Chapter M: E. Braddon (1)

THREE VENETIAN FEASTS

I was at three very solemne feasts in Venice; I meane not commessations or banquets, but holy and religious solemnities, whereof the first was in the Church of certaine Nunnes in St. Laurence parish.... This was celebrated the one and thirtieth of July, being Sunday, where I heard much singular musicke. The second was on the day of our Ladies assumption, which was the fifth of August, being Fryday, that day in the morning I saw the Duke in some of his richest ornaments, accompanyed with twenty-sixe couple of Senators, in their damaske long-sleeved gownes, come to Sainte Marks. Also there were Venetian Knights and Ambassadors, that gave attendance upon him, and the first that went before him on the right hand, carried a naked sword in his hand. He himselfe then wore two very rich robes or long garments, whereof the uppermost was white, of cloth of silver, with great massy buttons of gold, the other cloth of silver also, but adorned with many curious workes made in colours with needle worke. His traine was then holden up by two Gentlemen. At that time I heard much good musicke in Sainte Markes Church, but especially that of a treble voill which was so excellent, that I thinke no man could surpasse it. Also there were sagbuts and cornets as at St. Laurence feast which yeelded passing good musicke. The third feast was upon Saint Roches day, being Saturday and the sixth day of August, where I heard the best musicke that ever I did in all my life both in the morning and the afternoone, so good that I would willingly goe an hundred miles a foote at any time to heare the like. The place where it was, is neare to Saint Roches Church, a very sumptuous and magnificent building that belongeth to one of the sixe Companies of the citie.... This building hath a marvailous rich and stately frontispice, being built with passing fair white stone, and adorned with many goodly pillars of marble. There are three most beautiful roomes in this building; the first is the lowest, which hath two rowes of goodly pillars in it opposite to each other which upon this day of Saint Roch were adorned with many faire pictures of great personages that hanged round about them, as of Emperours, Kings, Queenes, Dukes, Duchesses, Popes, etc. In this roome are two or three faire Altars: For this roome is not appointed for merriments and banquetings as the halles belonging to the Companies of London, but altogether for devotion and religion.... The second is very spacious and large, having two or three faire Altars more: the roofe of this roome, which is of a stately height, is richly gilt and decked with many sumptuous embossings of gold, and the walles are beautified with sundry delicate pictures, as also many parts of the roofe; unto this room you must ascend by two or three very goodly paire of staires. The third roome which is made at one corner of this spacious roome, is very beautifull, having both roofe and wals something correspondent to the other; but the floore is much more exquisite and curious, being excellently distinguished with checker worke made of several kinds of marble, which are put in by the rarest cunning that the wit of man can devise. The second roome is the place where this festivitie was solemnized to the honour of Saint Roch, at one end whereof was an altar garnished with many singular ornaments, but especially with a great multitude of silver candlesticks, in number sixty, and candles in them of virgin waxe. This feast consisted principally of Musicke, which was both vocall and instrumental, so good, so delectable, so rare, so admirable, so superexcellent, that it did even ravish and stupifie all those strangers that never heard the like. But how others were affected with it I know not; for mine owne part I can say this, that I was for the time even rapt up with Saint Paul into the third heaven. Sometimes there sung sixeteene or twenty men together, having their master or moderator to keepe them in order; and when they sung, the instrumentall musitians played also. Sometimes sixeteene played together upon their instruments, ten Sagbuts, foure Cornets, and two Violdegambaes of an extraordinary greatness; sometimes tenne, sixe Sagbuts and foure Cornets; sometimes two, a Cornet and treble violl. Of those treble viols I heard three severall there, whereof each was so good, especially one, that I observed above the rest, that I never heard the like before. Those that played upon the treble viols, sung and played together, and sometimes two singular fellowes played together upon Theorboes, to which they sung also, who yeelded admirable sweet musicke, but so still that they could scarce be heard but by those that were very neare them. Those two Theorbists concluded that night’s musicke, which continued three whole howers at the least. For they beganne about five of the clocke and ended not before eight. Also it continued as long in the morning: at every time that every severall musicke played, the Organs, whereof there are seven faire paire in that room, standing all in a rowe together, plaied with them. Of the singers there were three or foure so excellent that I thinke few or none in Christendome do excell them, especially one, who had such a peerelesse and (as I may in a manner say) such a supernaturall voice for such a privilege for the sweetnesse of his voice, as sweetnesse, that I think there was never a better singer in all the world, insomuch that he did not onely give the most pleasant contentment that could be imagined, to all the hearers, but also did as it were astonish and amaze them.... Truely I thinke that had a Nightingale beene in the same roome, and contended with him for the superioritie, something perhaps he might excell him, because God hath granted that little birde such a priviledge for the sweetnesse of his voice, as to none other: but I thinke he could not much. To conclude, I attribute so much to this rare fellow for his singing, that I thinke the country where he was borne, may be as proude for breeding so singular a person as Smyrna was of her Homer, Verona of her Catullus, or Mantua of Virgil: But exceeding happy may that Citie, or towne, or person bee that possesseth this miracle of nature. These musitians had bestowed upon them by that of Saint Roche an hundred duckats. Thus much concerning the musicke of those famous feastes of St. Laurence, the Assumption of our Lady, and Saint Roche.

THOMAS CORYAT (1611).

