Venice
VENICE, which has no counterpart in the world, is a city of all others in which one can linger on in a dream taking no count of time. The days run into weeks, these spread themselves into months, and it becomes more and more difficult to tear oneself away from the entrancing “Mistress of the Seas,” from her Cathedral and all her other marvellous buildings; from her seductive gondolas and silent canals; from her picture galleries, and alas! from the fragrant coffee we sip idling away the time under the colonnade outside Florian’s in the Piazza.
Well, the seductive cup is drained and while our cigarette is alight let us look round. Directly opposite to us, on the north side of this grand square, stretches the long colonnade of the Procuratie Vecchie, built early in the sixteenth century as a habitation for the procurators of S. Mark. It is one of the best examples of early Renaissance architecture in Italy; nobler, simpler than the Procuratie Nuove where we sit, which was built in the last quarter of the same century. An arcaded building in the classical style erected by Napoleon in 1810 connects the western extremities of the two Procuratie. It is a pity that this great Renaissance Piazza should be completed by an inferior bit of modern work instead of such a brilliant gem of the Renaissance style as Sansovino’s Libreria Vecchia—at present invisible to us round the corner. To this building, which faces the Doge’s Palace, no higher tribute could be given than to say that its perfection fairly distracts the admiration of the onlooker from the wonderful Gothic pile before it.
But all this is Hamlet without the Prince. It is time to leave the shadow of the arches, to step out into the open, and to surrender ourselves to the spell of the great church which draws one with an irresistible fascination from the first moment we set foot in the Piazza. S. Mark’s rises bounding the vision at the eastern end of the great square with its gorgeous façade and cool grey domes. So rich is the colouring and so strange the outline that one wonders almost whether architecture has not passed here into the sister art of painting.
Yes, there stands a building surpassingly fascinating, unique and outside all comparison with any other church in the country. Planned as a Greek Cross, like S. Sophia at Constantinople, it is reminiscent of the East far more than any building in the peninsula, or even in Sicily where some with direct Arab influence still exist. The great traders of Venice who lavished their wealth on its decoration, and whose every homeward bound ship brought back from the Orient a choice column, a rare piece of marble, or some such thing as a contribution towards its making, helped to raise it bit by bit until the wonderful church grew to be what we find it to-day, the most seductive ecclesiastical fabric in Italy.
It was not until the year 1807 that S. Mark’s became the Cathedral church of Venice. Before this date the Patriarchal seat was the church of S. Pietro di Castello, and S. Mark’s simply the chapel attached to the Doge’s Palace. In 828 the body of the Evangelist, stolen from Alexandria, was brought to Venice and S. Theodore the tutelary saint deposed to make way for a more important patron. S. Mark’s remains were then placed in a church which was destroyed by fire in 976. The following year saw the first stone laid of a building which is perhaps the most interesting in Christendom; but it was not until eighty years had passed that the walls were finished, and seventy more gone by before it was consecrated. The interior sustaining walls are brick, and are lined with marble or covered with mosaics and decorated with every sort of inlay. The tout ensemble of this is an extraordinarily harmonious mixture of styles which compels unceasing admiration.
Standing at the west end of the Piazza one sees, almost stretching across the further side, a marvellous façade of deep shadowed arches; the tympanums seem to sparkle with jewels; the arches are supported by what appears to be a forest of columns, orderly in rank, receding into the shadow. Above, to give quality to this shade, is a flat surface that runs from end to end of the façade, broken by a central semicircular window, and crowned with Gothic turrets, crocketed finials and angels with wings outspread. Then, surmounting all are five wondrous domes, Oriental in themselves, so overpoweringly Oriental that the eye, unable at this distance to discriminate, telegraphs to the brain the magic words—“The East!” Spoils from the East, from Greece, from Syria, from Egypt; mosaics of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, bronze horses of Roman origin, Gothic saints under canopied turrets, flag poles with the crimson banner and golden Lion of S. Mark, all arranged without disorder, but all succumbing to the majesty of the marvellous domes. More Eastern than European is the Venetian’s love of colour, and this is the note most deeply impressed on the mind with regard to S. Mark’s—five grey domes, a foil to the brilliant mosaics and many-hued marble columns and walls below, but blending with them so subtly that the whole is one gorgeous chromatic scale.
