Fresco paintings—Churches at Vercelli, Asti, Verona, and Lucca—Cathedral at Siena—Sta. Maria, Florence—Church at Chiaravalle—St. Petronio, Bologna—Cathedral at Milan—Certosa, near Pavia—Duomo at Ferrara.

Before the commencement of the 13th century, the Italians had acquired such mastery over the details of their round-arched style, and had worked it into such originality and completeness, that it is surprising that they should so easily have abandoned it for that form of Pointed Gothic which they afterwards adopted. It is true the Italians never rose to the conception of such buildings as the great Rhenish cathedrals, like those of Spires and Worms, or the old churches at Cologne; nor did they perhaps even rival the quasi-classical grace and elegance of the Provençal churches; but at Verona, Modena, and indeed throughout the North of Italy, they had elaborated a complete round-arched style, all the details of which were not only appropriate and elegant, but seemed capable of indefinite development in the direction in which they were proceeding. They had also before their eyes the Romanesque style of Pisa and Lucca with all its elegance, and the example of Rome, where the architects steadily refused to acknowledge the pointed arch during the whole of the Mediæval period. Yet in the beginning of the 13th century—say 1220, when the cathedrals of Amiens, Salisbury, and Toledo were designed—Italy too was smitten with admiration for the pointed arch, and set to work to adapt it to her tastes and uses.

It would be difficult to account for this, were we not aware how deeply the feelings that gave rise to the Ghibelline faction were rooted in the Italian soil. In all the cities, except Rome, the cause of the Ghibellines was throughout the Middle Ages identified with that of freedom and local independence, in opposition to that of the Guelfs, which symbolised the supremacy of the Pope and the clerical party. Knowing how strenuously this was resisted, we naturally expect to find it expressed in the architecture of the country. Two, indeed, of the great churches of Italy, Assisi (1228) and Milan (1385), were erected by Germans in the German style of the day; but these are exceptional. The form which the pointed-arched style took on its introduction, was that of adaptation to the Italian style, in a manner which the Italians thought more consonant with beauty and convenience than that adopted north of the Alps. In this they were certainly mistaken. The elegance of the details employed by a refined and cultivated people, and based on classical traditions, goes far to redeem, in most instances, the defects of their designs; but they never grasped the true principles of Gothic art, and the fatal facility of the pointed arch led them more astray after mechanical clevernesses than even the Germans. Still, it is an original style, and, however imperfect, is well worthy of study.

Before proceeding to describe the style more in detail, it may be well to point out one of the principal causes which led to the more marked features of difference between the Gothic architecture of Italy and that of Germany and France. This was the distaste of the Italians for the employment of painted glass, or at least their want of appreciation of its beauties when combined with architecture.

It will be explained in a future chapter how all-important painted glass was to the elaboration of the Gothic style. But for its introduction, the architecture of France would bear no resemblance to what it was, and is. In Italy, indeed, the people loved polychromy, but always of the opaque class. They delighted to cover the walls of their churches with frescoes and mosaics, to enrich their floors with the most gorgeous pavements, and to scatter golden stars over the blue ground of their vaults; but rarely, if ever, did they fill, or design to fill, their windows with painted glass. Perhaps the glare of an Italian sun may have tended to render its brilliancy intolerable; but more probably the absence of stained glass is owing to its incompatibility with fresco-painting, the effect of which would be entirely destroyed by the superior brightness of the transparent material. The Italians were not prepared to relinquish the old and favourite mode of decoration in which they so excelled. This adherence to the ancient method of ornamentation enabled them, in the 15th and 16th centuries, to surpass all the world in the art of painting, but it was fatal to the proper appreciation of the pointed style, and to its successful introduction into the land.

The first effect of this tendency was that the windows in Italian churches were small, and generally devoid of tracery, with all its beautiful accompaniments. The walls, too, being consequently solid, were sufficient, by their own weight, to abut the thrust of the arches: so that neither projecting or flying buttresses nor pinnacles were needed. The buildings were thus deprived externally of all the aspiring vertical lines so characteristic of true Gothic. The architects, to relieve the monotony arising from the want of these features, were forced to recur to the horizontal cornices of the classical times, and to cover their walls with a series of panelling which, however beautiful in itself, is mere ornament—both unmeaning and inconsistent.