AN IMPROVISATORE

I had now visited the rich Palace of the Doges, had wandered in the empty, magnificent halls; seen the chamber of the Inquisition, with the frightful picture of the torments of hell. I went through a narrow gallery, over a covered bridge, high upon the roof, above the canals on which the gondolas glided: this is the way from the Doge’s Palace to the prisons of Venice. This bridge is called the Bridge of Sighs. Close beside it lie the wells. The light of the lamps alone from the passage can force its way between the close iron bars into the uppermost dungeon; and yet this was a cheerful, airy hall, in comparison with those which lie lower down, below the swampy cellars, deeper even than the water outside in the canals; and yet in these unhappy captives had sighed, and inscribed their names on the damp walls.

‘Air, air!’ demanded my heart, rent with the horrors of this place; and, entering the gondola, I flew with the speed of an arrow from the pale-red old palace, and from the columns of St. Theodoret and the Venetian lion, forth over the living, green water to the lagoons and Lido, that I might breathe the fresh air of the sea,--and I found a churchyard.

Here is the stranger, the Protestant, buried, far from his native country,--buried upon a little strip of land among the waves, which day by day seem to rend away more and more of its small remains. The billows alone wept. Here often sat the fisherman’s bride or wife, waiting for the lover or the husband, who had gone out fishing upon the uncertain sea. The storm arose, and rested again upon its strong pinions; and the woman sang Tasso’s songs, and listened to hear whether the man replied. But Love gave no return in song; alone she sat there, and looked out over the silent sea. Then, also, her lips became silent; her eye saw only the white bones of the dead in the sand; she heard only the hollow booming of the billows, whilst night ascended over the dead, silent Venice.

The dark picture filled my thoughts, my whole state of mind gave it a strong colouring. Solemn as a church reminding of graves, and the invisible saints stood before me the entire scene. Flaminia’s words resounded in my ear, that the poet, who was a prophet of God, should endeavour only to express the glorification of God, and that subjects which tended to this were of the highest character. The immortal soul ought to sing of the immortal; the glitter of the moment changed its play of colour, and vanished with the instant that gave it birth.... I silently entered the gondola, which bore me toward Lido. The great open sea lay before me, and rolled onward to the shore in long billows. I thought of the bay of Amalfi.

Just beside me, among sea-grass and stones, sat a young man sketching, certainly a foreign painter; it seemed to me that I recognized him. I stepped nearer, he raised his head, and we knew each other. It was Poggio, a young Venetian nobleman.

‘Signore,’ exclaimed he, ‘you on Lido! Is it the beauty of the scene, or,’ added he, ‘some other beauty, which has brought you so near to the angry Adriatic?... Such a blue, billowy plain,’ said he, pointing to the sea, ‘is not to be found in Rome! The sea is the most beautiful thing on the earth! It is also the mother of Venus, and,’ added he, laughing, ‘is the widow of all the mighty Doges of Venice.’

‘The Venetians must especially love the sea,’ said I, ‘regarding it as their grandparent, who carried them and played with them for the sake of her beautiful daughter Venetia.’

‘She is no longer beautiful now; she bows her head,’ he replied.

‘But yet,’ said I, ‘she is still happy under her sway of the Emperor Francis.’

‘It is a prouder thing to be queen upon the sea than a Caryatide upon land,’ returned he. ‘The Venetians have nothing to complain about, and politics are what I do not understand, but beauty, on the contrary, I do; and if you are a patron of it, as I do not doubt but you are, see, here comes my landlady’s handsome daughter, and inquires whether you will take part in my frugal dinner.’

We went into the little house close by the shore. The wine was good, and Poggio most charming and entertaining....

‘You do not sing?’ asked the lady of the house from me, when we had done.

‘I will have the honour to improvise before you,’ said I, as a thought entered my mind.

‘He is an improvisatore,’ I heard whispered around me. The eyes of the ladies sparkled; the gentlemen bowed. I took a guitar, and begged them to give me a subject.

‘Venice!’ cried a lady, looking boldly into my eyes.

‘Venice!’ repeated the young gentlemen, ‘because the ladies are handsome!’

I touched a few chords; described the pomp and glory of Venice in the days of her greatness, as I had read about it, and as my imagination had dreamed of its being, and all eyes flashed; they fancied that it was so now. I sang about the beauty in the balcony in the moonlight night, and every lady imagined I meant it for her, and clapped her hands in applause.... I sang about the proud sea,--the bridegroom of Venice; about the sons of the sea,--the bold mariners and fishermen in their little boats. I described a storm; the wife’s and the bride’s longing and anxiety; described that which I myself had seen; the children who had let fall the holy crucifix, and clung to their mothers, and the old fisherman who kissed the feet of the Redeemer.... And now my heart was wonderously light; the empty canals of Venice and the old palaces seemed to me beautiful--a sleeping fairy world.

HANS ANDERSEN.

