I left Pisa for Lucca on the 19th of May. The road is very good, and I may add very pleasant, entering the plain of Lucca through the pass by which the Serchio quits it. The valley of Lucca is very flat, looking like a lake which has been filled up; and in fact, if the Serchio breaks its banks, great part of it is overflowed. There are in the city, some vestiges of a Roman amphitheatre, which has determined the direction of some of the present streets; but the principal architectural objects are the churches. Many of these are very curious buildings. All of them more or less imitations of the cathedral of Pisa; smaller indeed in size, but some among them are decidedly superior in the proportions and disposition of the parts. The architects are supposed to have been disciples of Busketus, and we must fix their dates in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. To begin with the Cathedral dedicated to St. Martin; the body of which is said to have been built in the eleventh century (Trenta, Guida del Forestiere per la città e il contado di Lucca), while the portico was added in 1204 and 1233, and the choir completed between 1308 and 1320. There are two inscriptions on the front, one in the portico ‘Hoc opus cepit fieri ab Elenato et Aldibrando operariis, A. D. MCCXXXIII; and one among the ornaments of the part above the portico, ‘Condidit electi tam pulcras dextra Guidecti, MCCIV.; from which you may conclude if you please, that the upper part was erected before the lower. I give the honour of the design to Guidectus, and suppose the operarii to have been employed on the sculpture and ornament, some of which was executed by Nicola da Pisa. In front, there is a porch of three large, semicircular arches resting on piers, which are adorned with small shafts. Within this porch, against the wall of the church, is a range of smaller arches, three of which are occupied by as many doorways. Each doorway has an enormous architrave enriched with figures, and a cornice. Over the three large arches of the porch are three ranges of smaller arches resting on little columns variously ornamented; the upper range extending only as far as the front of the clerestory. It was probably intended to add a gable ornamented in the same manner with columns and arches; but this has not been executed, and the building at present terminates abruptly. Perhaps on the whole, if completed, it would have formed the finest example of any in which this style of architecture was fully displayed. There is a great deal of carving, and of inlaying of black and white marble over the whole. On the inside, pilasters grouped together, make a bundled pier. Some obtusely pointed arches are introduced; but in general, the arches are semicircular. Each arch of the nave supports two well proportioned arches above, forming a very lofty triforium; these arches are now filled in with tracery, but this is an addition: there was no tracery in the original design. The windows of the aisles are very small; they are narrow and pointed. In the clerestory, a small, circular window occurs over each pair of the arches of the triforium. This sparing introduction of light I have noticed to you on various occasions, both in Italy and the South of France. The transept is badly managed, the upper part being separated from the nave, as in the cathedral at Pisa. This perhaps may be considered as a proof of antiquity, yet in other places we find the transept fully displayed in the twelfth, and perhaps in the eleventh century. An inscription at the back of the choir gives us the dates of 1308 and 1320, but this can only apply to some alterations and repairs, which may be distinguished without difficulty; for the whole of the outside is otherwise of the style of the front, but more simple.
The next church in consequence is that of St. Michael; or perhaps I should say the first, for it makes the greatest display. It is said to have existed in 778, and I will not gainsay it. The front however, is probably not much earlier than that of the cathedral. It is very lofty, and exhibits seven arches in the lowest range, fourteen in each of the two next; and six in each of those apparently belonging to the clerestory; the whole is finished by a colossal, gilt, winged figure of the archangel Michael, whose quill feathers, as is reported, are made to turn in their sockets, in order to offer less resistance to the wind. Though the raking lines admitted in this façade are evidently intended to give the idea of the sloping roofs of the centre and side aisles, yet in fact the upper part is a mere screen, rising very far above the roof, and the flank only presents a range of arches, corresponding with the larger arches of the front, with one story of small arches above them. Internally, the nave is formed of arches resting on columns, and above these there is a high wall with small windows; this extent of unadorned, plain surface forms a singular contrast with the richness of the external appearance, where marble and columns are so profusely lavished.
J. Hawksworth Sculp.
ST. Michael at Lucca.
London, Published by J. & A. Arch. Cornhill March 1st. 1828.
Another curious old church, earlier in its construction than either of these, is that of San Frediano. The first mention of it is in a record of the year 685, and another in 686 again notices it. We learn from these, that Faulone, majordomo to Cunipert, king of the Lombards, restored and enriched the monastery. Frequent notices occur both of the monastery and church in the succeeding centuries, but nothing to indicate that the latter has ever been rebuilt or materially altered. The central part of the front is brought solidly down to the ground. The lower division is nearly square and perfectly plain, except at the door, which has very wide pilasters and an ornamented architrave, and there is a low arched opening immediately above it. A range of little, Ionic half columns supporting an architrave, occurs over this plain surface. Two very small windows are observed in this division. The third contains one high, narrow, and pointed window, and on each side of it a row of figures on a gold, mosaic ground. The fourth story, which rises into a gable, is also ornamented with a mosaic, of which the ground is gold. It represents the Saviour in the middle, and an angel on each side worshipping him. This front has been attributed to an Abbot Rosone, who lived in the twelfth century, but the style of the lower part is so similar to that of the body of the edifice, that I am inclined to believe it coeval with the rest, and to limit the abbot’s praise to the erection of the upper part, with the pointed window and the mosaics. The use of these little columns as ornaments, dates at least as early as the time of Dioclesian. The side aisles being double, form very wide wings, each having a door of the same style as that in the centre, and two circular windows unequal in size and situation, but alike in the two wings. Internally, arches upon columns of granite and cipollino support a lofty, plain wall with small windows. The great height of this flat surface is perhaps always the defect of this style of building, but the light so obtained is very pleasant. There is no transept, but a semicircular recess or apsis, for the ancient choir exists in this and in each of the other churches.
