFTH CAPITAL. We have 
 here the employments of the months, with 
 which we are already tolerably acquainted. 
 There are, however, one or two varieties worth 
 noticing in this series. 
 
 First side. March. Sitting triumphantly in 
 a rich dress, as the beginning of the year. 
 
 Second side. April and May. April with a 
 lamb: May with a feather fan in her hand. 
 
 Third side. June. Carrying cherries in a 
 basket. 
 
 I did not give this series with the others in 
 the previous chapter, because this representa- 
 tion of June is peculiarly Venetian. It is called 
 " the month of cherries," mese delle ceriese, in 
 the popular rhyme on the conspiracy of Tiepolo, 
 quoted above, Vol. I. 
 
 The cherries principally grown near Venice 
 are of a deep red color, and large, but not of 
 high flavor, though refreshing. They are carved
 
 300 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 upon the pillar with great care, all their stalks 
 undercut. 
 
 Fourth side. July and August. The first 
 reaping; the leaves of the straw being given, 
 shooting out from the tubular stalk. August, 
 opposite, beats (the grain?) in a basket. 
 
 Fifth side. September. A woman standing 
 in a wine-tub, and holding a branch of vine. 
 Very beautiful. 
 
 Sixth side. October and November. I could 
 not make out their occupation; they seem to be 
 roasting or boiling some root over a fire. 
 
 Seventh side. December. Killing pigs, as 
 usual. 
 
 Eighth side. January warming his feet, and 
 February frying fish. This last employment is 
 again as characteristic of the Venetian winter as 
 the cherries are of the Venetian summer. 
 
 The inscriptions are undecipherable, except a 
 few letters here and there, and the words MAR- 
 cius. APRILIS, and FEBRUARIUS. 
 
 This is the last of the capitals of the early 
 palace; the next, or twenty-sixth capital, is the 
 first of those executed in the fifteenth century 
 under Foscari; and hence to the Judgment an- 
 gle the traveller has nothing to do but to com- 
 pare the base copies of the earlier work with 
 their originals, or to observe the total want of 
 invention in the Renaissance sculptor, wherever
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 30 1 
 
 he has depended on his own resources. This, 
 however, always with the exception of the 
 twenty-seventh and of the last capital, which 
 are both fine. 
 
 I shall merely enumerate the subjects and 
 point out the plagiarisms of these capitals, as 
 they are not worth description. 
 
 civ. TWENTY-SIXTH CAPITAL. Copied from 
 the fifteenth, merely changing the succession of 
 the figures. 
 
 TWENTY-SEVENTH CAPITAL. I think it possi- 
 ble that this may be part of the old work dis- 
 placed in joining the new palace with the old; 
 at all events, it is well designed, though a little 
 coarse. It represents eight different kinds of 
 fruit, each in a basket; the characters well 
 given, and groups well arranged, but without 
 much care or finish. The names are inscribed 
 above, though somewhat unnecessarily, and 
 with certainly as much disrespect to the be- 
 holder's intelligence as the sculptor's art, 
 namely, ZEREXIS, PIRI, CHUCUMERIS, PERSICI, 
 ZUCHE, MOLONI, Fici, HUVA. Zerexis (cherries) 
 and Zuche (gourds) both begin with the same 
 letter, whether meant for z, s, or c I am not 
 sure. The Zuche are the common gourds, di- 
 vided into two protuberances, one larger than 
 the other, like a bottle compressed near the neck; 
 and the Moloni are the long water-melons,
 
 302 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 which, roasted, form a staple food of the Vene- 
 tians to this day. 
 
 cv. TWENTY-EIGHTH CAPITAL. Copied 
 from the seventh. 
 
 TWENTY-NINTH CAPITAL. Copied from the 
 ninth. 
 
 THIRTIETH CAPITAL. Copied from the tenth. 
 The " Accidia " is noticeable as having the in- 
 scription complete, "ACCIDIA ME STRINGIT;" 
 and the " Luxuria " for its utter want of expres- 
 sion, having a severe and calm face, a robe up 
 to the neck, and her hand upon her breast. 
 The inscription is also different: " LUXURIA 
 
 SUM STERC 8 (?) INFERI " (?). 
 