The effect of the blazing sun pouring down on the façade at midday, casting deep shadows under the arches, is very fine. Again, in the evening when the domes are alight with the last rays of the dying orb and the great Piazza is in cool shade, the glories of the wonderful fabric assume a dramatic effect which becomes almost tragic as the light disappears and everything subsides into a monotone. Colour begets more subtlety in grey weather; every note that might jar on the eye is then diffused among the quieter tones around, and for this reason the pearly sky of a grey day was chosen to depict S. Mark’s. The great campanile which fell to the ground on July 14, 1902, is now in course of re-erection. For some years past the necessary but hideous hoarding at its base has interfered with the beauty of the Piazza. The illustration does not show this but depicts the length of the façade, with the beautiful Porta della Carta and corner of the Doge’s Palace beyond.
The lowest portion of the façade is formed as a vestibule with seven arches, the last one of which at each end is open through. All the columns and their capitals (spoils from the East) are of much older date than the building. Very few of these capitals fit the abacus on which they rest; most of them are exquisitely carved with foliage free from all imagery. The central arch is larger than the others. Under it is a grand door of forty-eight bronze panels inlaid with silver. The workmanship of the other doors which flank this is also very fine. The intricate Byzantine carving above these forms a scheme of decoration wherein figures, birds, beasts and arabesques run in a perfect riot of fanciful design. The vaulting of the vestibule is covered with mosaics of different periods. Those of the twelfth century are concerned with the Creation of the Firmament and the Creation of Life; the story of Adam and Eve continued on to the Deluge and Noah; the tragedy of Cain and Abel; Joseph’s dream, Pharaoh and the story of Moses. The general scheme throughout is of white figures, mostly nude, on a green ground. Although not in any way comparable to the earlier mosaics at Ravenna, these are far better in style and true feeling for the enrichment of a flat surface than those of later date in the lunettes above the façade arches. Here the raison d’être of mosaic has been made subservient to an attempt to imitate the shades and gradations of an oil painting. The most important of these later mosaics is that which was executed from a design by Titian by the brothers Zuccati in the sixteenth century, wherein S. Mark appears in pontifical robes. It is above the centre door. On the pavement beneath is a red and white lozenge of marble marking the spot where Pope Alexander III. and Barbarossa were reconciled in July 1177, through the intervention of the Venetian Republic. Many inscribed slabs of marble bearing legends in Greek and Syriac, and Roman bas-reliefs, are let into the walls of the vestibule, evidence of offerings towards the building of the fabric. All the archivolts of the five large arches are decorated with symbolic carvings; the most interesting being that of the main entrance, where a charmingly quaint story illustrative of peasant life in the twelve months of the year tells in a realistic way the labours of those who till the soil. February with a little figure sitting at a fire warming his hands is particularly naïve.
On the south, S. Mark’s joins the Doge’s Palace by means of the Porta della Carta. At the base of a column which stands in an angle of the wall are four porphyry figures of knights in chain mail with arms round one another’s necks. This group is supposed to have come from Acre. Detached from the main building, and not far from its south-west corner, are two short rectangular columns with Greek inscriptions. They were brought from the church of S. Saba at Ptolemais in 1256. Amongst other interesting spoils there is a slab let into the north wall on which Ceres, holding a torch in each hand, appears drawn in a chariot by two dragons. It seems to be a very early Persian work. But the best known, and certainly the finest gift the exterior of the building can boast, is that of the four bronze horses which stand over the principal entrance. Sent from Constantinople in 1204 by order of the Doge Dandolo as part of the spoils of victory when that city fell to the arms of the Venetians in the fourth Crusade, these horses at one time adorned the triumphal arch of Nero in Rome. Both Domitian and Trajan transferred them in turn to arches of their own; and Constantine conveyed them across the seas to his new capital in the East, where he also put them up over an arch. In 1797, when the Republic of Venice was no more, Napoleon took these already much-travelled horses from S. Mark’s façade to Paris and placed them on the top of the Arc du Carrousel. After the peace in 1815 the Austrian Emperor, Francis I. caused them to be returned to their former position, and there they remain to-day.