VENICE AND HER CHILDREN

Though Orio had quadrupled the sum he had desired, all the treasures of the world were nothing to him without a Venice to spend them in. At that time love of country was a passion so strong, so powerful, that it influenced all hearts, the vilest as well as the noblest. And truly there was little merit in loving Venice then,--she was so beautiful, so powerful, so gay! She was such a bountiful mother to all her children; such a delightful lover of their glory! Venice gave such caresses to her triumphant warriors, such glowing praise for their bravery, such elegant and noble rewards for their prudence, such rare pleasures to recompense their slightest services! Nowhere else could one find such splendid feasts, enjoy such luxurious idleness, or plunge at will, to-day in a whirlwind of pleasure, to-morrow in voluptuous repose. Venice was the most beautiful city of Europe; the most corrupted and the most virtuous. The righteous could there be always good, the vicious always bad. It had sunshine for some, shade for others. While there were wise institutions and touching ceremonies to proclaim noble actions, there were also caves, inquisitors and executioners, to maintain order and subdue dangerous passions. There were days of triumph and ovation for the virtuous, and nights of debauchery and excess for the vicious: and in no other part of the world were ovations so exciting, excesses so poetical. Venice was the natural country for all strong minds, good or evil. It was the undeniable fatherland of all who knew it.

GEORGE SAND.

SOCIETY IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY VENICE

VENICE, _Oct. 10, 1739_.

I like this place extremely, and am of opinion you would do so too: as to cheapness, I think ’tis impossible to find any part of Europe where both the laws and customs are so contrived purposely to avoid expenses of all sorts; and here is a universal liberty that is certainly one of the greatest _agrémens_ in life. We have foreign ambassadors from all parts of the world, who have all visited me. I have received visits from many of the noble Venetian ladies; and upon the whole I am very much at my ease here. If I was writing to Lady Sophia, I would tell her of the comedies and operas which are every night, at very low prices; but I believe even you will agree with me that they are ordered to be as convenient as possible, every mortal going in a mask, and consequently no trouble in dressing, or forms of any kind....

VENICE, _Oct. 14, 1739_.

I find myself very well here. I am visited by the most considerable people of the town, and all the foreign ministers, who have most of them made great entertainments for me. I dined yesterday at the Spanish Ambassador’s, who even surpassed the French in magnificence. He met me at the hall-door, and the lady at the stair-head, to conduct me through the long apartment; in short, they could not have shown me more honours, if I had been an ambassadress. She desired me to think myself _patrona del casa_, and offered me all the services in her power, to wait on me where I pleased, etc. They have the finest palace in Venice. What is very convenient, I hear it is not at all expected I should make any dinners, it not being the fashion for anybody to do it here but the foreign ministers; and I find I can live here very genteelly on my allowance. I have already a very agreeable general acquaintance; though when I came, here was no one I had ever seen in my life, but the Cavaliere Grimani and the Abbé Conti. I must do them justice to say they have taken pains to be obliging to me. The Procurator brought his niece (who is at the head of his family) to wait on me; and they invited me to reside with them at their palace on the Brent, but I did not think it proper to accept of it. He also introduced to me the Signora Pisani Mocenigo, who is the most considerable lady here. The Nuncio is particularly civil to me; he has been several times to see me, and has offered me the use of his box at the opera....

VENICE, _Nov. 6, 1739_.

Upon my word, I have spoken my real thoughts in relation to Venice; but I will be more particular in my description, lest you should find the same reason of complaint you have hitherto experienced. It is impossible to give any rule for the agreeableness of conversation; but here is so great a variety, I think ’tis impossible not to find some to suit every taste. Here are foreign ministers from all parts of the world, who, as they have no court to employ their hours, are overjoyed to enter into commerce with any stranger of distinction. As I am the only lady here at present, I can assure you I am courted, as if I was the only one in the world. As to all the conveniences of life, they are to be had at very easy rates; and for those that love public places, here are two playhouses and two operas constantly performed every night, at exceeding low prices. But you will have no reason to examine that article, no more than myself; all the ambassadors having boxes appointed them; and I have every one of their keys at my service, not only for my own person, but whoever I please to carry or send. I do not make much use of this privilege, to their great astonishment. It is the fashion for the greatest ladies to walk the streets, which are admirably paved; and a mask, price sixpence, with a little cloak, and the head of a domino, the genteel dress to carry you everywhere. The greatest equipage is a gondola, that holds eight persons, and is the price of an English chair. And it is so much the established fashion for everybody to live their own way, that nothing is more ridiculous than censuring the actions of another. This would be terrible in London, where we have little other diversion; but for me, who never found any pleasure in malice, I bless my destiny that has conducted me to a part where people are better employed than in talking of the affairs of their acquaintance. It is at present excessive cold (which is the only thing I have to find fault with); but in recompense we have a clear bright sun, and fogs and factions things unheard of in this climate....

VENICE, _June 1, 1740_.

