I left Bologna on the 14th. Although the vettura arrived at my lodging at half past five, we did not leave the city till half past seven; because a servant boy who was to have rode in the front, and who, according to our vetturino, had received half a scudo as caparre, never made his appearance. I do not know how to translate this word caparre. Earnest seems to imply the payment in advance, of a portion of what will ultimately become due; but here he pays who is ultimately to receive. Indeed, the whole system is very different from that of our country. It is usual to set out very early in the morning, and after travelling about twenty miles, stop for two or three hours, and then proceed twelve or fifteen miles more, with the same horses. In summer the journeys are longer, and so is the mid-day stop; but I believe a regulation is in force, that the vetturino shall not go farther than forty miles in one day, in order that he may not interfere with the posting. At night the vetturino pays for your supper, fire, and bed; but you pay for whatever you have in the middle of the day, and for breakfast, if you choose any. The usual practice among the Italians, when travelling, seems to be to make only two meals in the day, taking in the morning merely a cup of coffee without milk, a scanty dinner, and as good a supper as the vetturino will give them. Generally speaking, you pay about two crowns (or dollars) per diem, with something more where there are mountains to cross, and where they have to attach bullocks or additional horses to the carriage; or in short, when there is any particular circumstance on the road, which increases the expense to the vetturino. It is usual to add a mancia, or present to the driver, if you are served to your satisfaction; and this may be reckoned at about two pauls per day.

The road lies across the Apennines, which consist in a general view, of one very gentle, but extensive swell, intersected by deep winding vallies. The sides of these vallies are generally steep, but not absolutely precipitous, or materially rocky, except in a few points which start up above the rest. They are very much covered with wood, principally of chesnut-trees, and present a variety of pleasing scenery. If you can in your imagination magnify considerably, the country about Tunbridge Wells, you will perhaps have as competent an idea as I can give you, of this part of the range. Our driver was very anxious to get to Florence on the second night, that he might not have to pay our expenses again, and we consequently arrived at this city at about un’ ora e mezza di notte. We reckon here by Italian time, beginning at the Ave Maria, a little after sunset, and reckoning round for twenty-four hours, till the Ave Maria of the next evening.

Florence as a city does not please me so well as Bologna; the streets are narrower, and the palaces are like prisons. These streets are paved with flag-stones of irregular forms, variously fitted to each other. They have the appearance of wide foot-alleys; so that while at Paris every body has to walk on the carriage-road, at Florence all the carriages seem to be on the foot-path.

The first building I went to examine was the Cathedral, a splendid work externally, and quite sui generis; for though in classing it you must put it with the Italian Gothic, already described, yet the style of ornament is very different from any that we observe elsewhere. The erection of this noble pile appears to have been decreed by the Florentine senate in 1294, and the building was commenced in 1298. Florence was then, according to Machiavelli, in its greatest prosperity, under a government essentially democratical, but which still left considerable consequence and power to the nobility. It must be confessed that these Italian citizens had magnificent ideas. The architect was Arnolfo; and since the whole of the ground plan is certainly of his design, it would be extremely interesting to ascertain how he intended to cover the great octagonal space in the centre. Arnolfo died in 1330, and Giotto was substituted in his place in 1334. I have an engraving professing to give the façade, as it was first built, from the designs of Arnolfo, before that of Giotto, but this can hardly be correct, as we find that in 1342, the work was only raised just above the opening of the doors; and we cannot suppose Giotto to have first erected Arnolfo’s design, and then demolished it to apply one of his own; and it seems certain that an elevation designed by Giotto, was really carried up to above the arches over the doors.^[39] This, however, was afterwards pulled down, and a new front raised, from a model made under the direction of the Academy of design in the city. This again was destroyed in 1688, and despairing of a marble front, the wall was covered with a smooth surface of stucco, and the architecture painted upon it. The weather will save the Florentines the trouble of destroying this invention, since it is now almost obliterated.