Three doors open into the cathedral from the vestibule, and two on the north side. The interior strikes one at first as being very dark; but when the eye becomes accustomed to the half-light and is familiar with everything within, this wears off, and the senses are rather soothed than otherwise by the mystic gloom. Indeed, it is a great relief to find oneself inside out of the glare of the Piazza, and, seated in a corner perhaps, quietly contemplating the grand mosaics which cover the vaulting from end to end. It is quite impossible to describe these adequately in a short chapter which deals with other things as well, but noting them in guide-book fashion one observes that those in the aisles on either side of the main entrance depict the Acts and Miracles of the Apostles. On the vaulting of the dome which forms, so to speak, the foot of the Greek cross, is the Descent of the Holy Ghost. The great central dome is covered by twelfth-century mosaics of the Ascension, and the vault between this and the first dome with Christ’s Passion and Resurrection. The vaulting of the two domes which compose the arms of the cross is decorated by work of later date; that on the north with the history of S. John, and that on the south with the saints. The chapel of S. John which is in the north transept was converted in the seventeenth century into one dedicated to the Miraculous Virgin of Constantinople. In the south transept also a rededication has taken place; the chapel of S. Leonard being turned into that of the Holy Sacrament.
Behind the gorgeous marble screen which divides the presbytery from the body of the church the high altar rises beneath a canopy of verde antico borne by four columns. Two of these columns are eleventh century and are elaborately carved in courses of innumerable figures. They came from Pola when Venice subdued Istria, and are much more interesting than the other two of a later date; the remains of S. Mark rest within this magnificent shrine. On the screen itself stand the Evangelist, the twelve Apostles, and Mary.
At the back of the high altar is the Pala d’Oro, the greatest treasure the cathedral possesses, and the most celebrated golden altarpiece in existence. The upper part came from Constantinople in 976, the lower about the middle of the fourteenth century. It is composed of eighty-three panels of Greek and Byzantine design filled with enamelled figures, studded with uncut gems and precious stones, and covered with Greek and Latin inscriptions. More gorgeous than that of S. Ambrogio in Milan, this magnificent piece of goldsmith’s art glitters and sparkles in a wonderful manner when lit up by the candles used at high mass, and is without doubt the most splendid ecclesiastical treasure in Italy.
The fifth or eastern dome which is over the presbytery is covered with mosaics representing Christ and the Prophets, and one that is hardly visible of S. Mark is on the walls of the east end. The great figure of Christ faces the church and in its simplicity is very impressive.
The gallery, which is where the triforium would be in a Gothic building, runs round the whole cathedral and is pierced on its inner side only. The walls at the back and above are decorated with more mosaic work dealing with acts of martyrdom, and the Translation and Recovery of the Body of the Lord. When stray beams of sunlight find their way through the openings in the domes and pass along the gold background, lighting up in odd places small portions of these wonderful tesseræ pictures, the effect is very beautiful. All the angles of this mosaic work are rounded off and the travelling rays glinting first on one golden corner, then on another, are strangely attractive to eyes accustomed to the greater architectural severity of a northern clime. The well-chosen slabs that line the lower portions of the cathedral walls have taken to themselves a sombre, dusky hue, a pale velvety brown, but there can be no doubt that in their pristine state they realised in their splendour the Venetian’s love of colour.
The strange pulpit, which with part of the rood screen seen in the illustration stands to the north of the steps leading into the presbytery, is arranged in a double tier, and is entered by a double winding stair from the vestibule of the Capella de S. Pietro. Its curious domed sounding-board is very reminiscent of the East. Mention has already been made of the chapels of the Miraculous Virgin and S. Leonard. That dedicated to S. Peter is behind this pulpit on the north side of the presbytery. It has a door leading out into the piazza. The corresponding chapel to the south is dedicated to S. Clement. At the end of the north transept is another to S. Isidore—a dark, solemn little place. The sacristy is beyond the chapel of S. Peter at the back of the presbytery. It is a fine apartment with mosaics from designs by Titian and his pupils, which may be studied as a good example of Renaissance decoration in tesseræ. Sansovino, who executed the beautiful door, is said to have had it in hand for twenty years.