You seem to mention the regatta in a manner as if you would be pleased with a description of it. It is a race of boats: they are accompanied by vessels which they call Piotes, and Bichones, that are built at the expense of nobles and strangers that have a mind to display their magnificence; they are a sort of machines adorned with all that sculpture and gilding can do to make a shining appearance. Several of them cost one thousand pounds sterling, and I believe none less than five hundred; they are rowed by gondoliers dressed in rich habits, suitable to what they represent. There was enough of them to look like a little fleet, and I own I never saw a finer sight. It would be too long to describe every one in particular; I shall only name the principal:--the Signora Pisani Mocenigo’s represented the Chariot of the Night, drawn by four sea-horses, and showing the rising of the moon, accompanied with stars, the statues on each side representing the hours to the number of twenty-four, rowed by gondoliers in rich liveries, which were changed three times, all of equal richness, and the decorations changed also to the dawn of Aurora and the midday sun, the statues being new dressed every time, the first in green, the second time in red, and the last blue, all equally laced with silver, there being three races. Signor Soranzo represented the Kingdom of Poland, with all the provinces and rivers in that dominion, with a concert of the best instrumental music in rich Polish habits; the painting and gilding were exquisite in their kinds; Signor Contarini’s piote showed the Liberal Arts; Apollo was seated on the stern upon Mount Parnassus, Pegasus behind, and the Muses seated round him: opposite was a figure representing Painting, with Fame blowing her trumpet; and on each side Sculpture, and Music in their proper dresses. The procurator Foscarini’s was the Chariot of Flora guided by Cupids, and adorned with all sorts of flowers, rose-trees, etc. Signor Julio Contarini’s represented the Triumphs of Valour; Victory was on the stern, and all the ornaments warlike trophies of every kind. Signor Correri’s was the Adriatic Sea receiving into her arms the Hope of Saxony. Signor Alvisio Mocenigo’s was the Garden of Hesperides; the whole fable was represented by different statues. Signor Querini had the Chariot of Venus drawn by doves, so well done, they seemed ready to fly upon the water; the Loves and Graces attended her. Signor Paul Doria had the Chariot of Diana, who appeared hunting in a large wood: the trees, hounds, stag, and nymphs, all done naturally: the gondoliers dressed like peasants attending the chase: and Endymion, lying under a large tree, gazing on the goddess. Signor Angelo Labbia represented Poland crowning of Saxony, waited on by the Virtues and subject Provinces. Signor Angelo Molino was Neptune waited on by the Rivers. Signor Vicenzo Morosini’s piote showed the Triumphs of Peace; Discord being chained at her feet, and she surrounded with the Pleasures, etc....

I must say one word of the bichonis, which are less vessels, quite open, some representing gardens, others apartments, all the oars being gilt either with gold or silver, and the gondolier’s liveries either velvet or rich silk, with a profusion of lace, fringe, and embroidery. I saw this show at the Procurator Grimani’s house, which was near the place where the prizes were delivered: there was a great assembly invited on the same occasion, which were all nobly entertained.

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU.

IN VENICE ONCE

In Venice once they lived and loved--
Fair women with their red-gold hair--
Their twinkling feet to music moved,
In Venice where they lived and loved,
And all Philosophy disproved,
While hope was young and life was fair,
In Venice where they lived and loved.

LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.

ARCHITECTURE AND ART

Venice is the finest city in the world. What could we wish
for better than its Moorish architecture in white marble
in the midst of the limpid waters, and under a sky truly
magnificent; its people so gay, so heedless, so witty, and
fond of its music; its gondolas, churches, and picture
galleries; those good-looking and elegant women; the
murmurs of the sea breaking upon the ear; the moonlights
nowhere else to be seen; choruses of gondoliers, sometimes
very correct, serenading under every window; cafés full
of Turks and Armenians; fine and spacious theatres where
you can hear Pasta and Donzelli; gorgeous palaces; a Punch
and Judy show far above that of Gustave Malus; delicious
oysters, which you can gather on the steps of every house;
Cyprian wine at twenty-five _sous_ a bottle; flowers in the
heart of winter, and, in the month of February, a heat as
great as that of our month of May?
GEORGE SAND.

Tintoretto, to be rightly understood, must be sought all
over Venice--in the church as well as the Scuola di San
Rocco; in the ‘Temptation of St. Anthony’ at St. Trovaso
no less than in the Temptations of Eve and Christ; in
the decorative pomp of the Scala del Senato, and in the
Paradisal vision of the Scala del Gran Consiglio. Yet,
after all, there is one of his most characteristic moods,
to appreciate which fully we return to the Madonna dell’
Orto. I have called him ‘the painter of impossibilities.’
At rare moments he rendered them possible by sheer
imaginative force.
JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS.

THE BIRTH OF VENETIAN ART

Venice ... rose from a lowly and troublous origin to heights of dazzling grandeur. When the barbarians of the North began their incursions and devastations into Italy in the fifth century, the inhabitants of that part of the Peninsula which was called Venetia fled from the peril to the islands rising in the lagoons of the Adriatic, where they found peace, safety, and liberty.... The inhospitable nature of their new home provided the refugees with but two elements only--and those the most indeterminate and universal--sky and sea. All the rest, all that we see to-day, has been artificially formed by the hand of man, who excluded vegetation, animals, every semblance of living things, and created for himself a world of stone, a landscape of architecture, and perspective. He has willed that this shall of itself be beautiful, not from any assistance from Nature, but by force of art and riches; not a collection of monuments, but one single monument in itself, and that so sublime and lasting as to admit of no comparison. The marvel which here strikes the spectator has no other example, for Venice is altogether the work of human art. An art, too, which is both poetry and history, and when we think of the history of those Venetians who became lords of a mighty commerce and conquerors of provinces, we see, as by an invincible law spreading out before our imagination, the marble mansions around the Piazza and along the Grand Canal; we see through the streets of the city a people proud of the wisdom of their statesmen and of the creations of their painters; we think of the golden Basilica, of the Palace of the Doges; we evoke the shapes of Titian, of Paolo Veronese, of Tintoretto.... The art of painting arose in Italy in the Trecento. This art, of slower growth than either architecture or sculpture in Venice, only flourished there well on in the fifteenth century. It must not, however, be concluded from this that painting was unknown in the early days of Venetian life, for leaving aside the question as to whether the first mosaicists were Byzantines or Venetians, it is certain that the art of colours was displayed with admirable feeling in the mosaics of St. Mark’s. In the Basilica, which lifts itself to heaven like a sublime hymn and blends in divine fulness Greek harmony with Eastern splendour, may be found the school of Venetian painters, the source of their inspiration, the golden book wherein is entered the pedigree of Venetian art. The colours sparkle, flash, and throw lightning gleams on to that building bright with matchless beauty. Mind and eye are alike filled with amazement and admiration at the sight of the many-hued marbles, the mosaics, and the gold flung round in regal profusion. Thus, in this atmosphere of light, like a serene flower, Venetian painting arose, warm and vivid in colour even when cold and lifeless in expression.