 THIRTY-FIRST CAPITAL. Copied from the 
 eighth. 
 
 THIRTY-SECOND CAPITAL. Has no inscrip- 
 tion, only fully robed figures laying their hands, 
 without any meaning, on their own shoulders, 
 heads, or chins, or on the leaves around them. 
 
 THIRTY-THIRD CAPITAL. Copied from the 
 twelfth. 
 
 THIRTY-FOURTH CAPITAL. Copied from the 
 eleventh. 
 
 THIRTY-FIFTH CAPITAL. Has children, with 
 birds or fruit, pretty in features, and utterly in- 
 expressive, like the cherubs of the eighteenth 
 century. 
 
 cvi. THIRTY-SIXTH CAPITAL. This is the
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE, 303 
 
 last of the Piazzetta fafade, the elaborate one 
 under the Judgment angle. Its foliage is copied 
 from the eighteenth at the opposite side, with an 
 endeavor on the part of the Renaissance sculptor 
 to refine upon it, by which he has merely lost 
 some of its truth and force. This capital . will,, 
 however, be always thought, at first, the most 
 beautiful of the whole series: and indeed it is 
 very noble; its groups of figures most carefully 
 studied, very graceful, and much more pleasing 
 than those of the earlier work, though with less 
 real power in them; and its foliage is only in- 
 ferior to that of the magnificent Fig-tree angle. 
 It represents, on its front or first side, Justice 
 enthroned, seated on two lions; and on the 
 seven other sides examples of acts of justice or 
 good government, or figures of lawgivers, in the 
 following order: 
 
 Second side. Aristotle, with two pupils, giving 
 laws. Inscribed: 
 
 " ARISTOT * * CHE DIE LEGE." 
 
 Aristotle who declares laws. 
 
 Third side. I have mislaid my note of this 
 side: Selvatico and Lazari call it " Isidore " (?).* 
 
 * Can they have mistaken the ISIPIONE of the fifth side 
 for the word Isidore ?
 
 304 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 Fourth side. Solon with his pupils. Inscribed. 
 
 " SAL UNO DEI SETE SAVI DI GRECIA CHE DIE LEGE." 
 
 Solon, one of the seven sages of Greece, who declares 
 laws. 
 
 Note, by the by, the pure Venetian dialect used 
 in this capital, instead of the Latin in the more 
 ancient ones. One of the seated pupils in this 
 sculpture is remarkably beautiful in the sweep of 
 his flowing drapery. 
 
 Fifth side. The chastity of Scipio. Inscribed: 
 
 " ISIPIONE A CHASTITA CH * * * E LA FIA (e la figlia ?) 
 * * ARE. " 
 
 A soldier in a plumed bonnet presents a kneel- 
 ing maiden to the seated Scipio, who turns 
 thoughtfully away. 
 
 Sixth side. Numa Pompilius building 
 churches. 
 
 "NUMA POMPILIO IMPERADOR EDIFICHADOR DI TEMPI E 
 CHIESE." 
 
 Numa, in a kind of hat with a crown above it, 
 directing a soldier in Roman armor (note this, 
 as contrasted with the mail of the earlier capi- 
 tals). They point to a tower of three stories 
 filled with tracery. 
 
 Seventh side. Moses receiving the law. In- 
 scribed : 
 
 " QUANDO MOSE RECEVE LA LEGE I SUL MONTE."
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 305 
 
 Moses kneels on a rock, whence springs a 
 beautifully fancied tree, with clusters of three 
 berries in the centre of the three leaves, sharp 
 and quaint, like fine Northern Gothic. The half 
 figure of the Deity comes out of the abacus, the 
 arm meeting that of Moses, both at full stretch,. 
 with the stone tablets between. 
 
 Eighth side. Trajan doing justice to the Widow. 
 
 " TRAJANO IMPERADOR CHE FA JUSTITIA A LA VEDOVA." 
 
