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sea; many-voiced also, giving, over all over distant winding of the Thames; as the eastern seas, to the sentinel his St. Mark's campanile rose, for goodly watchword, to the soldier his war-cry; landmark, over mirage of lagoon. For and, on the lips of all who died for Venice, St. Mark ruled over life; the Saint of Lonshaping the whisper of death.

don over death; St. Mark over St. [420 I suppose the boy Turner to have re Mark's Place, but St. Paul over St. Paul's garded the religion of his city also from an Churchyard. external intellectual standing-point.

Under these influences pass away the What did he see in Maiden Lane? [370 first reflective hours of life, with such con

Let not the reader be offended with clusion as they can reach. In conseme; I am willing to let him describe, at quence of a fit of illness, he was takenhis own pleasure, what Turner saw there; I cannot ascertain in what year-to live but to me, it seems to have been this. A with an aunt, at Brentford; and here, religion maintained occasionally, even I believe, received some schooling, which the whole length of the lane, at point of he seems to have snatched vigor- (430 constable's staff; but, at other times, | ously; getting knowledge, at least by placed under the custody of the beadle, | translation, of the more picturesque claswithin certain black and unstately ironsical authors, which he turned presently railings of St. Paul's, Covent Garden. [380 to use, as we shall see. Hence also, walks Among the wheelbarrows and over the about Putney and Twickenham in the vegetables, no perceptible dominance of summer time acquainted him with the religion; in the narrow, disquieted streets, look of English meadow-ground in its none; in the tongues, deeds, daily ways restricted states of paddock and park; of Maiden Lane, little. Some honesty, and with some round-headed appearances indeed, and English industry, and kind of trees, and stately entrances to 1440 ness of heart, and general idea of justice; | houses of mark: the avenue at Bushy, but faith, of any national kind, shut up and the iron gates and carved pillars of from one Sunday to the next, not artisti- Hampton, impressing him apparently with cally beautiful even in those Sab- [390 great awe and admiration; so that in batical exhibitions; its paraphernalia being after life his little country house is, of chiefly of high pews, heavy elocution, and | all places in the world,-at Twickenham! cold grimness of behavior.

Of swans and reedy shores he now learns What chiaroscuro belongs to it—(de- the soft motion and the green mystery, pendent mostly on candlelight), -we will, in a way not to be forgotten. however, draw considerately; no goodli | And at last fortune wills that the (450 ness of escutcheon, nor other respecta- lad's true life shall begin; and one summer's bility being omitted, and the best of their evening, after various wonderful stageresults confessed, a meek old woman and coach experiences on the north road, a child being let into a pew, for whom (400 which gave him a love of stage-coaches the reading by candlelight will be bene ever after, he finds himself sitting alone ficial.

among the Yorkshire hills. For the first For the rest, this religion seems to him time, the silence of Nature round him, discreditable—discredited—not believing her freedom sealed to him, her glory in itself; putting forth its authority in a opened to him. Peace at last; no roll cowardly way, watching how far it might | of cart-wheel, nor mutter of sullen (460 be tolerated, continually shrinking, dis voices in the back shop; but curlew-cry claiming, fencing, finessing; divided against in space of heaven, and welling of bellitself, not by stormy rents, but by thin toned streamlet by its shadowy rock. fissures, and splittings of plaster [410 Freedom at last. Dead-wall, dark railing, from the walls. Not to be either obeyed, fenced field, gated garden, all passed away or combated, by an ignorant, yet clear-| | like the dream of a prisoner; and behold, sighted youth; only to be scorned. And far as foot or eye can race or range, the scorned not one whit the less, though moor, and cloud. Loveliness at last. also the dome dedicated to it looms high | It is here, then, among these deserted

vales! Not among men. Those pale, [470 you have left! this the sum of your doing poverty-struck, or cruel faces;—that mul- on the earth!-a nest whence the nighttitudinous, marred humanity—are not owl may whimper to the brook, and a the only things that God has made. Here ribbed skeleton of consumed arches, is something He has made which no one looming above the bleak banks of mist, has marred. Pride of purple rocks, and from its cliff to the sea? river pools of blue, and tender wilderness As the strength of men to Giorgione, (530 of glittering trees, and misty lights of to Turner their weakness and vileness, evening on immeasurable hills.