The baptistery is entered from the south aisle, and with the adjoining Cappella Zeno is one of the most interesting parts of S. Mark’s. In the former is the monument and sarcophagus of Doge Andrea Dandolo, who died in 1354. It is a grand specimen of the sculpture of the age. The recumbent figure of the Doge, who was the last to be buried in S. Mark’s, is very serene in its realisation of the Last Sleep. All the mosaics the chamber contains were given and paid for by Andrea. Most of them naturally relate to the Holy Rite. The font is very ancient, and has a fine bronze cover designed by Sansovino and surmounted by a statuette of S. John the Baptist. A very beautiful low relief of four crossed swords which compose a cross, with birds beneath, is let into one of the walls. On the vaulted roof of the Cappella Zeno, the life of the Evangelist, whose body at first rested here, is well depicted in a series of mosaics. The centre of the chapel is occupied by the tomb of Cardinal Zeno, who left the bulk of his immense fortune to S. Mark’s. The altar stands under a bronze canopy covering figures of Our Lady (who wears a gilded shoe), S. Peter, and S. John the Baptist. The legend runs that the Virgin gave her bronze shoe once to a poor votary and it was immediately turned into gold. From this incident the chapel, which became the Cardinal’s Mausoleum, is also known as that of the Madonna della Scarpa.
Venice possesses nearly seventy churches, but of these only the two most celebrated can be mentioned in this chapter. They are SS. Giovanni e Paolo, and the Frari. The former had its origin in the great preaching Order of S. Dominic, and the latter in that of S. Francis. These saints, bound by vows of poverty, went forth preaching humility, and so great a meed of success did they attain, that we find throughout the country, as a result of their crusade, huge churches like these built to hold large congregations. In Venice both Orders had their following among different patrician families, who were mainly responsible for the monetary assistance the Orders received, and who therefore acquired a sort of prescriptive right to burial space within the holy walls they had helped to raise. For this reason the tombs we find in SS. Giovanni e Paolo and the Frari are not only an epitome of the rulers of Venice, but in them can be traced from the earliest Gothic the different styles of Venetian decorative art as exemplified in her sepulchral monuments.
SS. Giovanni e Paolo is a fine brick building of early Italian Gothic, which was commenced in 1246 and finished in 1390. Its length is three hundred and thirty feet, its width at the transepts one hundred and forty-three, and in the nave ninety-one feet. From this it will be seen that the transepts are short. The spacious nave has five bays, the arches of which are supported by single columns of grey stone with simple floral capitals. The vaulting, as is usual in Italian Gothic, is low. The galleried triforium has small outlets into the church, and a clerestory of pointed lights in groups of three has taken the place of much larger single windows. The aisles are narrow. The apsidal choir is architecturally very striking. From a few feet above the floor rise the long narrow windows of the apse reaching up beyond the base of the vaulting and giving an idea of immense height. The glass they contain is, however, very crude; and, unfortunately, a terrible pink wash covers the walls, so pink that the beauty of the architectural features is considerably marred. The choice of material and the selection of colour has more to do with the success or failure of a building than is generally realised. The transepts, nave, and aisles are coloured grey, and harmonise with the stone columns mentioned above, and with the monuments of faintly tinted marble which crowd the walls of the aisles.
Among the most notable tombs are those of the Mocenigo family, a family which possessed the whole of the west wall of the church, and whose monuments almost cover it. Of the three equestrian tombs that are in the church, pride of place must be given to the one put there to Niccolo Orsini, who commanded the Republic’s forces in the war against the League of Cambray. The gilded group of the general and his horse above the sarcophagus is full of life and vigour. The simple but very beautiful tomb of Paolo Loudan, on which his recumbent figure in full chain mail lies stretched, is a fine work of the middle of the fourteenth century.