Internally, too, having no clerestory to make room for, and no constructive necessities to meet, they jumped to the conclusion that the best design is that which covers the greatest space with the least expenditure of materials, and the least encumbrance of the floor. With builders this is a golden rule, but with architects it is about the worst that can possibly be adopted. The Germans were not free from this fault, but the Italians carried it still further. If on four or five piers they could support the vault of a whole nave, they never dreamed of introducing more. A French architect, though superior in constructive skill, would probably have introduced eight or ten in the same space. An Italian aimed at carrying the vaults of the side-aisles to the same height as that of the nave, if he could. A Northern architect knew how to keep the two in their due proportion, whereby he obtained greater height and greater width in the same bulk, and an appearance of height and width greater still, by the contrast between the parts, at the same time that he gave his building a character of strength and stability perhaps even more valuable than that of size.

In the same manner the Northern architects, while they grouped their shafts together, kept them so distinct as to allow every one to bear its proportional part of the load, and perform its allotted task. The Italians never comprehended this principle, but merely stuck pilasters back to back, in imitation of the true architects, producing an unmeaning and ugly pier. The same incongruities occur in every part and every detail. It is a style copied without understanding, and executed without feeling. The elegance of the sculptured foliage and other details sometimes goes far to redeem these faults; for the Italians, though bad architects, were always beautiful carvers, and, as a Southern people, were free from the vulgarities sometimes apparent farther north, and never fell into the wild barbarisms which too often disfigure even the best buildings on this side of the Alps. Besides, when painting is joined to sculpture in churches, the architecture may come to occupy a subordinate position, and thus escape the censure it deserves. Unfortunately there are only two examples of any importance in this style that retain all their painted decorations—St. Francis at Assisi, and the Certosa near Pavia. From this circumstance they are perhaps the most admired in Italy. In others the spaces left for colour are still plain and blank. We see the work of the architect unaided by the painting which was intended to set it off, and we cannot but condemn it as displaying at once bad taste and ignorance of the true Gothic feeling.

One of the earliest, or perhaps the very first Italian edifice into which the pointed arch was introduced, is the fine church of St. Andrea at Vercelli, commenced in the year 1219 by the Cardinal Guala Bicchieri, and finished in three years. This prelate, having been long legate in England, brought back with him an English architect called, it is said, Brigwithe, and entrusted him with the erection of this church in his native place.

In plan, it is certainly very like an English church, terminating squarely towards the east, and with side chapels to the transepts, arranged very much as we find them at Buildwas, Kirkstall, and other churches of this class and size, only that here they are polygonal, which was hardly ever the case in England. But with the plan all influences of the English architect seem to have ceased, and the structure is in purely Italian style. Externally the pointed arch nowhere appears, all the doors and windows being circular-headed; while internally it is confined to the pier-arches of the nave and the vaulting of the roof. The façade is flanked at its angles by two tall, slender, square towers; and the intersection of the nave and transept is covered by one of those elegant octagonal domes which the Italians knew so well how to use, and which is in fact the only original feature in their designs. The external form of this church is interesting, as displaying the germs of much that two centuries afterwards was so greatly expanded by a German architect in the design of Milan cathedral.

A few years later, in 1229, a church was commenced at Asti, the tower of which was finished in 1266. This allowed time for a more complete development of the pointed style, which here prevails not only internally, but externally. Tall pointed windows appear in the flanks, and even the doorways assume that form, in their canopies, if not in their openings. The porch (Woodcut No. 493) is a later addition, and a characteristic specimen of the style during the 14th century. This church is also one of the earliest examples in which those elegant terra-cotta cornices of small intersecting arches seem to have been brought to perfection.