 He is riding spiritedly, his mantle blown out 
 behind; the widow kneeling before his horse. 
 
 cvn. The reader will observe that this 
 capital is of peculiar interest in its relation to the 
 much disputed question of the character of the 
 later government of Venice. It is the assertion 
 by that government of its belief that Justice only 
 could be the foundation of its stability; as these 
 stones of Justice and Judgment are the founda- 
 tion of its halls of council. And this profession 
 of their faith may be interpreted in two ways. 
 Most modern historians would call it, in common 
 with the continual reference to the principles of 
 justice in the political and judicial language of 
 the period,* nothing more than a cloak for con- 
 summate violence and guilt; and it may easily 
 
 * Compare the speech of the Doge Mocenigo, above, 
 " first justice, and then the interests of the state:" and see 
 Vol. III. Chap. II. ux.
 
 306 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 be proved to have been so in myriads of in- 
 stances. But in the main, I believe the expres- 
 sion of feeling to be genuine. I do not believe, 
 of the majority of the leading Venetians of this 
 period whose portraits have come down to us, 
 that they were deliberately and everlastingly 
 hypocrites. I see no hypocrisy in their coun- 
 tenances. Much capacity of it, much subtlety, 
 much natural and acquired reserve; but no 
 meanness. On the contrary, infinite grandeur, 
 repose, courage, and the peculiar unity and 
 tranquillity of expression which come of sin- 
 cerity or wholeness of heart, and which it would 
 take much demonstration to make me believe 
 <:ould by any possibility be seen on the coun- 
 tenance of an insincere man. I trust, therefore, 
 that these Venetian nobles of the fifteenth cen- 
 tury did, in the main, desire to do judgment and 
 justice to all men; but, as the whole system of 
 morality had been by this time undermined by 
 the teaching of the Romish Church, the idea of 
 justice had become separated from that of truth, 
 so that dissimulation in the interest of the state 
 assumed the aspect of duty. We had, perhaps, 
 better consider, with some carefulness, the mode 
 in which our own government is carried on, and 
 the occasional difference between parliamentary 
 and private morality, before we judge mercilessly 
 of the Venetians in this respect. The secrecy with
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE.\ 3O/ 
 
 which their political and criminal trials were 
 conducted, appears to modern eyes like a con- 
 fession of sinister intentions; but may it not 
 also be considered, and with more probability, 
 as the result of an endeavor to do justice in an 
 age of violence ? the only means by which Law 
 could establish its footing in the midst of feudal- 
 ism. Might not Irish juries at this day justifia- 
 bly desire to conduct their proceedings with 
 some greater approximation to the judicial prin- 
 ciples of the Council of Ten ? Finally, if we 
 examine, with critical accuracy, the evidence on 
 which our present impressions of Venetian gov- 
 ernment are founded, we shall discover, in the 
 first place, that two-thirds of the traditions of 
 its cruelties are romantic fables: in the second, 
 that the crimes of which it can be proved to have 
 been guilty, differ only from those committed by 
 the other Italian powers in being done less 
 wantonly, and under profounder conviction of 
 their political expediency: and lastly, that the 
 final degradation of the Venetian power appears 
 owing not so much to the principles of its gov- 
 ernment, as to their being forgotten in the 
 pursuit of pleasure. 
 
 cviii. We have now examined the portions 
 of the palace which contain the principal evi- 
 denc.e of the feeling of its builders. The capi- 
 tals of the upper arcade are exceedingly various
 
 308 THE STONES OF VEXICE. 
 
 in their character; their design is formed, as in 
 the lower series, of eight leaves, thrown into 
 volutes at the angles, and sustaining figures at 
 the flanks; but these figures have no inscrip- 
 tions, and though evidently not without mean- 
 ing, cannot be interpreted without more knowl- 
 edge than I possess of ancient symbolism. 
 Many of the capitals toward the Sea appear to 
 have been restored, and to be rude copies of 
 the ancient ones; others, though apparently 
 original, have been somewhat carelessly wrought; 
 but those of them, which are both genuine and 
 carefully treated, are even finer in composition 
 than any, except the eighteenth, in the lower 
 arcade. The traveller in Venice ought to as- 
 cend into the corridor, and examine with great 
 care the series of capitals which extend on the 
 Piazzetta side from the Fig-tree angle to the pi- 
 laster which carries the party wall of the Sala 
 del Gran Consiglio. As examples of graceful 
 composition in massy capitals meant for hard 
 service and distant effect, these are among the 
 finest things I know in Gothic art; and that 
 above the fig-tree is remarkable for its sculpture 
 of the four winds; each on the side turned to- 
 wards the wind represented. Levante, the east 
 wind; a figure with rays round its head, to show 
 that it is always clear weather when that wind 
 blows, raising the sun out of the sea: Hotro, the
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 39 
 
 south wind; crowned, holding the sun in its 
 right hand: Ponente, the west wind; plunging 
 the sun into the sea : and Tramontana, the 
 north wind; looking up at the north star. This 
 capital should be carefully examined, if for no 
 other reason than to attach greater distinctness 
 of idea to the magnificent verbiage of Milton: 
 
