TO AN OLD VENETIAN PAINTING
Who was she—this rare Beauty of appealing face?...
The eyes are laden with the weight of Love’s fond burden,
The heart, with tremulous hope of Love’s alluring guerdon.
Had she some wound,—some grief which nothing could erase,—
She whose impassioned look is raised in suppliant grace?
Perhaps some erring penitent in saintly adoration,
Or Doge’s wilful daughter offering supplication
In all the sumptuous beauty of her languorous race?
The plaintive mouth is saddened now from farewell-taking,
The sob still lingers in her smile,—the eyes brim o’er,
As if sweet love, with her, had broken faith and trust.
How could such beauty be unless her heart were breaking?...
Peace! draw the veil: seek no revealment: ask no more:
Such loveliness shall sanctify her very dust.
LLOYD MIFFLIN.
TO GIAN BELLINI
Though ne’er a catchword for the shallow throng,
His name shall shine eternally with those
That light the world. Resplendent Venice shows
Not one sublimer all her sons among.
He taught the true in art, nor knew the wrong.
His lofty purity, his sweet repose
Sprang from a faith that no misgiving knows
By this his soul was nourished and grew strong.
Gentle Venetian! I must envy thee,
Who stand alone in this cool sacristy,
Confronted with the radiance of thine art.
Shrined in these marbles amid ocean foam,
The light of thy pure spirit here has home,
Firing the good in each distempered heart.
PERCY PINKERTON.
TITIAN AT VENICE
Titian was born in the little town of Cadore, on the Piave, five miles from the Alps. He sprang from the family of the Vecelli, one of the most noble of those parts; and when he reached the age of ten years, showing a fine spirit and quickness of mind, he was sent to Venice to the house of one of his uncles, an honoured citizen. He, seeing that the boy was much inclined to painting, put him with the famous painter Gian Bellini, under whose discipline he studied drawing, and showed himself in a short time to be endowed by nature with all that was necessary for the art of painting. Gian Bellini and the other painters of that country, having no knowledge of ancient art, were accustomed mostly, in fact entirely, to draw from life, though in a dry, crude manner. Titian therefore learnt in this way. But when Giorgione da Castelfranco came, the manner of working did not altogether please him, and he began to give his works more softness and greater relief, following Nature indeed, and imitating her as well as he could in colour, but not making any drawing, holding firmly that painting in colours without studying the drawing in a cartoon was the true and best way of working. Titian, then, seeing Giorgione’s method, left Gian Bellini’s manner and adopted the new way, imitating it so well that his pictures were mistaken for the works of Giorgione. And when Giorgione was employed upon the façade of the German Exchange a part was given to Titian. Some gentlemen, not knowing that Giorgione had ceased to work there, and that Titian was employed upon it, meeting Giorgione one day, began to congratulate him, saying he was doing better on this façade than he had done on that one on the Grand Canal. And this vexed Giorgione so much that until the work was finished, and it was known that Titian had done that part, he would not be seen, and from that time he would not let Titian work with him or be his friend....
Giovanni Bellini left unfinished at his death the picture, in the hall of the Great Council, of Barbarossa kneeling before Pope Alexander III. Titian completed it, altering many things, and introducing many portraits of his friends and others. For this he obtained from the Signory an office which is called the Senseria, which brings in three hundred crowns a year. This office has usually been given to the best painter of that city, with the duty of painting from time to time their Prince or Doge, at the price of eight crowns only, paid them by this prince, and this portrait is afterwards placed in his memory in the palace of St. Mark’s.
The Duke Alfonso of Ferrara had engaged Giovanni Bellini to paint a picture for a room in his palace, but he had been unable to complete it on account of his age, and Titian therefore was summoned to finish it, and for this prince he painted several things, and was liberally rewarded by him. At this time he formed a friendship with the divine Ludovico Ariosto, who celebrated him in his ‘Orlando Furioso.’
After his return to Venice he painted many pictures for the churches, and among others for the church of S. Rocco he painted Christ bearing the Cross. This, which many have supposed to be from Giorgione’s hand, has become the chief object of devotion in Venice, and has received in alms more crowns than Titian and Giorgione earned in their whole life.... For the Church of S. Giovanni and S. Paolo he painted an altarpiece representing S. Peter Martyr in a wood of high trees, struck down by a fierce soldier, who has wounded him in the head, and as he lies but half alive you can see in his face the horror of death, while another friar fleeing shows signs of fear. In the sky are two angels coming in the light of heaven, which lights up a beautiful landscape. The work is the most finished one that Titian ever did....
There is no lord of note or prince or great lady who has not been painted by Titian; and, besides, at different times, he produced many other works.
It is true that his way of working in his last pictures is very different from that of his youth. For his first works were finished with great diligence, and might be looked at near or far, but the last are worked with great patches of colour, so that they cannot be seen near, but at a distance they look perfect. This is the reason that many think they are done without any trouble, but this is not true. And this way of working is most judicious, for it makes the pictures seem living.
All these works, with a great many others, which cannot be mentioned lest I should become tedious, he has completed, having now reached the age of seventy-six. He has been most healthy, and as fortunate as anyone has ever been. In his house at Venice he has received all the princes, and learned and famous men, who have come to Venice; for besides his excellence in art, his manners have been most pleasant and courteous. He has had some rivals, but not very dangerous ones. He has earned much, for his works have always been well paid; but it would be well for him, in these his last years, to work only for pastime, lest he diminish his reputation.
When the present writer was in Venice in 1566, he went to visit Titian, and found him, old as he was, with his brush in his hand, painting, and he found great pleasure in seeing his works and talking with him.
Thus Titian, having adorned Venice, or rather Italy, and indeed other parts of the world, with the finest pictures, deserves to be loved and studied by artists, and in many things imitated, for he has done works worthy of infinite praise, which will last as long as illustrious men are remembered.
VASARI.
Translated by E. L. Seeley.
THE ENCHANTED VOICE OF VENICE
Turner’s imagination dwelt always on three great cities, Carthage, Rome, and Venice—Carthage in connection especially with the thoughts and study which led to the painting of the Hesperides’ Garden, showing the death which attends the vain pursuit of wealth; Rome, showing the death which attends the vain pursuit of power; Venice, the death which attends the vain pursuit of beauty.
How strangely significative, thus understood, those last Venetian dreams of his become, themselves so beautiful and so frail; wrecks of all that they were once—twilights of twilight!
Vain beauty; yet not all in vain. Unlike in birth, how like in their labour, and their power over the future, these masters of England and Venice—Turner and Giorgione. But ten years ago I saw the last traces of the greatest works of Giorgione yet glowing, like a scarlet cloud, on the Fondaco de Tedeschi. And though that scarlet cloud (sanguigna e fiammeggiante, per cui le pitture cominciarono con dolce violenza a rapire il cuore delle genti) may, indeed, melt away into paleness of night, and Venice herself waste from her islands as a wreath of wind-driven foam fades from their weedy beach; that which she won of faithful light and truth shall never pass away. Deiphobe of the sea—the Sun God measures her immortality to her by its sand. Flushed, above the Avernus of the Adrian lake, her spirit is still seen holding the golden bough; from the lips of the Sea Sibyl men shall learn for ages yet to come what is most noble and most fair; and, far away, as the whisper in the coils of the shell, withdrawn through the deep hearts of nations, shall sound for ever the enchanted voice of Venice.
JOHN RUSKIN.