The most remarkable church of this age is that of St. Francis at Assisi, commenced in 1228, and finished, in all essentials at least, in 1253. It is said to have been built by a German named Jacob, or Jacopo. Certainly no French or English architect would have designed a double church of this class, though, on the other hand, no Italian could have drawn details so purely Northern as those of the upper church. In the lower church there are hardly any mouldings to mark the style, but its character is certainly rather German than Italian. This church depends for its magnificence and character much more on painting than on architecture. In the first place it is small, the upper church being only 225 ft. long, by 36 in. width; and though the lower one has side-aisles which extend the width to 100 ft., yet the upper church is only 60 ft. in height, and the lower about 30, so that it is far too small for much architectural magnificence. None of its details are equal to those of contemporary churches on this side of the Alps. The whole church is covered with fresco paintings in great variety and of the most beautiful character, which justly render it one of the most celebrated and admired of all Italy. On this side of the Alps without its frescoes, it would hardly attract any attention. It is invaluable as an example of the extent to which the polychromatic decoration may be profitably carried, and of the true mode of doing it; and also as an illustration of the extent to which the Italians allowed a foreign style and mode of ornamentation to be introduced into their country.

One of the purest and most perfect types of an Italian Gothic church is that of Sta. Anastasia at Verona, commenced apparently in 1260. It is not large, being only 285 ft. in length externally; but its arrangements are very complete, and very perfect if looked at from an Italian point of view. The square of the vault of the nave is the modulus, instead of that of the aisles, as in true Gothic churches: owing to which the pier-arches are further apart than a true artist would have placed them; there are also no buttresses externally, but only pilasters. The consequence of this is, that the arches have to be tied in with iron rods at the springing, which internally adds very much to the appearance of weakness, caused in the first instance by the wide spacing and general tenuity. These bad effects are aggravated by the absence of a string-course at the springing of the vault; and by the substitution of a circular hole for the triforium, and a hexafoiled opening of very insignificant dimensions for the glorious clerestory windows of Northern churches. Altogether, though we cannot help being pleased with the spaciousness and general elegance of design, it is impossible not to feel how very inferior it is to that of churches on this side the Alps.

The church of San Martino at Lucca, built about a century after Sta. Anastasia (middle of 14th century), presents a strikingly happy compromise between the two styles. The pier-arches are still too wide—23 ft. in the clear; but the defect is remedied to some extent by the employment of circular instead of pointed arches, and the triforium is all that can be desired; the clerestory, however, is as insignificant as it must be where the sun is so brilliant and painted glass inadmissible. It would be easy to point out other defects; but, taking it altogether, there are few more elegant churches than this, and hardly one in Italy that so perfectly meets all the exigencies for which it was designed.

The cathedrals of Siena and Orvieto (the former commenced in 1243, the latter in 1290) are perhaps, taken altogether, the most successful specimens of Italian pointed Gothic. They are those at least in which the system is carried to the greatest extent without either foreign aid or the application of distinctly foreign details. These two buildings, moreover, both retain their façades as completed by their first architects, while the three great churches of this style—the cathedrals of Florence, Bologna, and Milan—were in this respect left unfinished, with many others of the smaller churches of Italy. The church at Siena illustrates forcibly the tendency of the Italian architects to adhere to the domical forms of the old Etruscans, which the Romans amplified to such an extent, and the Byzantines made peculiarly their own. I cannot but repeat my regret that the Italians alone, of all the Western Mediæval builders, showed any predilection for this form of roof. On this side of the Alps it could have been made the most beautiful of architectural forms. In Italy there is no instance of more than moderate success—nothing, indeed, to encourage imitation. Even the example now before us is no exception to these remarks, though one of the boldest efforts of Italian architects. In plan it ought to have been an octagon, but that apparently would have made it too large for their skill to execute, so they met the difficulty by adopting a hexagon, which, though producing a certain variety of perspective, fits awkwardly with the lines of columns, and twists the vaults to an unpleasant extent. Still, a dome of moderate height, and 58 ft. in diameter, covering the centre of the church, and with sufficient space around to give it dignity, is a noble and pleasing feature, the merit of which it is impossible to deny. Combined with the rich colouring and gorgeous furniture of the church, it makes up a whole of great beauty. The circular pier-arches, however, and the black and white stripes by which the exterior is marked, detract considerably from the effect of the whole—at least in the eyes of strangers, though the Italians still consider it a beauty. The façade of this cathedral is represented in Woodcut No. 498. It consists of three great portals, the arches of which are equal in size, though the centre doorway is larger than those at the sides. Above is the invariable circular window of the Italian architects, and the whole is crowned by steep triangular gables. Beneath the cathedral, or rather under the choir, is the ancient baptistery, now the church of St. John the Baptist; its front is in a much purer style of Gothic than the cathedral.^[310]