 " Thwart of these, as fierce, 
 Forth rush the Levant and the Ponent winds, 
 Eurus, and Zephyr; with their lateral noise, 
 Sirocco and Libecchio." 
 
 I may also especially point out the bird feeding 
 its three young ones on the seventh pillar on 
 the Piazzetta side; but there is no end to the 
 fantasy of these sculptures; and the traveller 
 ought to observe them all carefully, until he 
 comes to the great Pilaster or complicated pier 
 which sustains the party wall of the Sala del 
 Consiglio; that is to say, the forty-seventh capi- 
 tal of the whole series, counting from the pilas- 
 ter of the Vine angle inclusive, as in the series 
 of the lower arcade. The forty-eighth, forty- 
 ninth, and fiftieth are bad work, but they are 
 old; the fifty-first is the first Renaissance capi- 
 tal of the upper arcade: the first new lion's head 
 with smooth ears, cut in the time of Foscari, is 
 over the fiftieth capital; and that capital, with 
 its shaft, stands on the apex of the eighth arch 
 from the Sea, on the Piazzetta side, of whicH
 
 310 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 one spandril is masonry of the fourteenth and 
 the other of the fifteenth century. 
 
 cix. The reader who is not able to exam- 
 ine the building on the spot may be surprised at 
 the definiteness with which the point of junction 
 is ascertainable; but a glance at the lowest 
 range of leaves in the opposite Plate (XX.) will 
 enable him to judge of the grounds on which 
 the above statement is made. Fig. 12 is a clus- 
 ter of leaves from the capital of the Four Winds; 
 early work of the finest time. Fig. 13 is a leaf 
 from the great Renaissance capital at the Judg- 
 ment angle, worked in imitation of the older 
 leafage. Fig. 14 is a leaf from one of the Re- 
 naissance capitals of the upper arcade, which 
 are all worked in the natural manner of the 
 period. It will be seen that it requires no great 
 ingenuity to distinguish between such design as 
 that of fig. 12 and that of fig. 14. 
 
 ex. It is very possible that the reader may 
 at first like fig. 14 best. I shall endeavor, in the 
 next chapter, to show why he should not; but 
 it must also be noted, that fig. 12 has lost, and 
 fig. 14 gained, both largely, under the hands of 
 the engraver. All the bluntness and coarse- 
 ness of feeling in the workmanship of fig. 14 
 have disappeared on this small scale, and all the 
 subtle refinements in the broad masses of fig. 12 
 have vanished. They could not, indeed, be ren-
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 311 
 
 dered in line engraving, unless by the hand of 
 Albert Durer; and I have, therefore, abandoned, 
 for the present, all endeavor to represent any 
 more important mass of the early sculpture of the 
 Ducal Palace: but I trust that, in a few months, 
 casts of many portions will be within the reach 
 of the inhabitants of London, and that they will 
 be able to judge for themselves of their perfect, 
 pure, unlabored naturalism; the freshness, elas- 
 ticity, and softness of their leafage, united with 
 the most noble symmetry and severe reserve, 
 no running to waste, no loose or experimental 
 lines, no extravagance, and no weakness. Their 
 design is always sternly architectural; there is 
 none of the wildness or redundance of natural 
 vegetation, but there is all the strength, freedom, 
 and tossing flow of the breathing leaves, and all 
 the undulation of their surfaces, rippled, as they 
 grew, by the summer winds, as the sands are by 
 the sea. 
 
 cxi. This early sculpture of the Ducal 
 Palace, then, represents the state of Gothic work 
 in Venice at its central and proudest period, i. e. 
 circa 1350. After this time, all is decline, of 
 what nature and by what steps, we shall inquire 
 in the ensuing chapter; for as this investigation, 
 though still referring to Gothic architecture, in- 
 troduces us to the first symptoms of the Renais-
 
