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 illustrated in sculpture on the facade above them?

[Illustration:  S. MARK’S FROM THE PIAZZA, THE MERCERIA CLOCK ON THE LEFT]

The north facade of S. Mark’s receives less attention than it should, although one cannot leave Cook’s office without seeing it.  The north has a lovely Gothic doorway and much sculpture, including on the west wall of the transept a rather nice group of sheep, and beneath it a pretty little saint; while the Evangelists are again here—­S.  Luke painting, S. Matthew looking up from his book, S. John brooding, and S. Mark writing.  The doorway has a quaint interesting relief of the manger, containing a very large Christ child, in its arch.  Pinnacled saints, with holy men beneath canopies between them, are here, and on one point the quaintest little crowned Madonna.  At sunset the light on this wall can be very lovely.