The carved architectural ornaments of the façade are rich and elaborate in the extreme, though figured sculpture is used to a much less extent than in Northern portals of the same age. It is also observable that the strong horizontal lines do not harmonise with the aspiring character of pointed architecture.

The cathedral of Orvieto is smaller and simpler, and less rich in its decorations, than that at Siena, with the exception of its façade, which is adorned with sculpture and painting. Indeed the three-gabled front may be considered the typical one for churches of this class. The façades intended to have been applied to the churches at Florence, Bologna, Milan, and elsewhere, were no doubt very similar to that represented in Woodcut No. 498. As a frontispiece, if elaborately sculptured and painted, it is not without considerable appropriateness and even beauty; but, as an architectural object, it is infinitely inferior to the double-towered façades of the Northern cathedrals, or even to those with only one great tower in the centre. It has besides the defect of not expressing what is behind it; the central gable being always higher than the roof, and the two others merely ornamental appendages. Indeed, like the Italian Gothic buildings generally, it depended on painting, sculpture, and carving for its effect, far more than on architectural design properly so called.

Among the greatest and most complete examples of Italian Gothic is the church of Sta. Maria dei Fiori, the cathedral of Florence, one of the largest and finest churches produced in the Middle Ages—as far as mere grandeur of conception goes, perhaps the very best, though considerably marred in execution from defects of style, which are too apparent in every part.

The building of the church was commenced in the year 1294 or 1298 (it is not quite clear which), from the designs and under the superintendence of Arnolfo di Lapo, for unfortunately in this style we know the names of all the architects, and all the churches show traces of the caprice and of the misdirected efforts of individuals, instead of the combined national movement which produced such splendid results in France and England. It is not known how far Arnolfo had carried the building when he died, in 1310, but probably up to the springing of the vaults. After this the works proceeded more leisurely, but the nave and smaller domes of the choir were no doubt completed as we now find them in the first twenty years of the 14th century. The great octagon remained unfinished, and, if covered in at all, it was only by a wooden roof of domical outline externally, which seems to be that represented in the fresco in the convent of San Marco, till Brunelleschi commenced the present dome in 1420, and completed it in all essential parts before his death, which happened in 1444. The building may therefore be considered as essentially contemporary with the cathedral of Cologne, which it very nearly equals in size (its area being 84,802 ft., while that of Cologne is estimated at 91,000), and, as far as mere conception of plan goes, there can be little doubt but that the Florentine cathedral far surpasses its German rival. Nothing indeed can be finer than its general ground-plan. A vast nave leads to an enormous dome, extending into the triapsal arrangement so common in the early churches of Cologne, and which was repeated in the last and greatest effort of the Middle Ages, or rather the first of the new school—the great church of St. Peter at Rome. In the Florentine church all these parts are better subordinated and proportioned than in any other example, and the mode in which the effect increases and the whole expands as we approach from the entrance to the sanctum is unrivalled. All this, alas! is utterly thrown away in the execution. Like all inexperienced architects, Arnolfo seems to have thought that largeness of parts would add to the greatness of the whole, and thus used only four great arches in the whole length of his nave, giving the central aisle a width of 55 ft. clear. The whole width is within 10 ft. of that of Cologne, and the height about the same; and yet, in appearance, the height is about half, and the breadth less than half, owing to the better proportion of the parts and to the superior appropriateness in the details on the part of the German cathedral. At Florence the details are positively ugly. The windows of the side-aisles are small and misplaced, those of the clerestory mere circular holes. The proportion of the aisles one to another is bad, the vaults ill-formed, and altogether a colder and less effective design was not produced in the Middle Ages. The triapsal choir is not so objectionable as the nave, but there are large plain spaces that now look cold and flat; the windows are too few and small, and there is a gloom about the whole which is very unsatisfactory. It is nearly certain that the original intention was to paint the walls, and not to colour the windows, so that these defects are hardly chargeable to the original design, and would not be apparent now were it not that in a moment of mistaken enthusiasm the Florentines were seized with a desire to imitate the true style of Gothic art, and rival Northern cathedrals in the glory of their painted glass. This, in a church whose windows were designed only of such dimensions as were sufficient to admit the requisite quantity of white light, was fatal. Notwithstanding the beauty of the glass itself, which seems to have been executed at Lubeck, 1434, from Italian designs, it is so completely out of place that it only produces irritation instead of admiration, and has certainly utterly destroyed the effect and meaning of the interior it was intended to adorn.

