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'68 FIRST PERIOD.
leaves of acanthus and vine, and mystical signs, all beginning
and ending in the Cross; and above them, in the broad archi?
volts, a continuous chain of language and of life—angels, and
the signs of heaven, and the labors of men, each in its appointed season upon the earth; and above, these, another range
of glittering pinnacles, mixed with white arches edged with
scarlet flowers,—a confusion of delight, amidst which the
breasts of the Greek horses are seen blazing in their breadth of
golden strength, and the St. Mark's Lion, lifted on a blue field
covered with stars, until at last, as if in ecstasy, the crests of
the arches break into a marble foam, and toss themselves far
into the blue sky in Hashes and wreaths of sculptured spray,
as if the breakers on the Lido shore had been frost-bound before they fell, and the sea-nymphs had inlaid them with coral
and amethyst.
Between that grim cathedral of England and this, what an
interval! There is a type of it in the very birds that haunt
them; for, instead of the restless crowd, hoarse-voiced and
sable-winged, drifting on the bleak upper air, the St. Mark's
porches are full of doves, that nestle among the marble foliage,
and mingle the soft iridescence of their living plumes, changing at every motion, with the tints, hardly less lovely, that
have stood unchanged for seven hundred years.
§ xv. And what effect has this splendor on those who pass
beneath it 1 You may walk from sunrise to sunset, to and fro,
before the gateway of St. Mark's, and you will not see an eye
lifted to it, nor a countenance brightened by it. Priest and
layman, soldier and civilian, rich and poor, pass by it alike
regardlessly. Up to the very recesses of the porches, the
meanest tradesmen of the city push their counters; nay, the
foundations of its pillars are themselves the seats—not " of
them that sell doves" for sacrifice, but of the vendors of toys
and caricatures. Round the whole square in front of the
church there is almost a continuous line of cafes, where the
idle Venetians of the middle classes lounge, and read empty
journals; in its centre the Austrian bands play during the
time of vespers, their martial music jarring with the organ
| Title | The stones of Venice - 2 |
| Creator | Ruskin, John |
| Publisher | J. Wiley |
| Place of Publication | New York |
| Date | 1889 |
| Language | eng |
| Type | Books/Pamphlets |
| Title | 00000088 |
| Type | Books/Pamphlets |
| Transcript | '68 FIRST PERIOD. leaves of acanthus and vine, and mystical signs, all beginning and ending in the Cross; and above them, in the broad archi? volts, a continuous chain of language and of life—angels, and the signs of heaven, and the labors of men, each in its appointed season upon the earth; and above, these, another range of glittering pinnacles, mixed with white arches edged with scarlet flowers,—a confusion of delight, amidst which the breasts of the Greek horses are seen blazing in their breadth of golden strength, and the St. Mark's Lion, lifted on a blue field covered with stars, until at last, as if in ecstasy, the crests of the arches break into a marble foam, and toss themselves far into the blue sky in Hashes and wreaths of sculptured spray, as if the breakers on the Lido shore had been frost-bound before they fell, and the sea-nymphs had inlaid them with coral and amethyst. Between that grim cathedral of England and this, what an interval! There is a type of it in the very birds that haunt them; for, instead of the restless crowd, hoarse-voiced and sable-winged, drifting on the bleak upper air, the St. Mark's porches are full of doves, that nestle among the marble foliage, and mingle the soft iridescence of their living plumes, changing at every motion, with the tints, hardly less lovely, that have stood unchanged for seven hundred years. § xv. And what effect has this splendor on those who pass beneath it 1 You may walk from sunrise to sunset, to and fro, before the gateway of St. Mark's, and you will not see an eye lifted to it, nor a countenance brightened by it. Priest and layman, soldier and civilian, rich and poor, pass by it alike regardlessly. Up to the very recesses of the porches, the meanest tradesmen of the city push their counters; nay, the foundations of its pillars are themselves the seats—not " of them that sell doves" for sacrifice, but of the vendors of toys and caricatures. Round the whole square in front of the church there is almost a continuous line of cafes, where the idle Venetians of the middle classes lounge, and read empty journals; in its centre the Austrian bands play during the time of vespers, their martial music jarring with the organ |
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