were alone visible. They themselves, Beauty, and freedom, and peace; and unworthy or ephemeral; their work, desyet another teacher, graver than (480 picable, or decayed. In the Venetian's these. Sound preaching at last here, in eyes, all beauty depended on man's presKirkstall crypt, concerning fate and life. ence and pride; in Turner's, on the soliHere, where the dark pool reflects the tude he had left, and the humiliation he chancel pillars, and the cattle lie in un had suffered. . hindered rest, the soft sunshine on their And thus the fate and issue of all his dappled bodies, instead of priests' vest- work were determined at once. He (540 ments; their white furry hair ruffled a must be a painter of the strength of little, fitfully, by the evening wind, deep nature, there was no beauty elsewhere scented from the meadow thyme.

than in that; he must paint also the Consider deeply the import to him of (4.90 labor and sorrow and passing away of this, his first sight of ruin, and compare it men: this was the great human truth with the effect of the architecture that visible to him. was around Giorgione. There were in | Their labor, their sorrow, and their deed aged buildings, at Venice, in his death. Mark the three. Labor: by time, but none in decay. All ruin was | sea and land, in field and city, at forge removed, and its place filled as quickly and furnace, helm and plough. No 1550 as in our London; but filled always by pastoral indolence nor classic pride shall architecture loftier and more wonderful stand between him and the troubling of than that whose place it took, the boy the world; still less between him and himself happy to work upon the 1500 the toil of his country,-blind, tormented, walls of it; so that the idea of the passing | unwearied, marvellous England. away of the strength of men and beauty Also their Sorrow: Ruin of all their of their works never could occur to him glorious work, passing away of their sternly. Brighter and brighter the cities | thoughts and their honor, mirage of of Italy had been rising and broadening pleasure, FALLACY OF HOPE; gathering of on hill and plain, for three hundred years. weed on temple step; gaining of wave (560 He saw only strength and immortality, on deserted strand; weeping of the mother could not but paint both; conceived the for the children, desolate by her breathform of man as deathless, calm with power, less first-born in the streets of the city, and fiery with life.

1510 desolate by her last sons slain, among the Turner saw the exact reverse of this. beasts of the field. In the present work of men, meanness, And their Death. That old Greek aimlessness, unsightliness: thin-walled, | question again;-yet unanswered. The lath-divided, narrow-garreted houses of unconquerable spectre still flitting among clay; booths of a darksome Vanity Fair, the forest trees at twilight; rising ribbed busily base.

out of the sea-sand;—white, a (570 But on Whitby Hill, and by Bolton strange Aphrodite,-out of the sea-foam; Brook, remained traces of other handi stretching its gray, cloven wings among work. Men who could build had been the clouds; turning the light of their sunthere; and who also had wrought, not (520 sets into blood. This has to be looked merely for their own days. But to what upon, and in a more terrible shape than purpose? Strong faith, and steady hands, | ever Salvator or Dürer saw it. The wreck and patient souls—can this, then, be all of one guilty country does not infer the ruin of all countries, and need not cause awful globe, one pallid charnel-house,general terror respecting the laws of the a ball strewn bright with human ashes, universe. Neither did the orderly and 1580 glaring in poised sway beneath the sun, narrow succession of domestic joy and all blinding-white with death from pole sorrow in a small German community | to pole,-death, not of myriads of poor bring the question in its breadth, or in any | bodies only, but of will, and mercy, and unresolvable shape, before the mind of conscience; death, not once inflicted on Dürer. But the English death-the Euro- | the flesh, but daily, fastening on the spirit; pean death of the nineteenth century death, not silent or patient, wait- 1640 was of another range and power; more ter ing his appointed hour, but voiceful, rible a thousandfold in its merely physi venomous; death with the taunting word, cal grasp and grief; more terrible, incal and burning grasp, and infixed sting. culably, in its mystery and shame. [590 “Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest What were the robber's casual pang, or is ripe.” The word is spoken in our ears the range of the flying skirmish, compared continually to other reapers than the to the work of the axe, and the sword, angels,—to the busy skeletons that never and the famine, which was done during tire for stooping. When the measure of this man's youth on all the hills and iniquity is full, and it seems that another plains of the Christian earth, from Mos day might bring repentance and (650 cow to Gibraltar? He was eighteen years redemption,—“Put ye in the sickle." old when Napoleon came down on Arcola. When the young life has been wasted all Look on the map of Europe and count away, and the eyes are just opening upon the blood-stains on it, between (600 the tracks of ruin, and faint resolution Arcola and Waterloo.