Externally the façade was never finished,^[311] and we can only fancy what was intended from the analogy of Siena and Orvieto. The flanks of the nave are without buttresses or pinnacles, and, with only a few insignificant windows, would be painfully flat except for a veneer of coloured marbles disposed in panels over the whole surface. For an interior or a pavement such a mode of decoration is admissible; but it is so unconstructive, so evidently a mere decoration, that it gives a weakness to the whole, and most unsatisfactory appearance to so large a building. This is much less apparent at the east end, where the outline is so broken, and the main lines of the construction so plainly marked, that the mere filling in is comparatively unimportant. This is the most meritorious part of the church, and, so far as it was carried up according to the original design, is extremely beautiful. Even the plainness and flatness of the nave serve as a foil to set off the varying outline of the choir. Above the line of the cornice of the side-aisles there is nothing that can be said to belong to the original design except the first division of the drum of the dome, which follows the lines of the clerestory. It has long been a question what Arnolfo originally intended, and especially how he meant to cover the great octagonal space in the centre. All knowledge of his intentions seems to have been lost within a century after his death: at least, in the accounts of the proceedings of the commission which resulted in the adoption of Brunelleschi’s design for the dome, no reference is made to any original design as then existing, and no one appears to have known how Arnolfo intended to finish his work. Judging from the structure as far as he carried it, and with the knowledge we now possess of the Italian architecture of that age, we can easily conjecture what his design for its completion may have been. Internally, it probably consisted of a dome something like the present, but flatter, springing from the cornice, 40 ft. lower than the present one, and pierced with large openings on each of its eight faces.

Externally, two courses were open to him. The first and most obvious was to hide the dome entirely under a wooden roof, as is done in St. George’s, Thessalonica (Woodcut No. 305), or in the baptistery in front of the cathedral, and is done in half the baptisteries in Italy—as at Parma, for instance (Woodcut No. 514). Had he done this, the span of the dome might have been very much larger, without involving any constructive difficulties, and the three towers over the choir and transepts might have sufficed to relieve its external appearance sufficiently for architectural effect. On the whole, however, I am rather inclined to believe that something more ambitious than this was originally proposed, and that the design was more like that of Chiaravalle near Milan, built in 1221, and one of the most complete and perfect of this class of dome now existing in Italy. Its external appearance may be judged of from Woodcut 502, and its constructive details from the section, Woodcut No. 503.

If the basement is sufficiently solid—and that at Florence is more than sufficient for any superstructure of the sort—it is evident the architect can dispose of such masses of masonry, that he can counteract any thrust or tendency to spread that can exist in any dome of this sort; and instead of being only 136 ft. across, 150 or 160 might easily have been attempted. Instead of 375 ft., which is the height of the present dome from the floor to the top of the cross externally, it might even with the present diameter have been carried up to at least 500 ft., or as high as the church was long,—70 to 100 ft. above the height of St. Peter’s at Rome.

Had this been done, the three smaller semi-domes must have been intended to be crowned with miniature octagonal spires of the same class with the great dome, and between these the vast substructures show that it was intended to carry up four great spires, probably to a height of 400 ft.