The grand monument to Andrea Vendramin, who died in 1478, and who was the first of the new nobility to be elevated to the position of sovereign, is the most refined example of a Renaissance tomb in Venice. The Doge lies, with face turned towards the spectator, on a couch supported by eagles. Behind him are pages and other attendants. The carving and arabesques of the canopy and its supports, into which notes symbolical of naval power are crowded, though extremely intricate, are very pure in style. In the lunette beneath the arch kneels the Doge, who is being recommended to Our Lady by S. Mark. Opposite to this beautiful tomb is the Gothic memorial to Doge Michele Morosini, who died in 1382. The background of the central portion is a good mosaic of the Crucifixion, in front of which the aquiline features of the recumbent Duke are very prominent. The niches on either side are filled with figures of different saints, and the whole is surmounted by S. Michael with the Dragon.
The exterior of the church, especially the apse, which rises without a single buttress, is very impressive. A good Gothic portal occupies the centre of the unfinished west façade, which is flanked by thirteenth-century sarcophagi let into niches in the walls. Close by, and occupying one side of the Campo in which the church stands, is the Scuola di S. Marco. This building, now a hospital, was erected in 1485 by Martino Lombardi, and is noteworthy for the curiously conceived façade that faces the square. This is composed of richly coloured marble divided into panels, on which in low relief different buildings are seen in acute perspective. They recall the same sort of decoration which prevails in the frescoes at Pompeii, but so cleverly did Lombardi arrange his scheme that their absolute falsity in no way detracts from the general design of the building.
In front of the façade stands the magnificent equestrian statue to that prince of condottieri whose mausoleum at Bergamo has already been mentioned, Bartolommeo Colleoni. A man amongst men, stern, defiant and resourceful, his grand figure embodies all that a leader in troublous times should be. Firmly gripping his saddle, he sits his horse with head thrown back and a face which betokens the masterful haughtiness of the man. The group was designed by Leonardo da Vinci’s master, Andrea Verrocchio, and finished by Alessandro Leopardi. It vies with Donatello’s equestrian group of Gattamelata at Padua in being perhaps the best Italian Renaissance statue extant.
The Frari is a church which grew out of the accumulated funds of the Franciscans, whose enormous monastery, now holding the municipal archives, adjoins it. This great church was commenced in 1250 and finished in 1338, and contains the monuments and tombs of some of the city’s rulers, as well as many of the Venetian nobility who in bygone days made their names famous in its annals. The west façade has a simple Gothic doorway and four round windows, one of which, larger than the others, is above the figure of Christ that occupies the apex of the arch. Like SS. Giovanni e Paolo the east end is architecturally the most interesting part of the fabric. Two flights of lofty windows with exceedingly good tracery admit light into the apse. This has been continued south by later additions as far as the wall of the transept. The transept being thus enlarged has four apsidal chambers that form a pleasing sequence to the big eastern apse. The exterior of the church, when viewed from the little Campo S. Rocco outside the east end, composes extremely well. The four small apses lead up to the big one, behind which and beyond the roof line one sees the great Campanile rising over the north transept. The Frari is built of brick with a simple decorative feature in the form of a course of Venetian Gothic at the top.
Owing to subsidence of the foundations the interior is now undergoing extensive repair. The nave is very lofty, with single columns of grey stone that have floral capitals. The groining ribs of the vault are of red brick and the arches of the bays are grey stone. Two of the nave columns are massively constructed of brick, and form with the brick walls of the aisles and the grey colour of the stone a very charming scheme. The choir occupies the last two bays of the nave, and as is the case in the cathedrals of Spain, is cut off from the body of the church by a rood screen. The portion of this which is in the nave is debased Renaissance, but that in the aisles is earlier and much better. The choir stalls are very finely carved and decorated with superb intarsia work. The little door by which the canons enter the choir is particularly good in this respect, with a beauty much enhanced by the design on the doorposts. Round these cling vines and grape clusters. The clerestory consists of round windows with double lights, but there is no triforium. Among the most interesting monuments are those erected to Beato Pacifico, the Franciscan architect of the church, which is in the south transept, and one to Titian in the south aisle. His masterpiece of the Assumption, now in the Accademia delle Belle Arti, was painted for the Frari.
