TOWERS

Press, Volume LXXII, Issue 21759, 16 April 1936, Page 6 (Supplement)

TOWERS

What a landmark our Cathedral spire is—at one time in its history, the topmost portion was dislodged by an earthquake and hung down like a broken finger. While it was being rebuilt, I remember seeing Archbishpp Julius make an excursion to the summit, in a chair, drawn up on a cable. To-day, the injured part is reconstructed of wood which is more resistant to earthquake than stone. Fortunately, as with the Campanile of St. Mark's Square in Venice, it harmed no one in falling —but whereas the Cathedral spire fell unexpectedly, the Campanile of Venice had shown signs of inse-

curity for some time. Engineers and architects noting cracks and other signs had asked that the Square might be closed—the bands were forbidden to play, no bells were rung- and the cannon always fired at midday was suspended. At 5 a.m. on the day of the tragedy, July 9, 1903, a young architect ascended the tower and saw that the fall might probably occur in a few days—returning at 9 he felt sure it was more a question of hours. It proved to be one of minutes. An American girl saw the

(By Barbara Jekyll)

angel on the top sway, but thought it an optical delusion caused by the bright sunlight.

Its fall did very little harm to the surrounding buildings. "II Campanile e stato galantuomo." The Campanile has shown himself a gentleman, said the Venetians. It was a national disaster—the square without the tower was as a ship without a mast. For centuries it had been a welcome beacon to mariners returning home in their treasure laden ships.

Inside was, and is, a gently graded stairway, up which an Austrian Count once ascended on horseback. All Venice was feverish to rebuild and on the evening of the fall the council met to discuss ways and means. Later subscriptions poured in from many lands showing how wide was the interest. The dust and remains, of no use in reconstruction, were put into dredges, taken to the Lido and thrown into the sea, a laurel wreath following as a touching tribute to the burial of the old Campanile. Ten years after it had fallen, the ceremonv of the opening of its successor was performed, "II ile e morto, viva il Campanile!" (The Campanile is dead, long live the Campanile!) Venice was mad with joy and the orginal bell proclaimed the resurrection. One can imagine how the pigeons would fly away in terror at the unusual din—but there were others—carriers — released to take the news of the completion to all the towns of Italy.

It is remarkable how towers stand secure through the centuries, more especially when they lean, as that of Pisa erected in the twelvth century, leans 14 feet from the,perpendicular. Looking over the leaning side it gives something the same feeling as when looking at the earth from the air. Then, again there are Bologna's leaning towers, Asinelli and Garisenda —much higher than that of Pisa, built in 1110 and mentioned in Dante's Inferno—Canto 31, verse 136. They should be well acquainted, as they have been bowing in salutation to each other for eight centuries. It is to be hoped they never embrace. Standing beneath them on their leaning sides and looking up as a cloud comes towards you, you have the optical delusion that the clouds stand still and the towers fall.