Had all this been done (and something very like it seems certainly to have been intended), neither Cologne Cathedral, nor any church in Europe, ancient or modern, would have been comparable to this great and glorious apse. As it is, the plain, heavy, simple outlined dome of Brunelleschi acts like an extinguisher, crushing all the lower part of the composition, and both internally and externally destroying all harmony between the parts. It has deprived us of the only chance that ever existed of witnessing the effect of a great Gothic dome; not indeed such a dome as might with the same dimensions have been executed on this side of the Alps, but still in the spirit, and with much of the poetry, which gives such value to the conceptions of the builders in those days.

But for this change of plan, the ambition of the Florentines might have been in some measure satisfied, whose instructions to the architect were, that their cathedral “should surpass everything that human industry or human power had conceived of great and beautiful.”

About a century later (1390), the Bolognese determined on the erection of a monster cathedral, which, in so far as size went, would have been more than double that at Florence. According to the plans that have come down to us, it was to have been about 800 ft. long and 525 wide across the transepts; at the intersection was to have been a dome 130 ft. in diameter, or only 6 ft. less than that at Florence; and the width of both nave and transepts was to have been 183 ft.: so that the whole would have covered about 212,000 ft., or nearly the same area as St. Peter’s at Rome, and three times that of any French cathedral! Of this vast design, only about one-third (Woodcut No. 504), 74,000 sq. ft., was ever carried out; but that fragment is quite sufficient to enable us to judge of the merits or defects of this style in its state of greatest perfection. The only other building in the same style on a sufficient scale to admit of comparison with this is the nave of the cathedral at Florence just described, but that is nearly as may be only half of its dimensions, or 36,000 ft. as compared with 72,000. The chapels, too, at Bologna add practically a fifth aisle, giving great variety and richness to the perspective. The varied heights and proportions of the central and side aisles are singularly pleasing, and there being six arches at Bologna instead of only four as at Florence, and twelve side chapels where none exist in the other example, go far to redeem the lean mechanical look which is the great defect of this style. The great advantage San Petronio has over the Florentine church is in the size and number of its windows, and these not being filled with stained glass the whole church has a bright and pleasing effect that contrasts most favourably with the gloom of its great rival. Notwithstanding this, the nave of San Petronio cannot be considered as a successful work of art. In the first place it is too mechanically perfect. The area of the points of support as compared with the voids is, as far as can be made out from such plans as exist, about one-twelfth, which would be a merit in a railway station, but something more is wanted in a monumental building. In the next there is a singular deficiency of either constructive or constructed ornament. On this side of the Alps an architect with vaulting shafts, string-courses, galleries, and fifty other expedients, would have relieved the bareness of the walls. At Bologna it probably was intended they should be painted, and this never having been executed may account for most of its apparent defects.

In Gothic architecture one of two systems seems indispensable: either painted glass with strongly-marked carved mouldings over the whole of the interior, or white glass with flat surfaces suitable for opaque paintings. Few cathedrals are complete in both respects at the present day, but in their imperfect state the Northern system has an immense advantage over the Southern. The architecture of our cathedrals is complete and beautiful even in ruins. An Italian church without its coloured decoration is only a framed canvas without harmony or meaning. Were San Petronio as complete in its coloured decoration as the Certosa at Pavia or Monreale at Palermo, it might stand a fair competition with the best interiors on this side of the Alps. As it is, it is only a splendid example of ornamental but unornamented construction, and, as was attempted to be explained in the Introduction, both elements are wanted for success in architectural design.

The exterior of the church is in too unfinished a state to enable us to judge of what its effect might have been if completed, but many of its details, especially of the façade, are of very great beauty, in many respects superior to what is to be found on this side of the Alps. Its central dome, however, never could have been a feature worthy of so vast a church. In diameter it is equal, or nearly so, to that of Florence, but the points of support are so small, and so far apart, that it must have been mainly if not wholly of wood. No such towering structure as Arnolfo’s vast substructures show that he intended, could have stood on the slim supports of the Bolognese church.^[312]

The cathedral of Milan—at once the most remarkable and one of the largest and richest of all the churches erected in the Middle Ages—was commenced in the year 1385, by order of Gian Galeazzo, first Duke of Milan, and consecrated in 1418, at which date all the essential parts seem to have been completed, though the central spire was not finished till about the year 1440, by Brunelleschi.