 312 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 sance influence, I have considered it as properly 
 belonging to the third division of our subject. 
 
 cxn. And as, under the shadow of these 
 nodding leaves, we bid farewell to the great 
 Gothic spirit, here also we may cease our exami- 
 nation of the details of the Ducal Palace; for 
 above its upper arcade there are only the four 
 traceried windows,* and one or two of the third 
 order on the Rio Fagade, which can be de- 
 pended upon as exhibiting the original work- 
 manship of the older palace. I examined the 
 capitals of the four other windows on the fagade, 
 and of those on the Piazzetta, one by one, with 
 great care, and I found them all to be of far in- 
 ferior workmanship to those which retain their 
 traceries: I believe the stone framework of these 
 windows must have been so cracked and injured 
 by the flames of the great fire, as to render it 
 necessary to replace it by new traceries; and 
 that the present mouldings and capitals are base 
 imitations of the original ones. The traceries 
 were at first, however, restored in their complete 
 form, as the holes for the bolts which fastened 
 the bases of their shafts are still to be seen in 
 
 *Some further details respecting these portions, as 
 well as some necessary confirmations of my statements 
 of dates, are, however, given in Appendix I., Vol III. I 
 feared wearying the general reader by introducing them 
 into the text.
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 313 
 
 the window-sills, as well as the marks of the 
 inner mouldings on the soffits. How much the 
 stone facing of the fagade, the parapets, and the 
 shafts and niches of the angles, retain of their 
 original masonry, it is also impossible to deter- 
 mine; but there is nothing in the workmanship 
 of any of them demanding especial notice; still 
 less in the large central windows on each fafade 
 which are entirely of Renaissance execution. 
 All that is admirable in these portions of the 
 building is the disposition of their various parts 
 and masses, which is without doubt the same as. 
 in the original fabric, and calculated, when seen 
 from a distance, to produce the same impres- 
 sion. 
 
 cxin. Not so in the interior. All vestige 
 of the earlier modes of decoration was here, of 
 course, destroyed by the fires; and the severe 
 and religious work of Guariento and Bellini has 
 been replaced by the wildness of Tintoret and 
 the luxury of Veronese. But in this case, though 
 widely different in temper, the art of the renew- 
 al was at least intellectually as great as that 
 which had perished: and though the halls of 
 the Ducal Palace are no more representative of 
 the character of the men by whom it was built, 
 each of them is still a colossal casket of price- 
 less treasure; a treasure whose safety has till 
 now depended on its being despised, and which
 
 314 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 at this moment, and as I write, is piece by piece 
 being destroyed for ever. 
 
 cxiv. The reader will forgive my quitting 
 our more immediate subject, in order briefly to 
 explain the causes and the nature of this de- 
 struction; for the matter is simply the most im- 
 portant of all that can be brought under our 
 present consideration respecting the state of art 
 in Europe. 
 
 The fact is, that the greater number of per- 
 sons or societies throughout Europe, whom 
 wealth, or chance, or inheritance has put in 
 possession of valuable pictures, do not know a 
 good picture from a bad one,* and have no idea 
 in what the value of a picture really consists. 
 The reputation of certain work is raised partly by 
 accident, partly by the just testimony of artists, 
 partly by the various and generally bad taste of 
 the public (no picture, that I know of, has ever, 
 in modern times, attained popularity, in the full 
 sense of the term, without having some exceed- 
 ingly bad qualities mingled with its good ones), 
 
 * Many persons, capable of quickly sympathizing with 
 any excellence, when once pointed out to them, easily 
 deceive themselves into the supposition that they are 
 judges of art. There is only one real test of such power 
 of judgment. Can they, at a glance, discover a good 
 picture obscured by the filth, and confused among the 
 rubbish, of the pawnbroker's or dealer's garret ?
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 31$ 
 
 and when this reputation has once been com- 
 pletely established, it little matters to what state 
 the picture may be reduced: few minds are so 
 completely devoid of imagination as to be unable 
 to invest it with the beauties which they have 
 heard attributed to it. 
 
