This is the case sometimes to such a degree as, in
another country, would be disagreeable from its impropriety; but, in
Italy, it corresponds with the general prominence of the features of a
past age, and is always beautiful. Thus, the eye rests with delight on
the broken moldings of the windows, and the sculptured capitals of the
corner columns, contrasted, as they are, the one with the glassless
blackness within, the other with the ragged and dirty confusion of
drapery around. The Italian window, in general, is a mere hole in the
thick wall, always well proportioned; occasionally arched at the top,
sometimes with the addition of a little rich ornament: seldom, if ever,
having any casement or glass, but filled up with any bit of striped or
colored cloth, which may have the slightest chance of deceiving the
distant observer into the belief that it is a legitimate blind. This
keeps off the sun, and allows a free circulation of air, which is the
great object. When it is absent, the window becomes a mere black hole,
having much the same relation to a glazed window that the hollow of a
skull has to a bright eye; not unexpressive, but frowning and ghastly,
and giving a disagreeable impression of utter emptiness and desolation
within. Yet there is character in them: the black dots tell agreeably on
the walls at a distance, and have no disagreeable sparkle to disturb the
repose of surrounding scenery.
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