The design is said to have been furnished by a German architect, Heinrich Arlez von Gemunden, or as the Italians call him, “da Gamondia,”—a statement which is corroborated by the fact that the details and many of the forms are essentially Northern; but it is equally certain that he was not allowed to control the whole, for all the great features of the church are as thoroughly Italian as the details are German: it is therefore by no means improbable that Marco da Campione, as the Italians assert, or some other native artist, was joined with him or placed over him.

In size it is, except Seville, the largest of all Mediæval cathedrals, covering 107,782 ft. In material it is the richest, being built wholly of white marble, which is scarcely the case with any other church, large or small; and in decoration it is the most gorgeous—the whole of the exterior is covered with tracery, and the amount of carving and statuary lavished on its pinnacles and spires is unrivalled in any other building of Europe. It is also built wholly (with the exception of the façade) according to one design. Yet, with all these advantages, the appearance of this wonderful building is not satisfactory to any one who is familiar with the great edifices on this side of the Alps. Cologne is certainly more beautiful; Rheims, Chartres, Amiens, and Bourges leave a far more satisfactory impression on the mind; and even the much smaller church of St. Ouen will convey far more pleasure to the true artist than this gorgeous temple.

The cause of all this it is easy to understand, since all or nearly all its defects arise from the introduction of Italian features into a Gothic building; or rather, perhaps, it should be said, from a German architect being allowed to ornament an Italian cathedral. Taking the contemporary cathedral of St. Petronio at Bologna as our standard of comparison, it will be seen that the sections (Woodcuts Nos. 505, 507) are almost identical both in dimensions and in form, except that at Milan the external range is a real aisle instead of a series of side chapels; but, at the same time, it will be perceived that the German system prevailed in doubling the number of the piers between the nave and side-aisles. So far, therefore, the German architect saved the church. The two small clerestories, however, still remain; and although the design avoids the mullionless little circles of Bologna, there is only space for small openings, which more resemble the windows of an attic than of a clerestory. The greater quantity of light being thus introduced by the tall windows of the outer aisle, the appearance is that of a building lighted from below, which is fatal to architectural effect.

The model still preserved on the spot shows that the German architect designed great portals at each end of the transepts. This, however, was overruled in favour of two small polygonal apses. Instead of the great octagonal dome which an Italian would have placed upon the intersection of the whole width of the nave and transepts, German influence has confined it to the central aisle, which is perhaps more to be regretted than any other mistake in the building. The choir is neither a French chevet nor a German or Italian apse, but a compromise between the two, a French circlet of columns enclosed in a German polygonal termination. This part of the building, with its simple forms and three glorious windows, is perhaps an improvement on either of the models of which it is compounded.

This is the nearest approach to the French chevet arrangement to be found in all Italy. It is extremely rare in that country to find an aisle running round the choir, and opening into it, or with the circlet of apsidal chapels which is so universal in France. The Italian church is not, in fact, derived from a combination of a circular Eastern church with a Western rectangular nave, but is a direct copy from the old Roman basilica.

The details of the interior of Milan cathedral are almost wholly German (Woodcut No. 508). The great capitals of the pillars, with their niches and statues, are the only compromise between the ordinary German form and the great deep ugly capitals—fragments, in fact, of classical entablatures—which disfigure the cathedrals of Florence and Bologna, and so many other Italian churches. Had the ornamentation of these been carried up to the springing of the vault, they would have been unexceptionable; as it is, with all their richness, their effect is unmeaning.