To return to the building. We have various, though imperfect notices of its progress till 1407, when the whole edifice was completed as far as the upper outside cornice of the nave; and it appears probable that both the nave, and the three tribunes forming the remaining arms of the cross, were vaulted and covered in. All this is said to be precisely according to the design of Arnolfo; but from the similarity of the style to that of the Campanile, we may imagine that Giotto had some hand in the distribution of the coloured marbles which cover the brickwork of the first part of the nave. The part behind the tribunes, from its similarity to that of the baptistery, may be attributed to Arnolfo, while between Giotto’s work and the front, there is a small portion of later date. The difference of style in these parts is not so great as to obtrude itself on a casual observer. Brunelleschi advised the construction of the octangular drum under the dome, with the circular windows, but whether this was his own design, or the continuation of Arnolfo’s, has been disputed. Perhaps he only suggested some alterations. In 1419 this work was completed, and Brunelleschi was again consulted about the construction of the dome itself; but he had great difficulties to encounter. A meeting of architects and master-builders was called, by whom his plan seems to have been generally disapproved, and even made a subject of ridicule. Perhaps this applies rather to the mode of carrying it into execution, than to the design itself. Among various schemes proposed, one was to bury some money in a vast mound of earth, corresponding in size and shape, with the proposed edifice, to erect the dome upon this mound, and afterwards, as the cheapest way of removing the earth, to permit the populace to enter and dig for the money. The building was under the care of the workmen and consuls of the woollen art; or as we should say, the warden and assistants of the clothworkers’ company; and they had the good sense and firmness to appoint Brunelleschi the architect. The clamours raised against his scheme, had, however, so much effect, that another artist was joined with him in the commission. We form a very mean opinion of this associate, when we learn that Brunelleschi feigned himself ill; and that the incompetency of his companion thus becoming evident, the whole direction was committed to him. This dome or cupola, if measured on the angles, is somewhat larger than the Pantheon at Rome, and when measured on the sides, not much less than that building, and wider than the dome of St. Peter’s. It is confined at the springing by a chain formed of wooden beams. The difficulty of construction is however, much lessened by the solidity of the mass on which it stands, and from its being carried up, in compliance with the disposition of the ground plan, without the intervention of pendentives, or any contrivance of that sort. It was begun in 1420, and finished in 1434; and in 1435, the church was dedicated by Pope Eugenius the Fourth.

After what I have already said, you will not ask me for any criticism on the front of this building; and in my observations on the appearance of the sides, you will recollect that the work is not all finished, particularly the upper part of the drum of the dome, where a parapet of small arches has been commenced under the direction of Baccio d’Agnolo, and not terminated. However, except in the façade, and in a few slight deficiencies of this sort, the whole edifice is encrusted with red, black, and white marbles, disposed in panels; some square-headed, and some terminating in pointed arches. There is a good deal of Gothic ornament about the lower windows and doors, and this is more apparent in the part I have attributed to Giotto and his successors, than in that of Arnolfo in the tribunes, where most of the arches are semicircular. The windows of the clerestory and of the drum of the dome, are circular, and without much ornament; but all the windows are small. You will not say that this is in good taste, and it certainly cannot be praised for purity of design. In fact the panelling does not agree with the arches, or cornice; and neither of these, with the windows. Yet station yourself at the south east angle, opposite the part which is most complete, and you must acknowledge it a glorious and magnificent building; rich and splendid in all its parts, and beautiful as a whole composition; and if there be not perfect harmony in every particular, there is nothing obtrusive or offensive; nothing which does not unite to the perfection of the whole. The inside of the nave is more decidedly Gothic than the out; it is very large, but not handsome, with wide arches upon low piers; the width of these openings being twenty-eight braccia, each of 22,956 inches, i. e. 53 feet and a half English, which is also the width of the nave, while the aisles are displeasingly narrow. The piers are of brown stone, the walls and vaults whitewashed, and there is very little ornament of any sort. There are no ridge-ribs in the vaulting, and the ridges themselves are very much arched. An awkward gallery at the springing of the vaulting cuts the lines, and hides the commencement of the ribs. The arches are kept as usual by iron ties, the windows of the clerestory are small and circular; those of the aisles long, narrow, and pointed.