POMPEO MOLMENTI.
_Translated by Alethea Wiel._

A VENETIAN PASTORAL

BY GIORGIONE[4]

Water, for anguish of the solstice,--yea,
Over the vessel’s mouth still widening,
Listlessly dipt to let the water in
With slow, vague gurgle. Blue, and deep away,
The heat lies silent at the brink of day.
Now the hand trails upon the viol-string
That sobs; and the brown faces cease to sing,
Mournful with complete pleasure. Her eyes stray
In distance; through her lips the pipe doth creep
And leaves them pouting; the green shadowed grass
Is cool against her naked flesh. Let be:
Do not now speak unto her lest she weep,
Nor name this ever. Be it as it was:
Silence of heat, and solemn poetry.

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.

[4] In the Louvre.

GIORGIONE’S HOME

Born half-way between the mountains and the sea--that young George of Castelfranco--of the Brave Castle: Stout George they called him, George of Georges, so goodly a boy he was--Giorgione.

Have you ever thought what a world his eyes opened on--fair, searching eyes of youth? What a world of mighty life, from those mountain roots to the shore--of loveliest life, when he went down, yet so young, to the marble city--and became himself as a fiery heart to it?

A city of marble, did I say? Nay, rather a golden city, paved with emerald. For truly, every pinnacle and turret glanced or glowed, overlaid with gold, or bossed with jasper. Beneath, the unsullied sea drew in deep breathing, to and fro, its eddies of green wave. Deep-hearted, majestic, terrible as the sea,--the men of Venice moved in sway of power and war; pure as her pillars of alabaster, stood her mothers and maidens; from foot to brow, all noble, walked her knights; the low bronzed gleaming of sea-rusted armour shot angrily under their blood-red mantle folds. Fearless, faithful, patient, impenetrable, implacable--every word a fate--sat her senate. In hope and honour, lulled by flowing of wave around their isles of sacred sand, each with his name written and the cross graved at his side, lay her dead. A wonderful piece of world. Rather, itself a world. It lay along the face of the waters, no larger, as its captains saw it from their masts at evening, than a bar of sunset that could not pass away; but for its power, it must have seemed to them as if they were sailing in the expanse of heaven, and this a great planet, whose orient edge widened through ether. A world from which all ignoble care and petty thoughts were banished, with all the common and poor elements of life. No foulness, nor tumult, in those tremulous streets, that filled, or fell, beneath the moon; but rippled music of majestic change, or thrilling silence. No weak walls could rise above them; no low-roofed cottage, nor straw-built shed. Only the strength as of rock, and the finished setting of stones most precious. And around them, far as the eye could reach, still the soft moving of stainless waters, proudly pure; as not the flower, so neither the thorn nor the thistle could grow in the glancing fields. Ethereal strength of Alps, dream-like, vanishing in high procession beyond the Torcellan shore; blue islands of Paduan hills, poised in the golden west. Above, free winds and fiery clouds ranging at their will--brightness out of the north, and balm from the south, and the stars of the evening and morning clear in the limitless light of arched heaven and circling sea....

I do not find in Giorgione’s work any of the early Venetian monachist element. He seems to me to have belonged more to an abstract contemplative school. I may be wrong in this; it is no matter; suppose it were so, and that he came down to Venice somewhat recusant, or insentient, concerning the usual priestly doctrines of his day, how would the Venetian religion, from an outer intellectual standing-point, have _looked_ to him?

He would have seen it to be a religion indisputably powerful in human affairs; often very harmfully so; sometimes devouring widows’ houses, and consuming the strongest and fairest from among the young; freezing into merciless bigotry the pokey of the old: also, on the other hand, animating national courage, and raising souls, otherwise sordid, into heroism: on the whole, always a real and great power; served with daily sacrifice of gold, time, and thought; putting forth its claims, if hypocritically, at least in bold hypocrisy, not waiving any atom of them in doubt or fear; and, assuredly, in large measure, sincere, believing in itself, and believed: a goodly system, moreover, in aspect; gorgeous, harmonious, mysterious--a thing which had either to be obeyed or combated, but could not be scorned. A religion towering over all the city--many buttressed--luminous in marble stateliness, as the dome of our Lady of Safety shines over the sea; many-voiced also, giving, over all the eastern seas, to the sentinel his watchword, to the soldier his war-cry; and, on the lips of all who died for Venice, shaping the whisper of death.

JOHN RUSKIN.