Externally, the appearance is in outline not unlike that of Sta. Maria dei Fiori; the apse is rich, varied, and picturesque, and the central dome (excepting the details) similar, though on a smaller scale, to what I believe to have been the original design of the Florentine church. The nave is nearly as flat as at Florence, the clerestory not being visible; but the forest of pinnacles and flying buttresses and the richness of the ornamentation go far to hide that defect. The façade was left unfinished, as was so often the case with the great churches of Italy. Pellegrini was afterwards employed to finish it, and a model of his design is still preserved. It is fortunate that his plan was not carried out. The façade was finished, as we now see it, from the designs of Amati, by order of Napoleon. It is commonplace, as might be expected from its age, but inoffensive. The doorways are part of Pellegrini’s design, and the Mediæval forms being placed over those of the cinque-cento, produce a strangely incongruous effect. For the west front several original designs are still preserved. One of these, with two small square towers at the angles, as at Vercelli and elsewhere, was no doubt the Italian design. The German one (Woodcut No. 509) is preserved by Bassi:^[314] had this been executed, the façade would have been about one-third (viz. 100 ft.) wider than that of Cologne. Had the height of the towers been in the same proportion, they would have been the tallest in the world. In that case the effect here, as at Cologne, would have been to shorten and overpower the rest of the building to a painful extent. A design midway between the two, with spires rising to the same height as the central one, or about 360 ft., would perhaps have the happiest effect. At any rate, the want of some such features is greatly felt in the building as it stands.

The Certosa, near Pavia, was commenced about the same date (1396) as the cathedral at Milan. It is seldom that we find two buildings in the Middle Ages so close to one another in date and locality, and yet so dissimilar. There is no instance of such an occurrence on this side of the Alps, till modern times; and it shows that in those days the Italians were nearly as devoid of any distinct principles of architecture as we have since become.

The great difference between Pavia and Milan is that the former shows no trace of foreign influence. It is as purely Italian as St. Petronio, and by no means so complete or consistent in design. Nothing, in fact, can be more painful than the disproportion of the parts, the bad drawing of the details, the malformation of the vaults, and the meanness of the windows; though all these defects are completely hidden by the most gorgeous colouring, and by furniture of such richness as to be almost unrivalled. So attractive are these two features to the majority of spectators, and so easily understood, that nine visitors out of ten are delighted with the Certosa, and entirely forget its miserable architecture in the richness and brilliancy of its decorations.

Externally the architecture is better than in the interior. From its proximity to Pavia, it retains its beautiful old galleries under the roof. Its circular apses, with their galleries, give to this church, for the age to which it belongs, a peculiar character, harmonising well with the circular-headed form, which nearly all the windows and openings present. Even in the interior there are far more circular than pointed arches.

The most beautiful and wonderful part of the building is the façade. This was begun in 1473, and is one of the best specimens in Italy of the Renaissance style. It would hardly, therefore, be appropriate to mention it here, were it not that the dome over the intersection of the nave and transepts is of the same age and style, but reproduces so exactly (except in details) what we fancy the Mediæval Italian Gothic dome to have been, that it may be considered as a feature of the earlier ages. Referring to Woodcut No. 502, it will be seen how like it is to that of Chiaravalle in outline. It is less tall, however, and, if translated into the details of the great church at Florence, would fit perfectly on the basement there prepared for such a feature.

Like many other churches in Northern Italy, the principal parts of the Certosa are built in brick, and the ornamental details executed in terra-cotta. Some of the latter, especially in the cloisters, are as beautiful as any executed in stone in any part of Italy during the Middle Ages; and their perfect preservation shows how suitable is the material for such purposes. It may not be appropriate for large details or monumental purposes, but for the minor parts and smaller details, when used as the Italians in the Middle Ages used it, terra-cotta is as legitimate as any material anywhere used for building purposes; and in situations like the alluvial plains of the Po, where stone is with difficulty obtainable, its employment was not only judicious but most fortunate in its results.

It would be a tedious and unprofitable task to attempt to particularise all the churches which were erected in this style in Italy, as hardly one of them possesses a single title to admiration beyond the very vulgar one of size. To this Santa Croce, at Florence, adds its association with the great men who lie buried beneath it, and Sta. Maria Novella can plead the circumstance—exceptional in that city—of possessing a façade;^[315] but neither of these has anything to redeem its innate ugliness in the eyes of an architect.

There are two great churches of this period at Venice, the San Giovanni e Paolo (1246-1420) and the Frari (1250); they are large and richly ornamented fabrics, but are both entirely destitute of architectural merit.