On this page
-
Text (1)
-
Untitled Article
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
-
-
Transcript
-
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
Additionally, when viewing full transcripts, extracted text may not be in the same order as the original document.
Untitled Article
their shores , all the richness and refinement of the Venetian architecture must have been exchanged for the walls and bulwarks of an ordinary 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 the ebb , in landing without setting foot upon the lower and slippery steps ; and the highest tides sometimes enter the courtyards , and overflow 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 havo been widened , its network of canals filled up , and all the peculiar character of the place and the people destroyed . "
"We must own , that after reading such , grand writing as that , we felt an unpleasant revulsion at finding ourselves , in the succeeding sentences , plunged into the platitudes of vulgar theology . Buskin is fond—somewhat too fond—of dragging in theological views as condiments ; sometimes they are elevated—religious ; sometimes they are distressingly commonplace , as in this instance : — " The reader may perhaps have felt some pain in the contrast between this faithful view of the site of the Venetian Throne , and the romantic 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 . "
Now , the idea of a reader congratulating himself on having " an instance of the inscrutableness , " as well as of the " wisdom of God "—as if instances were rare , and as if such an instance were peculiarly luminous and convincing !^ -is an idea we do not wonder at , on meeting it in a sermon , or amid the droning platitudes of a theological dissertation ; but in a writer of Ruslcin ' s power and novelty it is singularly discordant . Does he doubt the inscrutableness or the wisdom , that he deems it necessary to bring forward such evidence ? Let us quit this subject ; the atmosphere is hot with the breath of not very wholesome chapels ! we will get outside once more , and breathe that of Nature . Here , for instance , is a small paragraph , winding up a description of the fallen splendour of a once famous spot : —
" Yet the power of Mature cannot be shortened by the folly , nor her beauty altogether saddened by the misery , of man . The broad tides still ebb and flow brightly about the island of the dead , and the linked conclave of the Alps know no decline from their old pre-eminence , nor stoop from their golden thrones in the circle of the horizon . So lovely is the scene still , in spite of all its injuries , that we shall find ourselves drawn there again and again at evening out of the narrow canals and streets of the city , to watch the wreaths of the sea-mists weaving themselves like mourning veils around the mountains far away , and listen to the green waves as they fret and sigh along the cemetery shore . " It is a little poem ! Now , let us accompany him , and enter St . Mark ' s : —
. " We will push fast throug h 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 .
" And well may they fall back , for beyond those troops of ordered arches thero rises a vision out of the earth , and all the great square seems to have opened from it in a kind of awe , that wo may see it far away;—a multitude of pillars and white domes , clustered into a long low pyramid of coloured light ; a treasure-heap , it fleems , 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 involved , 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 , seeptcred , and robed to the feet , and leaning to each other across the pates , their figures indistinct among the gleaming of the golden ground through the leaves beside them , interrupted and dim , lil < o the morning light as it faded buck among the branches of Eden , when fir . ^ t 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 , Cleopatra-like , ' their bluest veins to kiss '—the shadow , as it steals back from them , revealing line afler lino of azure undulation , as a receding tide loaves the waved sand ; their capitals rich with interwoven tracery , rooted knots of herbage , and drifting leaves of acanthus and vine , and mystical signs , all beginning and ending in the Cross ; and above thorn , in tlio broad archivolta , a continuous chain of language and of life—angels , and the signs of heaven , and tlio labours of men , each in its appointed season upon tlio earth ; and above those , another rango of glittering pinnacles , mixed with white arches edged with scarlet flowers—a confusion of delight ' , amidst which tho breasts of tho droek horses are Been blazing in their breadth of golden strength , and tho St . Mark ' s Lion , lifted on a blue field covered with stars , until at last , as if in eestacy , tho crests of tho arches break into n marblo foam , and tons themselves far into tlio blue sky in flashes and wreaths of sculptured spray , as if the breakers on tho I / ido shorn had been frost-bound before they fell and the sen-nymphs had inlaid them with coral and amethyst .