TO AN OLD VENETIAN PAINTING

Who _was_ she--this rare Beauty of appealing face?...
The eyes are laden with the weight of Love’s fond burden,
The heart, with tremulous hope of Love’s alluring guerdon.
Had she some wound,--some grief which nothing could erase,--
She whose impassioned look is raised in suppliant grace?
Perhaps some erring penitent in saintly adoration,
Or Doge’s wilful daughter offering supplication
In all the sumptuous beauty of her languorous race?
The plaintive mouth is saddened now from farewell-taking,
The sob still lingers in her smile,--the eyes brim o’er,
As if sweet love, with her, had broken faith and trust.
How _could_ such beauty be unless her heart were breaking?...
Peace! draw the veil: seek no revealment: ask no more:
Such loveliness shall sanctify her very dust.

LLOYD MIFFLIN.

TO GIAN BELLINI

Though ne’er a catchword for the shallow throng,
His name shall shine eternally with those
That light the world. Resplendent Venice shows
Not one sublimer all her sons among.

He taught the true in art, nor knew the wrong.
His lofty purity, his sweet repose
Sprang from a faith that no misgiving knows
By this his soul was nourished and grew strong.

Gentle Venetian! I must envy thee,
Who stand alone in this cool sacristy,
Confronted with the radiance of thine art.
Shrined in these marbles amid ocean foam,
The light of thy pure spirit here has home,
Firing the good in each distempered heart.

PERCY PINKERTON.

TITIAN AT VENICE

Titian was born in the little town of Cadore, on the Piave, five miles from the Alps. He sprang from the family of the Vecelli, one of the most noble of those parts; and when he reached the age of ten years, showing a fine spirit and quickness of mind, he was sent to Venice to the house of one of his uncles, an honoured citizen. He, seeing that the boy was much inclined to painting, put him with the famous painter Gian Bellini, under whose discipline he studied drawing, and showed himself in a short time to be endowed by nature with all that was necessary for the art of painting. Gian Bellini and the other painters of that country, having no knowledge of ancient art, were accustomed mostly, in fact entirely, to draw from life, though in a dry, crude manner. Titian therefore learnt in this way. But when Giorgione da Castelfranco came, the manner of working did not altogether please him, and he began to give his works more softness and greater relief, following Nature indeed, and imitating her as well as he could in colour, but not making any drawing, holding firmly that painting in colours without studying the drawing in a cartoon was the true and best way of working. Titian, then, seeing Giorgione’s method, left Gian Bellini’s manner and adopted the new way, imitating it so well that his pictures were mistaken for the works of Giorgione. And when Giorgione was employed upon the façade of the German Exchange a part was given to Titian. Some gentlemen, not knowing that Giorgione had ceased to work there, and that Titian was employed upon it, meeting Giorgione one day, began to congratulate him, saying he was doing better on this façade than he had done on that one on the Grand Canal. And this vexed Giorgione so much that until the work was finished, and it was known that Titian had done that part, he would not be seen, and from that time he would not let Titian work with him or be his friend....

Giovanni Bellini left unfinished at his death the picture, in the hall of the Great Council, of Barbarossa kneeling before Pope Alexander III. Titian completed it, altering many things, and introducing many portraits of his friends and others. For this he obtained from the Signory an office which is called the Senseria, which brings in three hundred crowns a year. This office has usually been given to the best painter of that city, with the duty of painting from time to time their Prince or Doge, at the price of eight crowns only, paid them by this prince, and this portrait is afterwards placed in his memory in the palace of St. Mark’s.

The Duke Alfonso of Ferrara had engaged Giovanni Bellini to paint a picture for a room in his palace, but he had been unable to complete it on account of his age, and Titian therefore was summoned to finish it, and for this prince he painted several things, and was liberally rewarded by him. At this time he formed a friendship with the divine Ludovico Ariosto, who celebrated him in his ‘Orlando Furioso.’

After his return to Venice he painted many pictures for the churches, and among others for the church of S. Rocco he painted Christ bearing the Cross. This, which many have supposed to be from Giorgione’s hand, has become the chief object of devotion in Venice, and has received in alms more crowns than Titian and Giorgione earned in their whole life.... For the Church of S. Giovanni and S. Paolo he painted an altarpiece representing S. Peter Martyr in a wood of high trees, struck down by a fierce soldier, who has wounded him in the head, and as he lies but half alive you can see in his face the horror of death, while another friar fleeing shows signs of fear. In the sky are two angels coming in the light of heaven, which lights up a beautiful landscape. The work is the most finished one that Titian ever did....

There is no lord of note or prince or great lady who has not been painted by Titian; and, besides, at different times, he produced many other works.

It is true that his way of working in his last pictures is very different from that of his youth. For his first works were finished with great diligence, and might be looked at near or far, but the last are worked with great patches of colour, so that they cannot be seen near, but at a distance they look perfect. This is the reason that many think they are done without any trouble, but this is not true. And this way of working is most judicious, for it makes the pictures seem living.

All these works, with a great many others, which cannot be mentioned lest I should become tedious, he has completed, having now reached the age of seventy-six. He has been most healthy, and as fortunate as anyone has ever been. In his house at Venice he has received all the princes, and learned and famous men, who have come to Venice; for besides his excellence in art, his manners have been most pleasant and courteous. He has had some rivals, but not very dangerous ones. He has earned much, for his works have always been well paid; but it would be well for him, in these his last years, to work only for pastime, lest he diminish his reputation.

When the present writer was in Venice in 1566, he went to visit Titian, and found him, old as he was, with his brush in his hand, painting, and he found great pleasure in seeing his works and talking with him.

Thus Titian, having adorned Venice, or rather Italy, and indeed other parts of the world, with the finest pictures, deserves to be loved and studied by artists, and in many things imitated, for he has done works worthy of infinite praise, which will last as long as illustrious men are remembered.

