Letters of an Architect, From France, Italy, and Greece. Volume 1 [of 2]

I am going, I flatter myself, to satisfy you to the utmost, by giving the most minute detail of my Roman life. You will find it not so different from the manner of living in London as perhaps you expect; for in fact, the Romans are very much the same sort of beings as ourselves, and eat and drink, and have the same affections and appetites as the English. I will add, that the national character in both is pride, and not vanity; that they are rather reserved, and feel more than they shew: added to which, they finish their buildings as we do, and do not leave them half done, as in France, and many parts of Italy; but then they undertake them on a much more magnificent scale; and I believe, after all that has been said of the degeneracy of the modern Romans, that if their political institutions were favourable, they would have spirit to undertake, and resolution and perseverance to carry them through the greatest enterprizes. I will not enter into this subject till I have seen more of them, but relate those things which more nearly concern myself. In the first place, my lodgings consist of two good sized rooms, the largest of which is nearly thirty feet long on one side, but is very much out of a square, and as I have already told you, overlooks half Rome. They are both paved with bricks. The landlady offered me a mat for the whole room, but I was afraid of the fleas, and contented myself with one or two small pieces to put my feet upon. A small wood fire, which costs about 1d. per hour, serves to keep me warm in the mornings and evenings. The sun would perform that office in the middle of the day, but I am then seldom at home. The bed, as usual in Italy, is large. Some boards, about six feet long, or a little more, are laid on two iron stands. On these is placed a great bag filled with the leaves of Indian corn, and over this two thin mattresses; of course there are no bed-posts, or hangings, or any thing of the sort; and this is the usual disposition of the beds in Italy, at least of those in common houses, and not intended for shew. The other furniture consists of a large press, which contains my clothes, and some books; a writing-desk, with drawers below; a square table; a smaller oval one; two side-tables against the wall; a straw couch; one large elbow-chair, and thirteen others. The chimney piece is made out of a piece of Greek marble. For fifteen hundred years the masons of Rome have been using up their old materials, and they are not yet exhausted. I apprehend, that during that period, hardly a single piece of new marble has been brought to Rome except for the use of the sculptors.

And now, having given you an exact description of my lodgings, I will proceed to as particular an account of one day’s employment, from which you may judge of the rest. I rise about seven, or according to the Roman reckoning at the present moment, at 13 o’clock, at which time my attendant Leopold comes in, and brushes my coat, and blacks my shoes, all which is done in the room, for he never thinks of going elsewhere to perform these operations; he also makes the bed. This Leopold pays six crowns per month for his board and lodging in the house, and makes what he can of serving the lodgers, and in the evening attends the lady of the house to pay visits, or go to the theatre, not as a servant, but as a companion. Afterwards he brings me my breakfast of coffee and milk, which I always drink from a tumbler, and while I am eating it, he stops to relate to me various stories and opinions. Among other things he prides himself on being a Tuscan, not a Roman, complains of the bad government of Rome, and says priests are not fit for governors. Then he tells me, that he had been a soldier for some years, but always with some authority, and never as a mere private, that he liked the employment very much, but was obliged to leave it on account of his being exceedingly short-sighted. His brother is a parson of some parish, (Parocco) and had been tutor in the family of the queen of Etruria. Leopold complains, that in his present employment his short-sightedness is very inconvenient. I asked him why he did not use spectacles; but he assured me they would make his sight worse. “Why,” said he, “a little while ago I saw a man with spectacles tumble down the steps of the Trinità. What, said I, could your spectacles help you to see no better? ‘Oh,’ replied the other, ‘the spectacles are of no use, I only wear them to be in the fashion; in England every body wears spectacles;’ but now,” adds Leopold, “I see a great many English, and it seems they do not wear spectacles.” He then proceeded to tell me, that he thought my Italian master could not be a good one, because he had spent a great part of his life in the country, and therefore could not naturally speak the language well; and that he had since been employed in various ways, none of which had succeeded, and that this must have prevented him from studying it; he would consequently neither be able to chuse the best and most elegant expressions, nor to pronounce correctly. Thus, you see my shoe-black is a man of various accomplishments, and is moreover quite a gentleman; for though he does not mind what he does within doors, he would not on any account be seen employed in any servile occupation without. Moreover, on the last day of the carnival, he would not by any means go on to the Corso on foot, because it was not genteel.