The domestic architecture of Venice is far more interesting than that with which we have just dealt. Peculiar to Venetia, it is the outcome of that period when, the city’s trade being well established in northern climes, new ideas and fashions travelled back from countries over the great mountain chain and began to commingle with the older traditions of the East. Not only on the Grand Canal, but in many of the quiet byways of the Silent City, one comes across beautiful examples of that entrancing style of façade, the Venetian Gothic.
As the gondola glides swiftly over the waters of the great highway of Venice there comes into sight a group of palaces which occupies the only real angle of the Grand Canal. This group is formed of the celebrated houses built by the Foscari and Giustiniani families, and is somewhat in the style of the Doge’s Palace, the first-named being contemporary with it. The flat brick façades are broken by rows of elegant windows, some with, some without balconies. The deeply-recessed arcading of the central lights of the first and second storeys gives just the right amount of shade to an otherwise flat surface, which the windows above and at either side only slightly relieve. A course of white marble edging and heavy foundations of enormous blocks of the same give solidity, and most beautifully frame the pale-red brick of which the Venetians were so fond. Rows of pali, or posts, painted with the colours of the owner, serve as a dock for waiting gondolas. The water of the canal, never quiescent, is a puzzle for the painter who would study reflections. The tide ebbs and flows on the great highway, the convenient but hideous steamboat rushes by, gondolas groan and creak against their moorings, and a kaleidoscope of ever-changing shapes and colours well-nigh drives him to despair.
Further up the Grand Canal is a very ornate palace, the Ca d’Oro, with angles softened by three twisted columns instead of the more usual one in this type of building. Its façade was designed by Giovanni and Bartolommeo Buon, who built the Piazzetta in front of the Doge’s Palace. At one time it was entirely covered with gilt—hence the name. Down near the Salute, where the canal opens out to the sea, are the Palazzo da Mula and the fascinating little Palazzo Contarini-Fasan, with its lovely traceried balconies. These are all Venetian Gothic. Of other styles the Byzantine Palazzi, da Mosto and Loudan, the latter Byron’s Venetian home, and the Renaissance Palazzi, Rezzonico, where Browning lived, Camerlanghi, Manzoni, with a frieze of eagles, Pesaro, and Dario, with plaques of coloured marble on its façade, are the most celebrated. Most of them are cracking and bulging, and more than one owes its present existence to the iron clamps which hold it together. It is much to be feared that the utilitarian steamboat and ever-increasing motor-boat traffic will sooner or later be responsible for the destruction of many a beautiful building, the foundations of which were never intended to withstand the strain of the great extra wash it creates.
In a safer position than most is the Doge’s Palace, that magnificent construction which almost distracts attention from S. Mark’s by its side.
The first building to be constructed for the rulers of Venice stood on the site of the Palace and was erected in 813. Fire subsequently destroyed it and also the edifice which replaced the smoking ruins. The present building was commenced in 1301 and save for the outer walls was almost gutted in 1574 and 1577. Palladio, the foremost architect of the day, contended that it would be dangerous to attempt any reconstruction unless these walls were demolished, and it speaks volumes for the good taste of the Senate that his scheme for pulling them down and putting up another palace in his own hard classic style was not adopted. The exterior as we see it is almost entirely due to the talented family of Buon—Giovanni, the father, and his two sons, Pantaleone and Bartolommeo. It is, however, much to be regretted that while restoring the façades this celebrated family of tajapieri, or stonecutters, did not adhere to the level and beautiful design of the two windows which escaped the fire at the east end of the façade that looks over the Riva degli Schiavoni out to sea. The short massive columns of the lower colonnade give an idea of immense strength to the great flat space above. The capitals of these stunted columns are extremely interesting. The Virtues and Vices find places amidst their foliage, as do the most famous of Rome’s Emperors and Philosophers, the signs of the Zodiac and many other symbols. Twisted shafts, one of the types of Venetian Gothic, terminate the three angles of the upper part of the two façades. Their bases are composed of sculptured groups. The angle nearest to S. Mark’s has the Archangel Michael with the Judgment of Solomon below him. The next, at the south-west corner, is a group of Adam and Eve with Gabriel above. In the last, Noah, drunk with wine, is being covered by two of his sons, and above them is S. Raphael with Tobias, who holds a fish.