VASARI.
_Translated by E. L. Seeley._

THE ENCHANTED VOICE OF VENICE

Turner’s imagination dwelt always on three great cities, Carthage, Rome, and Venice--Carthage in connection especially with the thoughts and study which led to the painting of the Hesperides’ Garden, showing the death which attends the vain pursuit of wealth; Rome, showing the death which attends the vain pursuit of power; Venice, the death which attends the vain pursuit of beauty.

How strangely significative, thus understood, those last Venetian dreams of his become, themselves so beautiful and so frail; wrecks of all that they were once--twilights of twilight!

Vain beauty; yet not all in vain. Unlike in birth, how like in their labour, and their power over the future, these masters of England and Venice--Turner and Giorgione. But ten years ago I saw the last traces of the greatest works of Giorgione yet glowing, like a scarlet cloud, on the Fondaco de Tedeschi. And though that scarlet cloud (sanguigna e fiammeggiante, per cui le pitture cominciarono con dolce violenza a rapire il cuore delle genti) may, indeed, melt away into paleness of night, and Venice herself waste from her islands as a wreath of wind-driven foam fades from their weedy beach; that which she won of faithful light and truth shall never pass away. Deiphobe of the sea--the Sun God measures her immortality to her by its sand. Flushed, above the Avernus of the Adrian lake, her spirit is still seen holding the golden bough; from the lips of the Sea Sibyl men shall learn for ages yet to come what is most noble and most fair; and, far away, as the whisper in the coils of the shell, withdrawn through the deep hearts of nations, shall sound for ever the enchanted voice of Venice.

JOHN RUSKIN.

VENICE

Walk in St. Mark’s, the time and ample space
Lies in the freshness of the evening shade,
When, on each side, with gravely-darkened face,
The masses rise above the light arcade;
Walk down the midst with slowly-timèd pace,
But gay withal,--for there is high parade
Of fair attire and fairer forms, which pass
Like varying groups on a magician’s glass....

Walk in St. Mark’s again, some few hours after,
When a bright sleep is on each storied pile,--
When fitful music, and inconstant laughter,
Give place to Nature’s silent moonlight smile:
Now fancy wants no faery gale to waft her
To Magian haunt, or charm-engirdled isle,
All too content, in passive bliss, to see
This show divine is visible poetry.

On such a night as this impassionedly
The old Venetian sung those verses rare,
‘That Venice must of needs eternal be,
For heaven had looked through the pellucid air,
And cast its reflex in the crystal sea,
And Venice was the image pictured there;’
I hear them now, and tremble, for I seem
As treading on an unsubstantial dream.

Who talks of vanished glory, of dead power,
Of things that were, and are not? Is he here?
Can he take in the glory of this hour,
And call it all the decking of a bier?
No, surely as on that Titanic tower
The Guardian Angel stands in æther clear,
With the moon’s silver tempering his gold wing,
So Venice lives, as lives no other thing:

That strange cathedral! exquisitely strange;
That front, on whose bright varied tints the eye
Rests as on gems; those arches, whose high range
Gives its rich-broidered border to the sky;
Those ever-prancing steeds! My friend, whom change
Of restless will has led to lands that lie
Deep in the East, does not thy fancy set
Above these domes an airy minaret?

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES.