After breakfast I usually employ myself a little while at home in drawing or reading, and then walk to the Campo Vaccino; here the forzati, i. e. the criminals condemned to hard labour, are employed in making excavations to expose for examination the antiquities of the place, and in some situations they have reached the old pavement thirty feet below the present surface. I continue my walk along the Via Sacra, and a parcel of children surround me, begging for half a bayoc. A little farther, a grinning little chit, looking quite fat and saucy, comes to tell me he is dying of hunger. However, there is in other cases plenty of the appearance, and I doubt not of the reality of extreme misery. The harvests of wheat and maize, and the vintage, have been very deficient throughout Italy. I then walk into the Coliseum, and while drawing there, a soldier comes to me, a young lad of perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, and tells me that he is obliged to serve three years; that he wished to procure a substitute, but was not permitted. Afterwards, he adds, that they are badly off under the pope, as their pay is only 3½ bayocs per day, and after some farther conversation, concludes with asking me for some money to buy brandy. I reply, that he would be much better without it; he then asks for something to buy bread, and assures me, that if I would not give him any, he must go to bed supperless. Afterwards, I return to my own dinner at a trattoria; these are not very good in Rome, but a person who is not fastidious may do very well. I begin with maccaroni and powdered cheese. The Italians eat this under the name of Parmesan, with their soups, and with vegetables, as well as with maccaroni, and the Romans have a favourite dish called gnocchi, which seems to consist of pieces of batter-pudding sprinkled with Parmesan, and eaten with sugar and cinnamon. As in France, they change your plates frequently, but give you only one knife and fork for every thing. On my return, the maid, for there is an old woman in the house, though the man makes the beds and dusts the chambers, wishes me a good evening, and desires to know at what hour she will have supper; for you know the Italians use the third person, and the she stands for vos signoria, your worship: they consider it very rude to say you to a superior, but I say you to them, for if I were to answer in the same manner, they would think I was laughing at them. By supper the old dame means tea; and I tell her to bring it at two o’clock, for the evening bell now rings at six. During the tea she usually has something to say to me, as Leopold had in the morning. Sometimes I go into society, or to the theatre, but not often, and now during Lent, all the theatres are shut up: and so ends my day.

I went on twelfth day to hear a play which was acted by the children of the Orphan School. The subject was the adoration of the wise men, and the wrath of Herod. The stage was so small, that a well grown boy appeared a giant. By whom the subject was reduced to a dramatic form I do not know, but his principal effort was in the character of two servants, whose wit, or blunders, formed great part of the entertainment of the evening. In the last act we are introduced to where the Saviour lies, not in a common stable or manger, but one resplendent with clouds and glory, and God the Father in the distance. It was really a very pretty scene in itself, however absurd as applied to the subject it pretended to represent. At this point, an Italian priest called out to another who happened to have his hat on, “Capello, signore, capello, signore, signore, vi è il bambino.” This notion of finding in the theatre a place of worship, was strangely at variance with all my English notions and feelings.