rising in the heart for nobler things,Not alone those blood-stains on the “Put ye in the sickle.” When the roughAlpine snow, and the blue of the Lom est blows of fortune have been borne bard plain. The English death was be long and bravely, and the hand is just fore his eyes also. No decent, calculable, stretched to grasp its goal,—“Put ye in consoled dying; no passing to rest like the sickle.” And when there are but (660 that of the aged burghers of Nuremberg a few in the midst of a nation, to save it, town. No gentle processions to church or to teach, or to cherish; and all its life is yards among the fields, the bronze crests bound up in those few golden ears, – bossed deep on the memorial tab- (610 “Put ye in the sickle, pale reapers, and lets, and the skylark singing above them pour hemlock for your feast of harvest from among the corn. But the life tram home.” pled out in the slime of the street, crushed This was the sight which opened on to dust amidst the roaring of the wheel, the young eyes, this the watchword tossed countlessly away into howling | sounding within the heart of Turner in winter wind along five hundred leagues his youth. of rock-fanged shore. Or, worst of all, I | So taught, and prepared for his life's rotted down to forgotten graves through labor, sat the boy at last alone among his years of ignorant patience, and vain seek fair English hills; and began to paint, with ing for help from man, for hope in 620 | cautious toil, the rocks, and fields, and God-infirm, imperfect yearning, as of | trickling brooks, and soft white clouds of motherless infants starving at the dawn; heaven. oppressed royalties of captive thought, vague ague-fits of bleak, amazed despair.

A goodly landscape this, for the lad to From THE STONES OF VENICE paint, and under a goodly light. Wide

ST. MARK's enough the light was, and clear; no more Salvator's lurid chasm on jagged horizon, "And so Barnabas took Mark, and nor Dürer's spotted rest of sunny gleamsailed unto Cyprus." If as the shores of on hedgerow and field; but light [630 | Asia lessened upon his sight, the spirit over all the world. Full shone now its of prophecy had entered into the heart

1670

of the weak disciple who had turned back But whether St. Mark was first bishop when his hand was on the plough, and of Aquileia or not, St. Theodore was 160 who had been judged, by the chiefest of the first patron of the city; nor can he Christ's captains, unworthy thencefor yet be considered as having entirely abward to go forth with him to the work, dicated his early right, as his statue, how wonderful would he have thought (10 standing on a crocodile, still companions it, that by the lion symbol in future ages i the winged lion on the opposing pillar he was to be represented among men! of the piazzetta. A church erected to how woful, that the war-cry of his name this Saint is said to have occupied, before should so often reanimate the rage of the ninth century, the site of St. Mark's; the soldier, on those very plains where and the traveller, dazzled by the brilhe himself had failed in the courage of the liancy of the great square, ought not [70 Christian, and so often dye with fruitless to leave it without endeavoring to imagblood that very Cypriot Sea, over whose ine its aspect in that early time, when waves, in repentance and shame, he it was a green field cloister-like and quiet, was following the Son of Consola- [20 divided by a small canal, with a line of tion!

trees on each side; and extending between That the Venetians possessed them the two churches of St. Theodore and selves of his body in the ninth century, St. Gemanium, as the little piazza of there appears no sufficient reason to Torcello lies between its "palazzo” and doubt, nor that it was principally in con cathedral. sequence of their having done so, that But in the year 813, when the seat of (80 they chose him for their patron saint. government was finally removed to the There exists, however, a tradition that Rialto, a Ducal Palace, built on the spot before he went into Egypt he had founded where the present one stands, with a the church at Aquileia, and was thus (30 Ducal Chapel beside it, gave a very difin some sort the first bishop of the Vene ferent character to the Square of St. tian isles and people. I believe that this Mark; and fifteen years later, the acquisitradition stands on nearly as good grounds tion of the body of the Saint, and its as that of St. Peter having been the first deposition in the Ducal Chapel, perhaps bishop of Rome; but, as usual, it is en not yet completed, occasioned the inriched by various later additions and em vestiture of that chapel with all pos- [90 bellishments, much resembling the stories sible splendor. St. Theodore was deposed told respecting the church of Murano. from his patronship, and his church deThus we find it recorded by the Santo stroyed, to make room for the aggrandizePadre who compiled the Vite de' Santi [40 ment of the one attached to the Ducal spettanti alle Chiese di Venezia, that “St. Palace, and thenceforward known as Mark having seen the people of Aquileia “St. Mark's.” well grounded in religion, and being called This first church was, however, deto Rome by St. Peter, before setting offstroyed by fire, when the Ducal Palace was took with him the holy bishop Herma burned in the revolt against Candiano, goras, and went in a small boat to the in 976. It was partly rebuilt by his (100 marshes of Venice. There were at that successor, Pietro Orseolo, on a larger period some houses built upon a certain scale; and, with the assistance of Byzanhigh bank called Rialto, and the boat tine architects, the fabric was carried on being driven by the wind was an- 150 under successive Doges for nearly a hunchored in a marshy place, when St. Mark, dred years; the main building being comsnatched into ecstasy, heard the voice pleted in 1071, but its incrustation with of an angel saying to him: 'Peace be to marble not till considerably later. It thee, Mark; here shall thy body rest.'” was consecrated on the 8th of October, The angel goes on to foretell the building 1085, according to Sansovino and the of “una stupenda, ne più veduta Città”, | author of the Chiesa Ducale di S. (110 but the fable is hardly ingenious enough Marco, in 1094 according to Lazari, but to deserve farther relation.

