sent structure of S.
Mark's, which dates from the eleventh century, having been preceded by
earlier ones.

To my mind not one of the external mosaic pictures is worth study; but
some of the mosaic patterns over the doors are among the most lovely
things I ever saw. Look at the delicate black and gold in the arch over
the extreme right-hand door. Look at the black and gold bosses in that
next it. On the other side of the main entrance these bosses have a
little colour in them. On the extreme left we find symbolism: a golden
horseman, the emblems of the four Evangelists, and so forth, while above
is a relief in black stone, netted in: this and the group over the
central door being the only external statuary in Venice to which the
pigeons have no access.

The carvings over the central door are interesting, although they have a
crudity which will shock visitors fresh from the Baptistery doors at
Florence. As in most Venetian sculpture symbolism plays an important
part, and one is not always able to translate it. Here are arches within
arches: one of scriptural incidents--at any rate Adam and Eve and Cain
and Abel are identifiable; one of grotesques and animals; one of uncouth
toilers--a shepherd and woodman and so forth--with God the Father on the
keystone. What these mean beyond the broad fact that religion is for
all, I cannot say. Angels are above, and surmounting the doorway is
Christ. Among all this dark stonework one is conscious now and then of
little pink touches which examination shows to be the feet of reposing
pigeons.

Above is the parapet with the four famous golden horses in the midst;
above them in the architrave over the central recess is S. Mark's lion
with the open book against a background of starred blue. Then angels
mounting to Christ, and on each side pinnacled saints. It is all rather
barbaric, very much of a medley, and unforgettable in its total effect.

Two mysteries the facade holds for me. One is the black space behind the
horses, which seems so cowardly an evasion of responsibility on the part
of artists and architects for many years, as it was there when Gentile
Bellini painted his Santa Croce miracle; and the other is the identity
of the two little grotesque figures with a jug, one towards each end of
the parapet over the door. No book tells me who they are, and no
Venetian seems to know. They do not appear to be scriptural; yet why
should they be when the Labours of Hercules are illustrat