I have said nothing about the Carnival, the observance of which is a custom too different from any of ours to be entirely neglected. The whole term lasts six weeks. I do not know if all the period ever used to be filled up with these vagaries, but the time now allowed for the reign of masking and folly is only eight days. These were preceded by a severe edict against carrying any weapon. The punishment for this offence is to be six years in the galleys; for drawing it, twelve years; for striking a person, eighteen years; for wounding him, confinement for life; for killing him, death. Premeditated assassinations are not, and perhaps never have been common at Rome; but when the common people quarrelled, and got into a passion, they sometimes used to stab each other. They are indebted to the French for the correction of this evil. The carrying the long sharp knives, which used to be the instrument of such assassinations, was declared to be immediate death, and it is said that no less than nineteen persons were shot the day after this law was promulgated; the following day two more, and afterwards now and then a straggler, but the habit was effectually broken: it seems a terrible remedy, but it was also a terrible disease. Confinement to real hard labour would perhaps have effected the cure, but more slowly, and the Roman police has yet no correct idea of this. The edict above mentioned also enjoined that no person should be masked except from the sounding of the bell of the Capitol, to that of the Ave Maria, that is, from half past one to half past five. There are masked balls on some evenings, about which the edict says nothing, but every body understands that this is permitted. The edict also determines the size of the sugar-plums (which by the by are little pellets of whitening or plaster,) with which persons might be pelted without offence. At about four o’clock, people assemble on the Corso, and the rich parade up and down in their carriages; as indeed they do throughout the winter, though it does not seem a very pleasant ride. Close against the houses is a line of people sitting or standing, and where the street is wider, a row of chairs, or perhaps two rows of benches supported on scaffolding. Where this is the case, the front of the scaffold is usually adorned with old tapestry, and old tapestry is also hung out of the windows. Next to these is the stream of carriages, going up on one side, and down on the other; and in the middle a confused mixture of people, passing some one way and some another, interrupted now and then by the horse, or foot soldiers, parading up and down the streets. About a quarter before five, a gun sounds, as a signal for all carriages to go off the Corso, and at five, those which still remain there are turned off by the soldiers into the nearest streets. A rope is then stretched across, at the spot where the Corso opens into the Piazza del Popolo, and the horses are led up close to it. They have bits of tin hanging about them, and balls with pins to knock against their sides, and excite their speed as they go along. It is said that blisters are previously applied, to make the parts more tender. At a quarter past five, the rope is dropt, and off they start. The race is merely once along the Corso, and therefore is only an affair of a few minutes on the whole, and for any individual spectator hardly of half a minute. There is no time for betting, and I think this is one reason why the English are so generally dissatisfied with these races. The continued interest of our own races warms up the feelings, and produces a mental excitement, which such contests as these could never reach, either with or without riders, or with bad or good horses. After the race, carriages are again admitted on the Corso, but they soon disperse, and at the Ave Maria all is quiet again. The first day was very dull, with very few masks, and no humour. On the following days the scene became more lively, especially in Giovedì Grasso. A great many men had female masks and dresses, and several women were dressed as men. The principal amusement seemed to be in the female masks, mobbing the unmasked gentlemen, and in pelting all their acquaintances with the so called sugar-plums. Some seemed to pelt every body, but I believe these were principally English. A party of students of the Neapolitan academy went about with a drawing-board and crayons, and affected to take portraits; when you looked at their production there was an ass’s head. Another party, consisting of French students, personated armed knights on horseback, and performed their gambols very well. After the Ave Maria, the theatres begin. There is plenty of time for every one to change his dress, but a large portion choose to preserve them, though all are obliged to abandon their masks, and the playhouses consequently present a most ridiculous scene. Before the gay time of the Carnival began, we had some very good acting, but during those mad days Pulcinella was pushed into every thing. This Pulcinella talks Neapolitan, and I lost many things which appeared to delight the audience; but most of the replies which I could comprehend had very little wit, though they excited a great deal of laughter; the barbarous language and pronunciation were more than half the jest.

I went one evening to the masked ball or festina, which is given in a theatre not used at present for any other purpose: there were three parties of dancers, but the rooms were so crowded, that there was hardly space for them; a large proportion of the company was without masks: there was not much wit, but a good deal of cheerfulness and good humour. The entertainment was to begin at half an hour, and end at five, i. e. from six o’clock to half past ten; accordingly before eleven, the attendants began to put out the candles, and a file of soldiers gradually advancing, swept the place. There is no city where despotic authority assumes so undisguised a form as at Rome; where power, and not law, is so apparently the ruling principle; but perhaps we might not be the worse for it, if some of our public amusements were limited in as peremptory a manner. The masked ball on Friday night did not begin till after midnight, in order not to disturb the religious observances of the day: the same rule was observed on Sunday, but I did not go to either. On the evening which closed this period of license, we had a new scene. It is the practice here, for the mourners at a funeral to carry lighted wax tapers; and on this evening, after the races, almost every body carried lighted tapers to celebrate the funeral of the Carnival; the street was crowded, the windows and balconies were all full of people, and everywhere we saw abundance of these candles; some persons carried them upon sticks, some stuck them upon their hats, others in the noses of their masks, but most were carried in the hand, and many persons had six or eight tapers twisted together to give a stronger light. Part of the amusement consisted in a mutual endeavour to blow out each other’s lights; the whole was very gay and splendid, and indeed the best thing in the carnival; but it seemed rather premature, as after that there was a masked ball, and after the ball, midnight suppers, where good catholics stuffed themselves as full as possible, to prepare for their long abstinence in Lent. In this year their holy father has spared them the mortification of abstinence; and as fish is dear, and the people very poor, he has granted a general dispensation to eat meat, except on Friday and Saturday.