" Between that grim cathedral of hnglnud and this , what an interval ! There in n typo of it in tlio very birds that haunt , them ; for , instead of tho restless crowd , hoarse-voiced and sable-winged , drifting on tho bleak upper air , tbo St . Mark ' s porches are full of doves , that nestle among the marble foliage , and mingle tho soft iridescence- of thoir living p lumes , changing at every motion , with tho tints , hard ly Jess lovely , that have stood unchanged for novon hundred yearn . " And what effect bus this splendour on those who pass lienouth it ? You may walk from minriuo fo sunset , to and fro , before tho gateway of St . Mark's , and you will not how an eyo lifted to it , nor ft countenance brightened by it . IViest and layman , Holdier and civilian , rich and poor , paws by it alike rogardlosHly . tip to tho very
recesses of the porches , the meanest tradesmen of the city push their counters ; nav the foundations of its pillars are themselves the scats—not ' of them that sell doves * for Bacrifice , 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 inarch 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 desperation and stony depravity , and their throats hoarso with cursing , — -gamble , and figi , ^ and snarl , and sleep , hour after hour , clashing their bruised centesimi upon the marble ledges of the church porch . And the images of Christ and His angels look down upon it continually . "
INTERIOR OF ST . MARK 8 . " Through the heavy door whose "bronze network closes the place of his rest , let us enter the church itself . It is lost in still deeper twilight , to which the eyo ' 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 colours 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 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 ; dragons 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 human 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 stone ; sometimes with the serpent of eternity wrapt round it , sometimes with doves beneath its arms , and sweet herbage growing forth from its feet ; but conr spicuous most of all on the great rood that crosses the church before the nltar , raised in bright blazonry against the shadow of the apse . And although in the recesses of the aisles and chapels , when the mist of the incense hangs heavily , we may see continually 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 is the Cross that is first seen , and always , burning 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 . " Nor is this interior without effect on the minds of the people . At every hour of the day there arc groups collected before the various shrines , and solitary worshippers scattered through the darker 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 appointed prayers with wandering eyes and unengaged 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 , m which we may not see some half-veiled figure enter beneath the Arabian porch , cast itselt into long abasement on the floor of the temple , and then rising slowly with wore 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 tho northern aisle , leave the churchas if comforted
, . , e ,, " But we must not hastily conclude from this that the nobler characters- ot nit building have at present nny influence in fostering a d evotional spirit . I here is distress enough in Venice to bring many to their knees , withput excitement trom oxternal imagery ; and whatever there may bo in tho temper of the worship ottorc in St . Mark ' s more than can be accounted for by reference to the unhappy circiroi n - stances of the city , is assuredly not owing either to tho beauty of its aidute < M ^ or to tho imprcssivencRB of tbo Scripture histories embodied in its mosaics . < it has a peculiar effect , however slight , on the popular mind , may perhaps bc s ^ Jv conjectured from tho number of worshippers which it attracts , while tlio c 11 of St . Paul and tho Friwi , larger in size and more central in p osition , arc lclt « - paratively empty . But this effect is altogether to bo ascribed to its richer ns . 0 inm CH
blage of those sources of influence which address themselves to the c "" | V 101 , Ktincts of tho human mind , and which , in all ages and count ries , have J' ^ ' " ^^ or less employed in the support of superstition . Darkness and mysteiy , recesses of building ; artificial liglit employed in small quantity , but 1 ' ^ with a constancy which seems to give it a kind of Hucrctlncss ; pvecimis ^ ^^^ material easily comprehended by the vulgar eye ; close air loaded with a sv . ^ peculiar odour associated only with religious services , solemn muHic , an < ^ _ idols or images having popular legends attached to thorn—these , tlio «<'{ -, I ^ ties of superstition , which havo been from the beginning of the worn , •<¦ . ^ jj y bo to tho end of it , employed by all nations , whether openly mtvago <»^ ^^ civilized , to produce a . false awe in minds incapable of appr ehending tlio > tu ,,, p | c < l of tho Deity , arc assembled in St . Mark ' s to a degree , a * far as I know , " >><
-in any other European church . " . . „( Wo intended not to speak of Architecture in this article ; ^ " ^ J ^^ rikI resist quoting tho following pnnsngo , wherein , with f ? j 1 : j t . ( . ( , ui'i ' i novelty , lie points out the fact , that in days when " there was AioJi - there wns ( awhVA NO PIFFnitTCNCK IJETWHKN ECOLMSIASTIC AND DOMESTIC '' . ^ " That what wo now regard with doubt and wonder , as well aH W 1 ' ^/ n p ty was fclicii the natural continuation , into tho principal edifice of tho ci y , ^ ^ t | )() which was familiar to every eye throughout all its liuuw and streets ; " j , np rcf Hi < " architect had often no moro i ( lou of producing a peculiarly devo ^""" ^ j ^ ,,,. of » by tho richest colouring and tbo most elaborate curving , than t io < iujcn | : f ) . modern meeting-house bus by liis whito-washed walla and flquai'c-i . » . ^() oll (; i (« " Lot tho render fix thin great fact well in his mind , and then ^ to tlic important corollaries . Wo attach , in modern days , a kind oi sne
Untitled Article
qO 6 ' THE LEADER . [ Sa * urday ; ¦ . . - . - ' ; i - . — ... m , ' ' - - ¦ , « . . ¦ " j - - ' ' . '
-
-
Citation
-
Leader (1850-1860), Sept. 17, 1853, page 906, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2004/page/18/
-