 cxv. This being so, the pictures that are 
 most valued are for the most part those by mas- 
 ters of established renown, which are highly or 
 neatly finished, and of a size small enough to 
 admit of their being placed in galleries or saloons, 
 so as to be made subjects of ostentation, and to 
 be easily seen by a crowd. For the support of 
 the fame and value of such pictures, little more 
 is necessary than that they should be kept bright,, 
 partly by cleaning, which is incipient destruc- 
 tion, and partly by what is called " restoring," 
 that is, painting over, which is of course total 
 destruction. Nearly all the gallery pictures in 
 modern Europe have been more or less destroyed 
 by one or other of these operations, generally 
 exactly in proportion to the estimation in which 
 they are held; and as, originally, the smaller and 
 more highly finished works of any great master 
 are usually his worst, the contents of many of 
 our most celebrated galleries are by this time, in 
 reality, of very small value indeed. 
 
 cxvi. On the other hand, the most precious 
 works of any noble painter are usually those
 
 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 which have been done quickly, and in the heat 
 of the first thought, on a large scale, for places 
 where there was little likelihood of their being 
 well seen, or for patrons from whom there was 
 little prospect of rich remuneration. In general, 
 the best things are done in this way, or else in 
 the enthusiasm and pride of accomplishing some 
 great purpose, such as painting a cathedral or a 
 campo-santo from one end to the other, especially 
 when the time has been short, and circumstances 
 disadvantageous. 
 
 cxvn. Works thus executed are of course 
 despised, on account of their quantity, as well 
 as their frequent slightness, in the places where 
 they exist; and they are too large to be portable, 
 and too vast and comprehensive to be read on 
 the spot, in the hasty temper of the present age. 
 They are, therefore, almost universally neglected, 
 whitewashed by custodes, shot at by soldiers, 
 suffered to drop from the walls piecemeal in 
 powder and rags by society in general; but, 
 which is an advantage more than counterbalanc- 
 ing all this evil, they are not often " restored." 
 What is left of them, however fragmentary, how- 
 ever ruinous, however obscured and defiled, is 
 almost always the real thing; there are no fresh 
 readings: and therefore the greatest treasures of 
 art which Europe at this moment possesses are 
 pieces of old plaster on ruinous brick walls, where
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 317 
 
 the lizards burrow and bask, and which few other 
 living creatures ever approach; and torn sheets 
 of dim canvas, in waste corners of churches; and 
 mildewed stains, in the shape of human figures, 
 on the walls of dark chambers, which now and 
 then an exploring traveller causes to be unlocked 
 by their tottering custode, looks hastily round, 
 and retreats from in a weary satisfaction at his. 
 accomplished duty. 
 
 cxvin. Many of the pictures on the ceilings 
 and walls of the Ducal Palace, by Paul Veronese 
 and Tintoret, have been more or less reduced, 
 by neglect, to this condition. Unfortunately 
 they are not altogether without reputation, and 
 their state has drawn the attention of the Vene- 
 tian authorities and academicians. It constantly 
 happens, that public bodies who will not pay 
 five pounds to preserve a picture, will pay fifty 
 to repaint it;* and when I was at Venice in 
 1846, there were two remedial operations carry - 
 
 * This is easily explained. There are, of course, in 
 every place and at all periods, bad painters who conscien- 
 tiously believe that they can improve every picture they 
 touch; and these men are generally, in their presumption, 
 the most influential over the innocence, whether of mon- 
 archs or municipalities. The carpenter and slater have 
 little influence in recommending the repairs of the roof; 
 but the bad painter has great influence, as well as interest, 
 in recommending those of the picture.
 
 318 THE STONES OF VENICE. 
 
 ing on, at one and the same time, in the two 
 buildings which contain the pictures of greatest 
 value in the city (as pieces of color, of greatest 
 value in the world), curiously illustrative of this 
 peculiarity in human nature. Buckets were set 
 on the floor of the Scuola di San Rocco, in every 
 shower, to catch the rain which came through 
 the pictures of Tintoret on the ceiling; while in 
 the Ducal Palace, those of Paul Veronese were 
 themselves laid on the floor to be repainted; and 
 I was myself present at the re-illumination of 
 the breast of a white horse, with a brush, at the 
 end of a stick five feet long, luxuriously dipped 
 in a common house-painter's vessel of paint. 
 