The whole of the part about the dome, is well and firmly built; and the exuberance of strength makes one conceive that Arnolfo intended something great in the centre. The diameter of the octagon is seventy-two braccia, which is somewhat greater than the width of the three parts of the nave united. Four of the sides are of course open to the four arms of the cross; two others open into the side aisles of the nave, and the remaining two into the sacristy. The dome is painted without any ribs or panels, or other architectural decoration; and in spite of its size, its gloom, and its apparent solidity, the impression is not sublime. As we usually see this building, the windows are shaded, and the chief light is admitted from the doors. Nothing can be worse; but we frequently find the private apartments in Florence lighted from the lower part. The choir is a great octagonal inclosure, immediately under the dome. This is also said to be by Brunelleschi, but it is very ugly. There is hardly any thing to be admired, either in the sculpture or painting of this church. It boasts indeed a work of Michael Angelo, but unfinished, like most of his productions; and in so dark a place that it is hardly possible to see it at any time. More interest arises from the names of some great men who were buried here; Brunelleschi, Giotto, Dante, the first who distinguished themselves in the architecture, painting, and poetry, of modern Europe. How terms change their signification in different places! Four hundred years gives a monument a full claim to antiquity in England, but in Italy leaves it quite modern; and I have heard of a gentleman, who, in a conversation about Greek antiquities, was put in mind of the fortifications of Messene, which are still nearly entire. ‘Oh,’ replied he, ‘but those are modern, only of the age of Epaminondas.’ For these nations to boast of their antiquity however, is just like an old man boasting of those years which have robbed him of all his vigour, both of body and mind.

From the cathedral I will take you to the Campanile, which stands just by, built entirely by Giotto; but if it was founded, as it is said to have been, on the 8th of July, 1334, it could hardly have been completed under his direction, since the latest account of his death fixes it in 1336, and Milizia places it in 1334. It is 25 braccia (47 feet 8 inches) square on the plan, and 144 braccia (294 feet 7 inches) in height. The building is encrusted with red, black, and white marbles, like the cathedral, and like it, is of a peculiar architecture; for though the openings are pointed, and have even a good deal of Gothic ornament, yet the whole character of the building has hardly any thing in common with the spiry, ascending form of that style, as we see it executed in France and England. For what it is, it is well composed, but we feel the want of any leading lines, the horizontal and perpendicular equally breaking each other. An Italian at Paris lifted up his hands and shoulders, when I praised the simplicity of design in the internal architecture of the best Gothic edifices; but the Italians have no right to reproach the northern artists with want of simplicity, since this never was the character of any period of the art with them. The Romans perhaps, added richness and magnificence to the Greek architecture, but they certainly, by introducing complicated, and frequently ill-combining forms, injured its simplicity; and if any thing like simplicity is found in some of the early restorers of the Roman style, it was soon over, and never became the national characteristic. Michael Angelo, Palladio, Brunelleschi, are only simple by comparison with the licentiousness of their successors.

These two buildings and the baptistery stand together, and form a group, which is, I suppose, hardly to be paralleled. The latter is a large octagonal edifice, covered with a dome, and is considered to have been an ancient baptistery, erected when the practice of immersion was prevalent; but the precise date is unknown. The mosaic of the interior was executed in 1260, and the marble incrustation of the outside in 1293, from a design by Arnolfo. If this be correct, we may readily assign part of the outside of the cathedral to the same artist, for the style much resembles that of the back of the tribunes. It is however, almost certain, from the appearance of some of the windows, that it has undergone alterations at a later period. Brunelleschi is said to have copied the dome, in that of the cathedral. The bronze doors of this building, the design of which is also attributed to Arnolfo, are much admired; but I shall enter into no particulars of what has been so often described. There is one other building in Florence designed by Giotto. It was erected for a corn market in 1337; afterwards it became a church, in consequence of a figure of the virgin, painted by Ugolino da Siena, which obtained a miraculous reputation during the plague which desolated Europe in 1348; and it is now a deposit for the archives of the city.^[40] The lower windows are semicircular-headed, divided into three lights, over which are intersecting arches, also semicircular. The upper windows have pointed arches, but I doubt if these belong to the original structure.