THE SPLENDOUR OF ST. MARK’S

The beautifull Church of Saint Marke doth of its owne accord as it were offer it selfe now to be spoken of. Which though it be but little, yet it is exceeding rich, and so sumptuous for the stateliness of the architecture, that I thinke very few in Christendome of the bignesse doe surpasse it.... The pavement of this Church is so passing curious, that I thinke no Church in Christendome can show the like. For the pavement of the body of the Church, the Quire, and the walkes round about before you come within the body, are made of sundry little pieces of Thasian, Ophiticall, and Laconicall marble in checker worke, and other most exquisite conveyances, and those, of many severall colours, that it is very admirable and rare to behold, the rarenesse such that it doth even amaze all strangers upon their first view thereof. The west front towards St. Marks street is most beautifull, having five severall partitions, unto which there belong as many brasen dores, whereof the middle, through which they usually go into the Church, is made of solid brasse, the other foure in the forme of latteise windowes. This front is very stately adorned with beautiful pillars of white marble, whereof in one part of the front, I told a hundred and two and fifty, in the higher two and forty. In all one hundred fourescore and fourteene. Some greater, some lesser. Some of one colour and some of another. At the sides of the great gate are eight rich pillars of porphyrie, foure in one side, and as many in another, whereof each would be worth twenty pound with us in England. Over the toppe of this middle gate is to be seene a very ancient and remarkable monument, foure goodly brasen horses made of Corinthian mettall, and fully as great as the life. These horses were brought to Venice in the time of their Duke Petrus Zanus, which was about the yeare 1206. Some say they were cast by Lysippus that singular statuary of Alexander the Great above three hundred years before Christ; some say that the Romans made them at what time Hiero King of Syracuse triumphed of the Parthians, and placed them in a certain arch that they dedicated to him. It is reported that Tyridates King of Armenia bestowed them on the Emperour Nero, when he was entertained in Rome with such pompous magnificence, as is mentioned by Tacitus and Suetonius. And that Constantine the Great brought them from Rome to Constantinople, and therehence they were lastly brought to Venice by the Venetians, when they possessed Constantinople. At what time they brought many other notable things from that City, for the better ornament both of their publique and private buildings. These horses are advanced on certain curious and beautifull pillars, to the end they may be more conspicuous and eminent to be seene of every person.... I observed another very memorable monument within the first great gate, which is betwixt that gate and the opposite brasen gate at the going into the body of the Church, which is also made of massy brasse, namely a great stone formed and cut according to the fashion of a diamond pavier, in the middle whereof is made a prety checker worke garnished with divers little pieces of marble of sundry colours. On this little worke which is in the middest of the said stone did Fredericus Barbarossa the Emperour lay downe his necke as a foote-stoole to Pope Alexander the third to treade upon it.... Over the gate as you passe into the body of the Church, is to be seene the picture of St. Marke (if at the least a man may properly call such a piece of work a picture) made most curiously with pieces of marble (as I conceive it) exceeding little, all gilt over in a kinde of worke very common in this Church, called Mosaicall worke. He is made looking up to heaven with his hands likewise elevated, and that wearing of a marvailous rich cope, under whom [an inscription] is written in faire letters.... On the right hand of the Church as you goe in, even at the south corner, there is a very faire little Chappel having a sumptuous Altar that is adorned with a very curious roofe, and two goodly pillars of Parian marble at the sides, of wonderfull faire workmanship, wherein are finely made clusters of grapes, and other borders exceeding well expressed. At both the endes of the Altar are made two great lyons in porphyrie, whereof that on the right hand leaneth a little child, the other on the left hand on a sheepe.... The pavement of this Chappel is made of diamond worke with marble of divers colours, and at the entrance a two leafed brasen gate. The inner walles of the Church are beautified with a great multitude of pictures gilt, and contrived in Mosaical worke, which is nothing else but a pretty kind of picturing consisting altogether of little pieces and very small fragments of gilt marble, which are square, and halfe as broade as the naile of a mans finger; of which pieces there concurreth a very infinite company to the making of these pictures. I never saw any of this kind of picturing before I came to Venice, nor ever either read or heard of it, of which Saint Marks Church is full in every wall and roofe. It is said that they imitate the Grecians in these Mosaical workes.... At the west end of the Church in the walke which is without the body, are three more of those Mosaical round roofes full of those pictures or effigies as the other within the Church, and another square, of a greater height than the rest, wherein is painted the Crosse of Christ ... foure Angels by the sides of it: And a little way farther two companies of Angels more, one on the right hand of the Crosse, and another on the left, with Lilies in their hands. Againe, in the north side of the Church wherein is another of those walkes without the body, are three more of those Mosaical vaulted roofes full of pictures, which doe make up the full number. Most of these pictures have either names, which expresse the same, or Latin Poesies in verse, or both made by them.... I saw in the body of the Church a very rich stone called an Agat, about two foote long, and as broad as the palme of a mans hand, which is valued at tenne thousand duckats at the least. This is on the right hand of the Church as you goe into the Quire from the West gate. The corners whereof I saw broken; which I heard happened by this meanes. A certaine Jew hid himselfe all night in a corner of this Church, and when all the gates were locked, he tried to pul up the stone with pinsers and some other instruments; but he failed in his enterprise, because the stone was so fast soldered into the ground that he could not with his cunning pull it up; being apprehended in the Church the next morning before he could make an evasion, he was presently hanged for his labour in St. Markes place....

The high Altar is very faire, but especially that inestimable rich table heretofore brought from Constantinople, which is above the Altar: that table is never shewed but onely upon some speciall feast day, being most commonly covered by certaine devices that they have, and another meaner table standeth usually upon it. This table is the fairest that ever I saw, which indeed I saw but once onely, upon the feast of our Ladies assumption, which was the fifth day of August: it is marvellous richly wrought in gold, and silver, with many curious little images, such as we call in Latin imagunculæ or icunculæ. And the upper part of it most sumptuously adorned with abundance of pretious stones of great value that doe exceedingly beautifie the worke. I think it is worth at least ten thousand pounds. Over this Altar is a most beautiful concamerated roofe of rich Ophiticall marble, and supported with foure passing faire pillars at the corners made of Parian marble, wherein are very artifically represented many histories of the old and new Testament. In this Quire I saw two and twenty goodly Candlestickes, hanged up with chains, the fairest that ever I saw. At both sides of it are two exceeding faire payre of Organes, whose pipes are silver, especially those on the left hand as you come in from the body of the Church, having the brasen winged Lyon of S. Mark on the top, and the images of two Angels at the sides.... The last notable thing that is in the Church ... is the treasure of Saint Marke, kept in a certaine Chappell in the south side of the Church neere to the stately porch of the Dukes Palace. But here methinks I use the figure _hysteron proteron_, in that I conclude my tract of St. Markes Church with that which was worthiest to be spoken of at the beginning. For this treasure is of that inestimable value, that it is thought no treasure whatsoever in any one place of Christendome may compare with it.... Here they say is kept marveilous abundance of rich stones of exceeding worth, as Diamonds, Carbuncles, Emerauds, Chrysolites, Jacinths, and great pearles of admirable value: also three Unicorns hornes; an exceeding great Carbuncle which was bestowed upon the Senate by the Cardinall Grimannus, and a certaine Pitcher adorned with great variety of pretious stones, which Usumcassanes King of Persia bestowed upon the Signiory, with many other things of wonderful value.