A noble window and pierced balcony of early fifteenth-century work occupies the centre of the upper arcade which faces the sea. This beautiful window and marble balcony open out from the great Sala Maggiore Consiglio. Above the moulding of the window is a figure of Justice, and below in flanking niches are SS. Peter, Paul and Mark; Faith, Hope and Charity; and the four Cardinal Virtues. A fine loggia, with cusped arches and quatrefoils above, runs round both the exposed sides of the Palace. The plan of the building is an irregular square with a great courtyard inside. The courtyard is Renaissance, the east side being a particularly good example of a period when the wealth of Venice was lavished on her buildings.
In the north-east corner of this court and opposite to the Porta della Carta, is the famous Scala dei Giganti, erected by Rizzio in 1483. At the head of this magnificent Staircase of the Giants, the Doges were crowned with the Cap of Authority. From it an open corridor runs right and left. On the right the Scala d’Oro ascends to the second floor. Only those whose names were inscribed in the Libro d’Oro were permitted to use this stairway, which led to that portion of the Palace occupied by the Doges and their attendant nobles. The continuous suite of magnificent apartments through which the visitor wanders seem full of emptiness and sadly want the stately figures and quaint dress, the sonorous voices and courtly manners of the bygone age that once peopled them and made them live. The gorgeously gilded and coloured ceilings become not only oppressive from their magnificence, but wearisome by their repetition; and despite the great traditions that cling to the Palace and the remembrance of the history made within these chambers, it is with a sigh of relief that one steps out on to the balcony where Justice holds the Scales above our head, and drinks in the balmy air that floats in over the lagoons keeping Venice pure and sweet.
Outside on the Riva at the end of the Piazzetta are two columns of granite that were brought to Venice in 1180 by Doge Michiel. One came from Syria, the other from Constantinople. On the capital of one is the Winged Lion of S. Mark, the emblem of Venice’s patron saint; an emblem which is to be found in every city in the country that owned allegiance to the Doge’s rule. On the other is a figure of S. Theodore, who stands over a crocodile. S. Theodore, it will be remembered, was the tutelary saint of Venice before his deposition on the arrival of S. Mark’s body; but this statue was not put up on the monolith until the year 1329. These two great columns look across the water to the isle of S. Giorgio Maggiore, where Palladio’s great church stands in its chilly splendour. Beyond are the lagoons and the open sea. The marble-paved landing-stage on which they stand is from one point of view the most interesting part of Venice. On it her great traders and merchants gathered when the long-expected ships from the East came into sight; and as they swept proudly up the channels and dropped anchor opposite, one can well imagine the excitement of the thankful owners who would in a few minutes go on board and learn of the success or failure of the long voyage just ended.
The oldest part of Venice lies across the Rialto bridge, on the island of Rivo Alto, where the fish and vegetable markets now are. As this little town grew more prosperous a wooden bridge, replaced in 1588 by the present one, was built to connect Rivo Alto with the island opposite; and by degrees the seventy-two islands on which the city is built became absorbed within her borders. It must never be forgotten that Venice, until connected with the mainland by a railway bridge, always faced the sea, which, as Grant Allen writes, was the front door.
Long before the Venice of Rivo Alto came into being, there was a flourishing little city not many miles away on the island of Torcello. At the time when Attila and his Huns descended on the Roman colony of Aquileia and wrought devastation throughout that flourishing outpost of the world’s greatest city, many of the inhabitants, leaving their desolate homes to the mercy of the invader, fled to the swamps and islands at the estuaries of the rivers Po, Adige, and Brenta. Amidst these dismal surroundings the greater number found refuge on the island of Torcello. From Torcello the refugees in time pushed out to the surrounding islands, and an important station was established on Rivo Alto. Thus began Venice; and from this little island grew that great Republic, the Mistress of the Seas, which down to the time of the French Revolution had never seen a conquering host enter its waterways.