The church of Santa Croce was built by Arnolfo in 1294. The front is of rough brickwork, the marble facing never having been executed, except a course or two at the base. Internally, the design is Gothic, with seven arches on each side. The side altars are of the Corinthian order, with columns of macigno. This seems to be a micaceous sandstone, of a gray colour; a good, but not a handsome material; the piers and archivolts of the building are coloured to imitate it: the rest is whitewash: the architecture has very little ornament, and the whole effect is poor, but it has been ill treated. As in most of the Gothic churches in Florence, the arches of the nave rise above the capitals of the columns, and the springing of the great vault, which has a very bad effect. Santa Croce has another claim on our attention, as the burying place of many distinguished men. Here lies Michael Angelo Buonarotti, painter, sculptor, and architect, having obtained the most extravagant praises in each art. A man of amazing talents, but so great a mannerist, that he is accused of having spoiled the Florentine school in every thing; and of great industry; but who, though his life was long, has left very little of finished work behind him. Here lies Machiavelli, the keen observer, the profound reasoner; but who, in some of his works, seems to have forgotten that there is in mankind a natural tendency to love truth and virtue. Here also lies Micheli, one of the ablest botanists of modern Europe: and we find many other of those great names, which have rendered Florence so illustrious. Here likewise is Alfieri. Harsh, stern, rigid, like Michael Angelo, and like him, possessing great powers, and strong expression; and being as great a mannerist. The duchess of York and Albany has erected to Alfieri a monument of Canova’s, at an expense of 4,500l sterling. It is very large, but not beautiful.

Brunelleschi is said to have borrowed much from the two ancient churches of San Remigio, and of the Santi Apostoli. The first is a Gothic edifice, in which the divisions of the nave are about square, and the springing of its vaults hardly higher than that of the side aisles. It offers nothing remarkable as an object of study to the architect, but it has considerable resemblance to Santa Maria Novella, the idea of which is said to have been taken from this edifice.

At the Santi Apostoli is a range of columns of a tolerable Corinthian, crowned with a large sima above the abacus, on which the arches rest; there is no cornice, or any continued straight line between the arches and the ceiling, so that it cannot by any means be correctly said to exhibit those peculiarities which mark the architecture of Brunelleschi. Both these churches are believed to be of high antiquity, but the latter has been restored, perhaps about the time of that artist, or not much before.

It is a pity that the passion, and means of building, had their chief influence at Florence, just as the Gothic taste began to disappear, and the Roman to take its place. The Florentines, themselves, perhaps do not think it a disadvantage, as it is owing to this coincidence that they are able to boast of having led the way in the restoration of architecture. But it is owing also to this, that so many of their buildings are unfinished; for since the old taste fell rapidly into extreme disrepute, they would not venture to erect the façade, (always apparently the part last completed) according to the original design, nor could they agree in any new design, always out of harmony with the edifice; and consequently it generally remains in rough brickwork or plaster. The church of Santa Maria Novella is however one of those which has a façade. The body of the building was begun in 1279, nineteen years before the cathedral, from the design of two Dominican monks, Fra Sisto, and Fra Ristoro; and was completed in 1350. The façade was finished in 1477; the lower part reminds one very much of the architecture of the baptistery, and probably was designed by the original architects. The pedestal above this and the second order may be of Leon Battista Alberti, to whom the whole is unjustly attributed, but the great side scrolls are perhaps posterior to him. There is a date of 1470 on the frieze. Internally, there are six Gothic arches, of which the larger are about equal to the width of the nave: each has a small circular window over it; thus you see, it belongs to that style for which I have so often wanted a name, but of which the church of Sta. Anastasia at Verona, is still my favourite example. The transept has no effect, because there is no additional height or light at the intersection, yet it is a very fine building. The high altar is a recent production, and though not very good in itself, and perhaps rather too large, is nevertheless a fine object, and fills its situation nobly. The side chapels are said, in the Description of Florence, to be of one order; but this is not correct. They are all of the same style, but of no order, and all in some degree different; they all agree however, in one particular, as each of them is surmounted with a broken angular pediment within an entire circular one.