It is always a difficult thing to hear, or learn, good Italian in Italy, for the provincialisms extend to all ranks, and the inhabitants of one city are continually turning those of another into ridicule. It is true that in many places they speak their own provincial dialect to one another, and the Tuscan or Italian, when they converse with those who are not of the same province. “When these Bolognese chatter to one another,” said a Roman gentleman to me at Bologna, “I do not understand a word of what they say.” Yet some peculiarities will creep into the conversation, even when they think they are speaking the purest Tuscan. In spite of this, companies of dramatists go about from city to city, through the whole country, representing the same plays, with precisely the same words in each. It occurred to me, that these actors must thus get rid of all their own provincialisms; that they must study their language, and would probably understand it; and moreover would be able to point out the usual defects of each place. I will confess however, that I have heard upon the stage, cielo pronounced as an Englishman would pronounce, shailo, and occhi with the ch like our ch in church. This was not favourable to my theory, but it was in the opera, and I thought the comedians must do better; and indeed, as far as I can judge they are much more correct; I was not therefore deterred from fixing on one who was guilty of no blunders which I was able to detect, who spoke very clearly and distinctly, and whose tones and actions were perfectly natural, though perhaps rather too faintly marked for stage effect; and I applied to him for some instruction in Italian. He seemed to be quite willing to assist me, but as this was just before the eight days of the carnival, he requested me to postpone the scheme for about ten days, as the company intended to stay the Lent in Rome, when he should have nothing else to do; however the company changed their mind, and went away immediately, and I lost my master. It was quite a disappointment to me, for he seemed very pleasing in his manners, and moreover was a Tuscan, so that I promised myself great advantage from the scheme. On missing him I procured another, with whom I am very well pleased, and of whom you have just heard my attendant’s criticism. One of his greatest faults is, that he is much given to flatter his pupils.

Now the Carnival is over, Rome seems dead. The contrast is very striking, as the change takes place in a single day, and the gaiety does not diminish gradually, as at London, and the English watering places. The weather is delightful, and if the sun is rather too hot, it is easy at present to find shade; and while sitting to draw under the shelter of some venerable monument of antiquity, contemplating the clear blue sky, and some richly tinted ruin, while a mild and gentle breeze wafts perfumes from the beds of violets around, I seem to be as near an earthly paradise as imagination can conceive. I wish I could bring you here just for a moment, and show you what Rome is, and make you feel a Roman winter; yet I am told they are not always so fine, but that they usually have two months of continued wet. What astonishes me is to see the trees without leaves during all this warm weather; the vegetation even now, is not much more forward than in a favourable season in England, but it is advancing with great rapidity.

I must however turn away from all this trifling, to my more serious object of pursuit, and having given you an account of St. Peter’s, and a sketch of the principal ancient churches of this city, I shall now survey some of the modern ones.