| certainly between 1084 and 1096, those years being the limits of the reign of Vital necessary, direct attention to the disFalier; I incline to the supposition that cordant points, or weary the reader with it was soon after his accession to the anatomical criticism. Whatever in St. throne in 1085, though Sansovino writes, Mark's arrests the eye, or affects the (170 by mistake, Ordelafo instead of Vital feelings, is either Byzantine, or has been Falier. But, at all events, before the modified by Byzantine influence; and our close of the eleventh century the great inquiry into its architectural merits need consecration of the church took place. (120 not therefore be disturbed by the anxieIt was again injured by fire in 1106, but ties of antiquarianism, or arrested by the repaired; and from that time to the fall obscurities of chronology. of Venice there was probably no Doge who And now I wish that the reader, before did not in some slight degree embellish I bring him into St. Mark's Place, would or alter the fabric, so that few parts of it imagine himself for a little time in a quiet can be pronounced boldly to be of any | English cathedral town, and walk (180 given date. Two periods of interference | with me to the west front of its cathedral. are, however, notable above the rest: the Let us go together up the more retired first, that in which the Gothic school street, at the end of which we can see had superseded the Byzantine to (130 the pinnacles of one of the towers, and wards the close of the fourteenth century, then through the low gray gateway, with when the pinnacles, upper archivolts, and its battlemented top and small latticed window traceries were added to the ex window in the centre, into the inner terior, and the great screen with various private-looking road or close, where nothchapels and tabernacle-work, to the in ing goes in but the carts of the tradesmen terior; the second, when the Renaissance who supply the bishop and the chap 1190 school superseded the Gothic, and the ter, and where there are little shaven pupils of Titian and Tintoret substituted, grassplots, fenced in by neat rails, before over one half of the church, their own old-fashioned groups of somewhat diminucompositions for the Greek mosaics (140 tive and excessively trim houses, with with which it was originally decorated; little oriel and bay windows jutting out happily, though with no good will, having here and there, and deep wooden cornices left enough to enable us to imagine and and eaves painted cream color and white, lament what they destroyed. Of this and small porches to their doors in the irreparable loss we shall have more to shape of cockle-shells, or little, crooked, say hereafter; meantime, I wish only to thick, indescribable wooden gables (200 fix in the reader's mind the succession of warped a little on one side; and so forward periods of alterations as firmly and simply till we come to larger houses, also oldas possible.

fashioned, but of red brick, and with We have seen that the main body of (150 gardens behind them, and fruit walls, the church may be broadly stated to be which show here and there, among the of the eleventh century, the Gothic addi nectarines, the vestiges of an old cloister tions of the fourteenth, and the restored arch or shaft, and looking in front on the mosaics of the seventeenth. ....

cathedral square itself, laid out in rigid This, however, I only wish him to recol divisions of smooth grass and gravel lect in order that I may speak generally walk, yet not uncheerful, especially (210 of the Byzantine architecture of St. on the sunny side, where the canons' chilMark's, without leading him to suppose dren are walking with their nurserythe whole church to have been built and maids. And so, taking care not to tread decorated by Greek artists. Its later (160 on the grass, we will go along the straight portions, with the single exception of the walk to the west front, and there stand seventeenth-century mosaics, have been for a time, looking up at its deep-pointed so dexterously accommodated to the porches and the dark places between their original fabric that the general effect is pillars where there were statues once, still that of a Byzantine building; and I and where the fragments, here and there, shall not, except when it is absolutely l of a stately figure are still left, which (220

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