Let us now pass to Brunelleschi’s architecture, as exemplified in the two magnificent churches of S. Lorenzo, and Santo Spirito; and first of San Lorenzo, which was founded in 1425. The front, as usual, is unfinished, nor does this militate against my theory of the cause of the unfinished state of the Florentine edifices; for although Brunelleschi completely drove out the old style, he did not bring in his own; and the style of ecclesiastical building, after his death, is extremely different from any thing which he performed. How he would have managed his fronts, I do not know, as it does not appear that any of them were ever executed. The inside is fine, and even sublime, in spite of all the faults which I am going to enumerate. It is 144 braccia (275 feet 5 inches) in length, and 36 (68 feet 10 inches) wide, inclusive of the side chapels; the length of the transept is 60 braccia (114 feet 9 inches). On entering the great doorway, you have a long and noble range of Corinthian columns on each side, supporting arches; above these is a continued entablature, over which is an upright wall, with narrow semicircularly headed windows, and a flat ceiling, divided into square compartments. The aisles are covered with groined arches, and beyond the aisles is a range of side chapels, which are very rudely finished. Over these side chapels, in the semicircular cross arches of the aisles, there were originally circular windows, but these are now filled up. This disposition, exhibiting two ranges of columns, which divide the building into three unequal parts, was that of the ancient basilicas, and of the early churches which were copied from them. In some of these, the columns were surmounted immediately by an entablature; in others, they supported arches. Brunelleschi seems to have particularly admired and studied the latter form, and has imitated it more than once. It has some advantages and some disadvantages inseparably connected with it; but this building has also many defects quite its own. The arches spring from an entablature which crowns the column, and faces four ways. Arches springing immediately from the capital, are thought objectionable, from an appearance of weakness and insufficiency, and yet, even this very appearance contributes to the lightness and elegance of the building; provided there is nothing to contradict it, by giving apparent weight above. Perhaps the best way is to put a strong block at the top of the capital, or to increase the thickness of the abacus. Instead of these an architrave only might be introduced; but this, retreating again to the size of the column, is not satisfactory. At any rate, the whole entablature has a very bad effect, as it looks like a second capital, larger indeed, but not at all stronger than the first; and besides, has the absurdity of suggesting the appearance of a roof, where it is evident no roof can possibly be. Passing along the building, you observe that the piers, which support the cupola at the intersection of the cross, are much too small; they are indeed larger than the others, but not by any means in proportion to the duty they have to perform. You will understand these remarks to apply to the effect to the eye only. I do not pretend to have calculated the weight each part has to sustain, or to know whether, in this point of view, they are justly proportioned. The design would be better without either transept or cupola. Or if these were essential, the termination of the nave should be strongly marked as the completion of one part, and the commencement of another. All the details of the mouldings, capitals, &c. are bad. The columns and pilasters are of the dun macigno, and the archivolts and architraves are of the same; but the friezes are mostly whitewashed, and so are all the upright faces of wall; and the effect of this dull, heavy, gray, on the glaring white ground, is as bad as you can imagine. There is a much greater extent of this plain surface, and consequently of whitewash, in the tribune, (i. e. that part of the cross beyond the transept,) than in the rest of the church; and thus, the parts about the high altar, which ought in some degree to partake of its splendour and high finish, instead of being the richest, are the poorest in the whole building. On one of my visits here I found workmen employed in hanging it with drapery of scarlet and silver tissue. The Roman catholic clergy are probably right in preferring these temporary ornaments, to those which are of a more permanent nature, and connected with the architecture; what is always visible loses its effect. From the church we pass into the Sagrestia Nuova, or Capella de’ Depositi, of the architecture of Michael Angelo Buonarotti, with tombs designed by him, and sculpture of his execution. How much were my expectations raised! I had seen indeed, here and there, some unfinished piece of his sculpture, and some architecture doubtfully attributed to him; but here it seemed as if I were going to be personally introduced to this wonderful man. How was I disappointed! The mixture of the usual dark, dun stone and whitewash would to be sure spoil any architecture, and the beauty of a small room like this depends much more on such accessories, than that of a spacious church; but here is really nothing to spoil. Simplicity I did not expect, but this has neither grace nor boldness, lightness nor magnificence. The tombs please me as little as the building, and shall I venture to tell you, (but it must be in a whisper) that the four great figures of Day and Night, Dawn and Twilight, are overcharged in their limbs and muscles, and awkward and uneasy in their attitudes. There is also a Madonna and Child by the same artist. The Infant Christ is a young Hercules, and the Madonna evidently uncomfortable. I could not get it out of my head that she was seeking her pocket-handkerchief.