The most common arrangement of these is that of a nave with three arches on each side, opening into chapels; or in the more magnificent ones, with side aisles and chapels beyond them. In the centre is a dome resting on four piers. There is one arch in the length of each tribune, with the addition of a semicircular end to the choir: sometimes there are four arches, or five, instead of three, in the nave, and sometimes one or two smaller ones besides the three larger. The order is always Corinthian, and the nave a continued vault, springing, not from the top of the cornice, but from an Attic, or continued pedestal above it. The windows are generally groined into this vault, but sometimes the pedestal is cut to make room for them, and they are partly in the vault, and partly in the upright, which is displeasing. The principal arches opening into the nave, sometimes reach to the architrave of the principal order, and sometimes fall considerably short of it. In the latter case they have a gallery, or a panel, or perhaps something like a window over them, but the arrangement is much more beautiful when these arches are carried up to the full height of the opening, and the key-stone seems to contribute to the support of the entablature. This connects them with the principal order, with which otherwise, they have not sufficient union. When the parts are well proportioned, it is impossible to refuse our tribute of admiration to these churches; and if indeed it may be said with truth, that there is not one good front to any church in Rome, yet internally, they surpass, beyond all comparison, those of every other city. To produce the best effect, the pedestal above the cornice ought to be unbroken; and perhaps a wide plinth, without any mouldings, would be better than a pedestal. It is probable indeed, that the frieze and cornice of the principal order might be omitted with advantage, but I am only going to theorize so far as to select the best parts of such as really exist, not to wander in the realms of imagination without a guide. The vault should be in coffers, and have the look of a stone vault; not pretend to be a peep into heaven, which is frequently the idea intended to be conveyed, and a heaven adorned in general with a very whimsical painted architecture, such as would not be at all commendable here on earth. The Italian artists have been very fond, in these paintings, of contradicting the architecture, and making their lines appear straight on a curved surface, and representing on the vault of a church a range of upright piers or columns; such a design is assuredly in bad taste, for the building would be much worse with such an addition; and in practice it has this further defect, that it can only look well from one point, and from every other is more or less distorted. The Jesuit Pozzi was famous for the skill with which he executed these deceptions, and I have already mentioned a production of his at Siena, which is admirable, as far as the mere accomplishing a thing apparently very difficult, can deserve admiration. The gilding (and say what you please about simplicity, the advantage of gilding is frequently very great) ought to be principally in the vault. The Attic should have little or none; it should appear again in the cornice, in the capitals of the pilasters, and in the key-stone of the arches. The impost of the arch should receive a little of it. Thus being gradually lost as it comes downward, it will produce the effect of richness without glare, and without separating the building into distinct and unconnected parts, a fault I have already noticed to you in St. Peter’s. In the disposition of the gilding two faults are always to be avoided, this separation into parts, and the too equal and regular distribution on all the similar members of the architecture. It is surprising how much gilding may be employed without any effect of richness, by this too regular and equal distribution; and I shall mention to you by and by some churches in Rome, where there is a considerable portion of gilding, but without any effect; a failure arising entirely from this cause.

In stating how a building of this sort should be managed, the greatest difficulty is in the manner of introducing the light. Three different methods offer themselves to our choice; the first is to light the nave by one large window at the end. There would then also be a large window at each end of the transept, and the choir would be comparatively dark; but the altar, if brought forward in front of it, and receiving the light from both transept windows, and from the dome, which would remain with lights round the drum, as at present, would occupy, as it ought to do, by far the most conspicuous and best illuminated point in the church. If the altar must be kept back towards the end of the choir, there should also be windows in the choir, not visible from the entrance of the building, in order to throw a strong light upon it, and give it its proper consequence. In either case I am persuaded the effect internally would be most beautiful, but I should be puzzled to make an equally beautiful outside. In a Greek cross, the whole might be lighted from the central dome, but this would not do in a Latin one. A second plan would be to keep the side aisles very lofty by omitting the frieze, cornice, and pedestal, of the order, and springing the vault immediately from the architrave, and lighting the edifice entirely from the aisles. A degree of solemn gloom would result from the comparative darkness of the upper part, which perhaps would not be inconsistent with a religious edifice. The third plan is to introduce semicircular windows over the order, and to groin them into the vault. The perfect continuity of the design is in some degree injured by this arrangement, yet it cannot be considered as objectionable, if care be taken that these windows do not interrupt the leading lines of the architecture. If the whole curve be divided into five panels, and these windows occupy only the lower, the light would be amply sufficient.

