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IV. ST. mark's. 69
notes,—the march 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 hoarse with cursing,—gamble, and fight, and
snarl, and sleep, hour after hour, clashing their bruised cen-
tesimi upon the marble ledges of the church porch. And the
images of Christ and His angels look down upon it continually.
That we may not enter the church out of the midst of the
horror of this, let us turn aside under the portico which looks
towards the sea, and passing round within the two massive
pillars brought from St. Jean d'Acre, we shall find the gate of
the Baptistery; let us enter there. The heavy door closes
behind us instantly, and the light, and the turbulence of the
Piazzetta, are together shut out by it.
§ xvi. We are in a low vaulted room; vaulted, not with
arches, but with small cupolas starred with gold, and chequered
with gloomy figures: in the centre is a bronze font charged
with rich bas-reliefs, a small figure of the Baptist standing above
it in a single ray of light that glances across the narrow room,
dying as it falls from a window high in the wall, and the first
thing that it strikes, and the only, thing that it strikes brightly,
is a tomb. We hardly know if it be a tomb indeed ; for it is
like a narrow couch set beside the window, low-roofed and
curtained, so that it might seem, but that it has some height
above the pavement, to have been drawn towards the window,
that the sleeper might be wakened early; — only there are
two angels who have drawn the curtain back, and are looking
down upon him. Let us look also, and thank that gentle
light that rests upon his forehead for ever, and dies away upon
his breast.
The face is of a man in middle fife, but there are two deep
furrows right across the forehead, dividing it like the foundations of a tower: the height of it above is bound by the fillet
| 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 | 00000089 |
| Type | Books/Pamphlets |
| Transcript | IV. ST. mark's. 69 notes,—the march 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 hoarse with cursing,—gamble, and fight, and snarl, and sleep, hour after hour, clashing their bruised cen- tesimi upon the marble ledges of the church porch. And the images of Christ and His angels look down upon it continually. That we may not enter the church out of the midst of the horror of this, let us turn aside under the portico which looks towards the sea, and passing round within the two massive pillars brought from St. Jean d'Acre, we shall find the gate of the Baptistery; let us enter there. The heavy door closes behind us instantly, and the light, and the turbulence of the Piazzetta, are together shut out by it. § xvi. We are in a low vaulted room; vaulted, not with arches, but with small cupolas starred with gold, and chequered with gloomy figures: in the centre is a bronze font charged with rich bas-reliefs, a small figure of the Baptist standing above it in a single ray of light that glances across the narrow room, dying as it falls from a window high in the wall, and the first thing that it strikes, and the only, thing that it strikes brightly, is a tomb. We hardly know if it be a tomb indeed ; for it is like a narrow couch set beside the window, low-roofed and curtained, so that it might seem, but that it has some height above the pavement, to have been drawn towards the window, that the sleeper might be wakened early; — only there are two angels who have drawn the curtain back, and are looking down upon him. Let us look also, and thank that gentle light that rests upon his forehead for ever, and dies away upon his breast. The face is of a man in middle fife, but there are two deep furrows right across the forehead, dividing it like the foundations of a tower: the height of it above is bound by the fillet |
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