Here is another sacristy as it is called, which was begun in 1604, from the designs of Don Giovanni de’ Medici, but it has never been finished. This likewise was intended for the burying place of the Medici family, but was also to have had a much more glorious relic. Ferdinand I., grand duke of Tuscany, conceived the idea of obtaining, and depositing in it, the Holy Sepulchre itself; and is said to have made some progress towards obtaining it, when the Turks discovered and broke off the negotiation. The building was to have all the beauty that materials could give; and the walls are resplendent with granites, jaspers, and the most costly marbles. The form is octagonal, 48 braccia, or 91 feet 3 inches in diameter; and a large and lofty room, of a simple form, always has some beauty of effect; beyond this, praise must not go, for the design is very bad, and with all this profusion of fine stones, the effect is nothing in point of richness, to that of the church of the Scalzi at Venice. I believe I did not mention this building to you in my letter from that city, but it is well worth attention on this account, though in other respects little can be said in its praise.

We will now proceed to the Church of the Holy Ghost, also built by Brunelleschi. This is 304 feet long;^[41] the nave is 102 feet wide, including the side aisles, and the length of the transept is 186 feet; the front, as usual, is unfinished. The internal arrangement, as I have already mentioned, is pretended to have been borrowed from that of the Santi Apostoli. It very much resembles S. Lorenzo, but with somewhat greater magnificence, since the columns and arches which form the aisles of the nave, are here continued round the transept and choir; and it is liable to the same objections; the detached entablatures forming so many secondary capitals; the high plain frieze of the continued entablature above the arches; the weakness at the intersection; the dull, heavy-coloured stone, which has here however, taken a tint rather browner and better than usual; and the whitewash, which is rather less obtrusive in this church than in that of S. Lorenzo, from the continuance of the columns and arches behind the choir; and this number of columns produces a movement at every step of the spectator which is enchanting. The part above the cornice is too low. If the cornice were placed its whole height lower down, this division, and the frieze, would both be in good proportion, and the effect greatly improved. The ceiling is not so well disposed as that of San Lorenzo; and under the cupola is another (the third) entablature, of enormous size. The side-chapels are merely niches, surrounded by a magnificent moulding, and the altars are all very bad; yet with all its faults, no one can enter it without feeling it to be a noble building. The atrium of the sacristy is a gallery, with a range of Corinthian columns on each side. These support an architrave, on which rises a semicircular vault; the effect is beautiful, and it came upon me just when I was speculating on the best mode of employing together columns and a vault. The eye finds no sort of deficiency in the absence of a cornice. The sacristy itself is a handsome octagonal room, without any thing very remarkable.

The Church of the Annunziata is said to have been built about 1250, but it has been modernized. In front is a court surrounded by arches, on ten columns resembling Corinthian. The walls of this cloister have been painted in fresco, partly by Andrea di Sarto, who has left here some of his most beautiful productions in this way. His famous Madonna del Sacco is in another cloister, attached to this church. In 1252 the edifice must have been far advanced, for the good fathers employed at that time an artist of the name of Bartolommeo, to paint the Annunciation, in fresco, on the wall. This painter having completed the angel, stood hesitatingly, not knowing how to satisfy himself in the divine countenance of the virgin, and in this state was overtaken by sleep; when he awoke, he beheld to his great astonishment the painting of the head of the virgin completed, of the most exquisite beauty, and the most heavenly expression. Quite transported, he began calling out, a miracle! a miracle! and attracted such crowds that the church was soon filled; “and, in order,” continues my author, “that nobody might be able to doubt the fact, God performed by means of this image numerous miracles, and continues still to do so.”

Internally, the church consists of a nave and side-chapels. It abounds with defects, and is over gilt and ornamented, yet on the whole it is a very handsome room. Beyond this, the tribune is a large circular domed room of purer architecture, which was designed by L. B. Alberti; but even this, though very fine, is far from correct, and when I say so, I would not leave you to suppose that he has “snatched a grace beyond the reach of art,” but that his building would really have been much more beautiful had he deviated less from the approved standards. The dome is entirely painted, and though this is common at Florence, and when well executed often looks very well, yet I cannot entirely approve of it. The architecture below requires solid ribs, or something else, corresponding with it in the upper part: the covering, as well as the sides of the room, should be architecture, and not a painted brass pan.