Having thus endeavoured to give you some idea of the general distribution of the parts in the churches of Rome, I shall proceed to particularize a few of the finest examples, beginning with the Church of Sant Andrea della Valle, which I think on the whole deserves the first place. Here the nave has three arches on each side, besides a smaller division towards the dome. This alteration of design is a defect. The piers of the dome ought to be decidedly distinguished from the rest, both by their larger size, and by some contraction of the width of the opening; but there is no reason to make the adjoining division smaller, or of a different character, for it will always connect itself to the eye with the nave, and not with the dome; and consequently communicate no character of strength and firmness. Perhaps the architect (Olivieri) considered these smaller openings, with the piers on each side of them, as forming each in fact, one great pier; but if such was his idea, he has entirely counteracted its effect by making openings in the mass. The order is bold and magnificent; the vault is nobly divided into three large panels, but unfortunately, as the ornaments have never been executed, the present appearance is rather bald and unfinished. This vaulting springs upon detached pedestals, which would be better if continued, and the windows occupy part of the space between them, and also part of the first division of the vault. The transepts have each two small divisions without side aisles, the choir has one small arch on each side, and beyond that a semicircle. The proportions altogether are very fine, and the effect truly sublime. Yet it is a sublime of a very different character from that of a Gothic cathedral, and I think seldom fully understood by the English. We expect from habitual associations, a different sort of impression, while the Italians, from similar causes, do not readily see or feel the merits of the Gothic. All however will admire the beauty of Domenichino’s exquisite frescos, which I will not describe to you, for I could not do them justice.

There is a chapel in this church said to be built after designs left by M. A. Buonarotti, and whose ornaments are copies of some of his most celebrated works. It is oblong on the plan, and covered with a cupola, which this shape of the building renders slightly elliptical. This always appears defective; it seems too much like a circle badly drawn. Four columns on each of the three sides, make a sort of front to each, with a large semicircular window above one of them. The architecture is much broken, which though not to be admired anywhere, is much more tolerable in tombs than in large edifices. Before the basement of these fronts are sarcophagi of a bad shape but of a rich material, being of the black and gold marble. The columns are of lumachelli; the beauty of the design consists in the harmony of all the parts, both as to form and colour (except some ridiculous new moons and flames on the pendentives).

The Church of St. Ignatius, like so many other churches in Rome, and other parts of Italy, is the result of private magnificence, having been erected at the expense of Cardinal Ludovico Ludovisi, who left a sum of 200,000 crowns for its completion. Domenichino made two designs for this edifice, of which Father Grassi, a Jesuit, compounded the one which was executed. Domenichino was so much offended at this, that he refused to have any thing more to do with the building. How much the defects we now see in it are attributable to this procedure, it is impossible to decide. The circumstances which displease us are, that the side arches spring from little columns, and that whitewash is mixed with the rich marbles. The vault is smooth, and painted by Pozzi, with an ingenious perspective of bad architecture, and angels hanging about it. The cupola has not been executed. The general proportions are good, but the order is by no means equal to that of the Valle; still it is a noble church. I sometimes think that a considerably greater proportion of height to the breadth would be desirable in this arrangement, which additional height ought to be given almost exclusively to the order. This notion may have arisen from the habit of admiring Gothic churches. Yet in the narrow courts of their hypæthral temples, the Greeks seem to have been aware of the great effect produced by a height very considerable in proportion to the breadth.