As early as 641 Torcello possessed a cathedral. This was rebuilt in 874, and parts of the structure were later on incorporated into the building which stands to-day just as it did when finished in the early eleventh century by Bishop Orseolo. Its architectural interest lies in its being an Italian church on strict Byzantine lines, and it is one of the earliest examples of cultivated native art. Its exterior possesses the simplicity of all early work and stands up like a great barrack, with its campanile a landmark for miles over the dreary waste of waters. The interior is very austere and cold. The bays on either side of the nave separate it from the aisles. The columns that support the round arches are a light grey marble; the capitals, Corinthianized Byzantine. The clerestory lights, which are placed just under the roof, are on the south side only, those on the north having been blocked up at some remote period. The south aisle is lit by narrow round-headed windows, each of which has a great marble shutter slab on the outside still swinging in its marble socket—a reminiscence of Ancient Rome, and one that exists in the Roman butchers’ shops of to-day. A rood-screen shuts off the choir, the four panels of it facing the nave are particularly fine examples of the art of the early eleventh century. The two centre panels have each a couple of peacocks with necks outstretched feeding on foliage; and in the two outer two lions are sculptured in perspective, a rather unusual thing for so early a work. These panels support six elegant columns, which in their turn hold a series of painted panels of wood of the fourteenth century on which the Madonna and twelve Apostles are represented. A very fine pulpit, with reading-desk below, is to the north of the screen. It has an interesting bas-relief at the base, reconstructed in the twelfth century.
Behind the high altar, under which rest the remains of S. Eliodorus, is the tribune. This part of the church is unique. The apse is arranged in eight semicircular rows of seats, occupied at one time by the lesser clergy, in the centre of which, elevated to a position just under the small eastern light, is the bishop’s throne. The throne is approached by a dozen steps separated from the rows of seats by a marble wall. The seats in times gone by were white marble, but have been recently restored and are now of brick. Despite their present warm colour, the damp chilliness of this beautiful little church strikes a mournful note hardly relieved by the flaring red brick, or the gorgeous tone of the mosaics which cover the vaulting of the choir and apse.
In the semi-dome of the apse a dignified Madonna and Child gaze serenely below, with white-robed Apostles ranged round. The mosaics, however, which cover the west wall are of greater artistic interest, being of the ninth century. They illustrate the narrative of early Christian tradition and are divided into five bands carrying out its ideas. The marvellous tessellated floor of the cathedral has withstood, in a wonderful manner, the damp and ravages of time, but, like that of S. Mark’s, is very uneven. There is an air of decay and long oblivion about the whole building that nothing can efface.
Outside, and joined to the cathedral by a cloistered walk, is the church of Sta. Fosca. Originally a basilica of the ninth century, this much dilapidated little edifice was rebuilt in 1008 in the shape of a Greek cross. A rotunda occupies the centre, inside which runs a grey pillared arcade built to support a dome that was never constructed. There are three apses; the middle one has two rows of blind arcading with ornamental brickwork above. A brick loggia, covered with whitewash, is outside, and connects with the cloister and the cathedral. Sta. Fosca suffered martyrdom at Ravenna her native city, and her remains were brought here, and this now damp ruinous little church built around them.
On the green grass of the little piazza, which one can hardly realise was once the focus of a thriving city, stands an ancient stone chair called “The Throne of Attila.” It most probably was used at the inauguration ceremony of Torcello’s chief magistrates. A column of later date is beside it, and behind them, occupying one side of this deserted square, is the Palazzo del Commune, a building of the thirteenth century, now used as the museum wherein are gathered all the relics of Torcello’s ancient glory that time unearths. As the gondola carries one back to Venice it threads deserted canals, and passes under many a bridge the voussoirs of which are the only remaining stones of structures that spanned the water and connected the islands over which a populous civilisation spread itself. Save for the “quack” of an occasional duck hidden in the reeds of the marsh and the garrulity of the gondolier all is silence and solitude. A vast sky above but adds to the feeling of desolation, as, level with the water’s edge, we skim along. Who can tell whether Venice herself one day may not become what fascinating though dreary Torcello now is!