The Church of the Madonna del Carmine was once famous for its paintings; but these were destroyed by fire, with the ancient edifice, in 1771. A new church was immediately built; the plan of which consists of a long room without side-aisles, leading to a dome; and three recesses, which with the nave form a Latin cross. The nave has Corinthian pilasters, spaced alternately at larger and smaller intervals, with an elliptical recess for the altars in each of the larger spaces: in every smaller space is a door, or the semblance of one, and over the doors are niches, in each of which is a figure, painted on a piece of pasteboard, corresponding to its size and form, to supply the place of statues. The ceiling is waggon-headed, rising from a small dado above the cornice. The line of the nave is slightly interrupted at the intersection of the cross; and instead of the dark stone and whitewash, the pilasters are painted white on a pale blue ground; both these circumstances are greatly in favour of the building, and the simplicity of design, and justness of the general proportions produce a pleasing effect.

The church of St. Mark is principally famous for the paintings of Fra Bartolommeo di San Marco, who, if you except Michael Angelo, stands quite at the head of the Florentine school of painting. The outside is neat, and does not pretend to be any thing more. The inside is very ugly, but I principally mention it to you as an exemplification of the modern Italian taste. It is usual on feast days to adorn the columns and pilasters of the churches with drapery, which is often of crimson damask; but here the tapestry was particularly abundant, striped of the most brilliant red, and yellow, and very much admired. There is also an admirable statue of St. John the Baptist, by John of Bologna, who was the architect of the church, and a particularly fine figure, painted in fresco by Passignano. These and some others were pointed out to me as cose stupende, an expression of praise very common, and which at first I thought applied to things which did not deserve so high an encomium: but at one of the inns where I stopped lately, on inquiring what I could have to eat, they told me that nothing was ready at the moment, but that in about half an hour, I could have some boiled beef, which would be cosa stupenda, and I have been reconciled to the term ever since.

From ecclesiastical, we will turn our attention to civil and domestic architecture, which in Florence has a character quite its own. The continued dissensions within the city, and especially the bitter and lengthened contests between the nobles and the people, obliged the former to prepare even their city-houses for a siege, and the fashion continued, when, after the victory of the trading classes over the nobles, or landed proprietors, a new nobility sprang up among the principal merchants. Machiavelli paints in strong colours, the arbitrary, oppressive, and tyrannical conduct of the old nobility, which obliged the citizens to arm in their own defence; and the haughty contempt of all law and justice, which at length terminated in their downfall. Yet he continues, “This overthrow of the nobles was so complete, and their party so entirely crushed, that they never more ventured to take arms against the people, but became continually more tame and abject; and thence it arose, that Florence was not only deprived of native defenders, but of all generosity of sentiment and conduct.” In these contests each party seems to have persecuted the other to the utmost; there was no forbearance towards a conquered enemy, no amalgamation between the parties, no numerous and respectable intermediate classes, whose views and interest would in some degree take the colour of each. No sentiment existed but that one party must govern, and the other must be slaves.

The Palazzo Vecchio is what we might expect from such a state of society. It was built by Arnolfo in 1298; and if it cannot boast much architectural beauty, certainly combines with other objects to give a most striking, or, if I may use a French term, a piquant effect to the square. The irregularity of its plan is a curious evidence of the violence of party spirit, since it arose from the determination of the ruling party, not to make use of any ground which had belonged to a Ghibelline. Close by its entrance is a fountain surrounded with gigantic figures in marble; and on the other side is the Loggia, the architecture of Andrea Orcagna in 1356. It is said that M. A. Buonarotti, being consulted on a building for the use of the magistracy, recommended to Cosmo, the first grand duke of Tuscany, to complete the Loggia of Orcagna round the square; but as the construction of the five arches had cost 86,000 florins, this idea was never executed. Though erected after the death of Giotto, and before the restoration of Roman architecture, it is not Gothic, but consists of semicircular arches resting on columns; and it is designed with great judgment and feeling. Some very beautiful pieces of sculpture are placed in it, particularly the Perseus of Benvenuto Cellini, in bronze, one of the most admirable productions of modern art.

The famous Gallery surrounds three sides of a court which opens into this square; the upper story was originally an open gallery, which it has been found necessary to inclose, to protect the works of art which are treasured there. The architecture perhaps was never very good, but the building must have been much handsomer before this alteration.