The Church of the Jesuits was built from a design of Vignola, and is worthy of his talents. Here the columns are doubled on the piers of the nave, and as in Sant Andrea there are three arches on each side, and then next to the dome, one smaller division without an arch. This interruption of the design disappoints the eye, and it is more objectionable here than in the former instance, because the piers of the centre are of themselves considerably larger than the others, and it is therefore impossible to consider this division for a moment, as a large perforated pier. The side arches do not occupy the height of the order, but leave space for a gallery between them and the architrave. Above the order is a continued but broken pedestal on a high plinth, and a noble, richly ornamented rib; the whole width of the pier seems to form the solid of the vaulting. It is a pity that this fine feature should be interrupted to make room for the painting. The upper windows are badly ornamented, but they are rich, and in this part mere richness is of great value. Wherever the eye fixes, the architecture ought to be pure and correct, but the vaulting is seldom examined in detail, or at least the beauty of detail is there of less importance to the general impression produced by the building, than in parts more subject to inspection; and on the other hand, it is that part where richness of ornament produces the greatest effect in communicating to the building the appearance of magnificence. The chapels of the transept are very splendidly decorated, and on the whole, it is a most noble and magnificent church, and one of those which best satisfies the eye. It neither wants height, nor length, nor breadth; all is as it should be, and the defects are only in the distribution of the smaller parts. The width of the nave between the pilasters in this church, is about 55 feet, in Sant Ignazio, 57; in Sant Andrea, 51. Compare these with our St. Paul’s, which is 41, and you will easily understand that the Roman buildings, wider and shorter, and more richly decorated, must possess a character quite different from any thing to be seen in England. The Church of the Santi Apostoli is a fine edifice of this sort, with some of the chapels of rich and beautiful marbles well disposed, and in other respects highly decorated, and others of striped stucco; a contrast not at all pleasing. The parts in elevation, on the sides of the nave, are well proportioned, but the building does not end well, and is perhaps rather too short; the vaulting springs from a pedestal above the cornice. The lines of the architrave are interrupted to make room for an enormous picture, which represents not the fallen, but the falling angels; and in order to figure them in a more lively manner, the artist has made use of projecting portions of surface brought over the frame of the picture, on which he has painted parts of the figures, as if they were then actually tumbling into the church. It is rather a misfortune, that so bad an idea should be so well executed.

To carry you in detail through all the churches in Rome, would only offer a repetition of the same criticisms, without equal beauties to redeem their defects. Passing over therefore, a number of others of somewhat similar arrangement, and which all follow the disposition of the Latin cross, there are some very beautiful ones, in which that of the Greek cross is observed. The best of these, and the master-piece of Rainaldi, is the church of St. Agnes in the Piazza Navona; and a very delightful little building it is. The four equal arms are all very shallow, occupying four sides of an octagon, and it is an admirable lesson on the advantage of shallow recesses; although the little niches introduced at the extremities of the transept have a bad effect. Such a form might be very well lighted from the dome alone; but in the present instance this is too high, both for internal and external effect. The front is by Borromini, and though not free from his extravagancies, and his idly crooked lines, is the finest thing he has done. He had always some feeling among his wildest dreams, and it is this that at one time made him popular, and his example dangerous; had he not, he would neither have been admired nor imitated. Even in the church of San Carlo alle quattro fontane, where he seems to have given full reins to his imagination, we feel that there is something to be admired, though it is difficult to point out where it is; for on the inside as well as on the out, he has exerted himself to disappoint in every respect, both the eye and the judgment. His followers lost his beauties and preserved only his absurdities, thinking apparently, that the grace which still appeared, was owing to deformity, instead of, as was actually the case, feebly appearing through it.

Bernini has built the Church of Sant Andrea del Noviziato, on the Quirinal, in an elliptical form, to which, I suppose, he was determined by the shape of the ground; and in interrupting the lines of the entablature for the great altar, and making that opening, and that of the doorway, greater than the rest, he was probably guided by the prejudices of his employers. He has shown great judgment in avoiding anything of a transept, which must probably have given rise to another interruption, by making four chapels on each side, instead of an uneven number. The oval dome has something of a crooked appearance, and the details are not good, yet in spite of its defects, it is internally a beautiful little building. Of the outside, I will say nothing, for there is nothing good to be said.

The front of the Church of Santa Maria di Consolazione, is perhaps among the most tolerable of those in Rome, where any considerable enrichment has been attempted; but there are three little churches or chapels in the same neighbourhood, where probably the builders were not rich enough to be absurd. The composition of each presents nearly a square face, ornamented with four Doric pilasters, and crowned with a pediment. The parts are differently disposed in each, but all have a pleasing simplicity of character.

If I mention to you Santa Maria in Campitelli, it is rather because it is praised by others, than in compliance with my own taste. An effect of splendour is obtained by a multiplication of parts, without much dependence on each other. It puzzles rather than pleases.