 This was, of course, a large picture. The 
 process has already been continued in an equally 
 destructive, though somewhat more delicate 
 manner, over the whole of the humbler canvases 
 on the ceiling of the Sala del Gran Consiglio; 
 and I heard it threatened when I was last in 
 Venice (1851-2) to the "Paradise" at its ex- 
 tremity, which is yet in tolerable condition, 
 the largest work of Tintoret, and the most won- 
 derful piece of pure, manly, and masterly oil- 
 painting in the world. 
 
 cxix. I leave these facts to the consideration 
 of the European patrons of art. Twenty years 
 hence they will be acknowledged and regretted; 
 at present, I am well aware, that it is of little
 
 THE DUCAL PALACE. 319 
 
 use to bring them forward, except only to ex- 
 plain the present impossibility of stating what 
 pictures are, and what were, in the interior of the 
 Ducal Palace. I can only say, that in the winter 
 of 1851, the "Paradise" of Tintoret was still 
 comparatively uninjured, and that the Camera 
 di Collegio, and its antechamber, and the Sala 
 de' Pregadi were full of pictures by Veronese 
 and Tintoret, that made their walls as precious 
 as so many kingdoms; so precious indeed, and 
 so full of majesty, that sometimes when walking 
 at evening on the Lido, whence the great chain 
 of the Alps, crested with silver clouds, might be 
 seen rising above the front of the, Ducal Palace, 
 I used to feel as much awe in gazing on the 
 building as on the hills, and could believe that 
 God had done a greater work in breathing into 
 the narrowness of dust the mighty spirits by 
 whom its haughty walls had been raised, and its 
 burning legends written, than in lifting the rocks 
 of granite higher than the clouds of heaven, and 
 veiling them with their various mantle of purple 
 flower and shadowy pine. 
 
 END OF VOL. I,
 
 NOTE. 
 
 I HAVE printed the chapter on the Ducal 
 Palace, quite one of the most important pieces 
 of work done in my life, without alteration of 
 its references to the plates of the first edition, 
 because I hope both to republish some of those 
 plates, and together with them, a few permanent 
 photographs (both from the sculpture of the 
 Palace itself, and from my own drawings of its 
 detail), which may be purchased by the posses- 
 sors of this smaller edition to bind with the book 
 or not, as they please. This separate publication 
 I can now soon set in hand; and I believe it will 
 cause much less confusion to leave for the pres- 
 ent the references to the old plates untouched. 
 The wood-blocks used for the first three figures 
 in this chapter, are the original ones: that of 
 the Ducal Palace fa9ade was drawn on the 
 wood by my own hand, and cost me more 
 trouble than it is worth, being merely given for 
 division and proportion. The greater part of 
 the first volume, omitted in this edition after 
 " the Quarry," will be republished in the series 
 
 321
 
 322 NOTE. 
 
 of my reprinted works, with its original wood- 
 blocks. 
 
 But my mind is mainly set now on getting 
 some worthy illustration of the St. Mark's mosa- 
 ics, and of such remains of the old capitals (now 
 for ever removed, in process of the Palace re- 
 storation, from their life in sea wind and sun- 
 light, and their ancient duty, to a museum-grave) 
 as I have useful record of, drawn in their native 
 light. The series, both of these and of the 
 earlier mosaics, of which the sequence is sketched 
 in the preceding volume, and farther explained 
 in the third number of "St. Mark's Rest," 
 become to me every hour of my life more pre- 
 cious both for their art and their meaning; and 
 if any of my readers care to help me, in my old 
 age, to fulfil my life's work rightly, let them send 
 what pence they can spare for these objects to 
 my publisher, Mr. Allen, Sunnyside, Orpington, 
 Kent. 
 
 Since writing the first part of this note, I have 
 received a letter from Mr. Burne Jones, assuring 
 me of his earnest sympathy in its object, and 
 giving me hope even of his superintendence of 
 the drawings, which I have already desired to 
 be undertaken. But I am no longer able to 
 continue work of this kind at my own cost; and 
 the fulfilment of my purpose must entirely 
 depend on the money-help given me by my 
 readers.
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 1 6 2006
 
 A 000 670 528 9