The Palazzo Pitti, the present residence of the grand duke, though of a much later, is hardly of a less massive construction than the Palazzo Vecchio. It was built by Luca Pitti, a friend of the Medici, from designs by Brunelleschi; and the court, which is the part most admired, is an attempt to engraft the Roman orders on the bold and irregular rustics of the Florentine architecture. It has three orders of pilasters banded with rustics of the rudest appearance, and half buried in them. The inside contains some fine rooms, and a matchless collection of pictures, but of this I must not say a word. I might mention a great many other palaces, some of which boast peculiar excellences in particular parts, but on the whole I think the Palazzo Riccardi is the best example of the true Florentine style. It was built by Cosmo, (pater patriæ) from designs of Michelozzo, but was purchased by the Marchese Riccardi in 1659, for 41,000 scudi, and considerably enlarged. The principal story now exhibits a range of seventeen large arched windows, each divided by a mullion into two parts, which are likewise arched. These windows are very large, and the space between is not quite equal to the opening and mouldings; but the width of the latter is not great, as there is no architrave or archivolt. The arch-stones are long, and strongly rusticated, the external line forming a portion of a circle not concentric with that of the opening. The height of the windows occupies about half the space between the two cornices. On the ground floor are five large doorways, and ten small square windows. This story is very lofty: a continued stone projection forms a seat along the base of the building. The rustications are some of them very deep, more so in this story than in the upper ones, but they are very unequal, as they usually are in the Florentine buildings. I have measured in the same front, some of more than a foot in projection, and others of less than two inches. In this story, we frequently see a small opening, at which wine is, or has been sold. The upper story is like the principal, except in height, and it is crowned with an enormous cornice, occupying about one-tenth of the whole elevation of the building. A corresponding frieze and architrave would include the whole upper story. It is objected as a fault to this building that the openings in the lower story do not correspond with the upper ones, and the criticism is very just, as applied to the larger openings, but with respect to the above-mentioned ten small windows, it is perhaps rather an advantage. Without disputing the general rule, that the openings should be perpendicularly over one another, it seems to me that two exceptions may fairly be made: the first in small buildings of no pretension to magnificence, where the appearance of convenience may be allowed to outweigh the character of durability; for it is to be observed, that a building may both be, and appear, perfectly sufficient for its present existence, where this rule is not adhered to; but it will not have the air of being intended to last for centuries. It is the habitation of an individual, not that of an illustrious family. The other, is where the general appearance is so solid, and the openings are so small, that it seems not to matter where they are put; and in that case, their very want of correspondence announces an exuberance of power which disdains attention to trifles, and what is in some degree a source of absolute weakness, becomes a mean of expressing strength.

The Strozzi Palace is more generally admired than the Riccardi; partly on account of the irregularity just mentioned in the windows of the latter, and partly from the greater beauty and finish of the subordinate parts of the former. The enormous cornice in particular, seven feet, nine inches in height, is highly valued, both for its proportions, and its execution. I fully acknowledge its merits in both respects, but I think it too large even for the gigantic building which it crowns; and its highly finished character is not in harmony with the massive rudeness of the lower parts. In every building where this great cornice is adopted, it gives to the upper story the appearance of being much higher than the others, but without larger windows. In fact there seems to be a want of good sense in this ponderous architecture as applied to private buildings; and I admire without being pleased. Yet I acknowledge that even some of the smaller mansions of this style have considerable merit, but it would appear ridiculous in houses so small as ours in London. The parts must be large, though they need not be numerous. Sometimes, a striking contrast is produced by a light open gallery surmounting these solid masses, and the effect is highly picturesque. A house in the Piazza del Granduca (Pandolfini) is attributed to Raphael, but perhaps without sufficient authority. The lower story is rustic; the next has an Ionic order of coupled pilasters on high plinths; the third, a similar Corinthian one, on pedestals so lofty, that they might rather be called stilts: the composition is not pleasing, but only a very small part of the design has been executed, and it would look better if more extended. The Casa Michelozzi is sometimes said to be the production of Michael Angelo, but is more probably that of G. Antonio Dosio. It is small, but handsome, though perhaps rather clumsy in the details.