Another church, more exactly in the Pisan mode of architecture than the preceding, is dedicated to Santa Maria foris portam. The front is composed of seven arches, resting on half columns and pilasters, with three square doorways, and a low arched recess over each. Above this there are two ranges of arches on detached columns, and a circular window in the gable, which however is of brickwork, and unfinished.
I must mention another church of this sort, on account of the ponderous magnificence of its three doorways. Over each is a very thick architrave, but that of the central opening alone, is enriched with carving, and the arch over the door, including a semicircular window, rests upon two animals. The lower part, including the slope in front of the roof of the aisles, is without columns; in the clerestory are two ranges of columns, each supporting arches, those of the upper tier rising into the gable. I suspect the lower part here, to be more ancient than the upper, as I do in the church of San Cristoforo.
The last-mentioned church exhibits perhaps one of the best proportioned of these fronts. It is striped horizontally with gray and white marble. There are five arches below, and none above, excepting some small, ornamental ones under the raking cornices, which resemble those of Lombardy, and a rose window in the clerestory.
If I had to guess at the progressive dates of these buildings, I should give the first place to San Frediano, and say that the façade, as it now stands, might possibly precede the erection of the cathedral at Pisa. The lower part of San Giusto would occupy the next place in chronological order. That of Santa Maria foris portam, the third. The front of San Michele would follow, and then that of the cathedral; but these, together with the upper part of San Giusto and the lower part of San Cristoforo, must be nearly of the same date. Lastly, the upper part of San Cristoforo, and the Gothic alterations in the body of the cathedral. The whole space of time occupied by this series may have begun soon after the year 1000, and continued to 1250. I might considerably enlarge the number of examples, but you will think I have already written enough on this subject. Several of the village churches about Lucca bear marks of having been erected at the same period. The cathedral at Pistoja exhibits a similar taste, but the little columns are formed of the gloomy macigno instead of marble, and the building is in other respects inferior. There are some interesting monuments within, bearing date 1337 and 1338, which seem rather to belong to the cinque cento, than to so early a period. The design is Roman, and some parts are very beautiful. There is also a monument in the style of those of the Scaligers at Verona. Perhaps the oldest church that can be considered as belonging to this style, is that of Sant Andrea at Pistoja, but here we have only a single range of arches resting on half columns, and over that an entablature, which might be Roman. The Baptistery in the same city, on the other hand, is one of the latest; the parts being Gothic, and really forming a handsome edifice. A similar taste prevailed at Prato. The ornamental stone of the cathedral there, is a dark green serpentine, frequently with whitish spots, which is brought from quarries about three miles from the city.
A walk round the ramparts at Lucca gives you a very good idea of the surrounding country. Near you is a rich cultivated valley of very even surface; beyond this, about north-west by west, the mountains rise in distant succession to a lofty point, called Pico d’Uccello, or Lapania, where there is a patch or two of snow, but the rocks are for the most part too steep to retain it. The entrance of the valley of the Serchio into the basin of Lucca takes place nearly north of Lucca, but there is hardly any distinguishable separation of the mountains. Pleasant, shady hills towards the north and north-east hide the more distant elevations, except that the summit of Monte Pellegrino just rises above them. To the east the plain appears boundless. On the south, rises the chain of hills above the baths of Pisa, and between these and the western range, the Serchio finds a passage where the eye does not from Lucca perceive any opening. The scene is very varied, and everywhere very beautiful.
All the relations of my young friend Pardini, are anxious to treat me with the utmost kindness in return for the little attention I showed to him at Rome; I must be treated at the coffee-houses and at the theatre, and wherever else they think I can receive any amusement. His father insisted upon taking me to the baths of Lucca, and on my departure from that city, I found it impossible to pay any thing at the inn: I called for the account, scolded, and did all but quarrel, but it was in vain; and as I found I could not refuse their kindness without offence, I at last gave up the point.
We had a soaking wet ride to the baths, but the rich bunches of saxifrage which fringed the rocks, only looked the more beautiful. The immediate situation of the baths has little to recommend it, it is among steep slopes and narrow valleys, partially cultivated with vines and olives, but the whole seems taken out of an immense forest of chesnut-trees, which extends for many miles in all directions. It has all the appearance of a native forest, yet I was assured that each tree had been grafted; and indeed, on examination, there seemed sufficient proof of this assertion, though some of them are five or six feet in diameter. Two streams, the Lima and the Camaglione, meet at the foot of a small, but steep hill, which is connected only by a very narrow ridge with the general mass. Four sets of warm springs rise from this peninsulated hill, the lowest perhaps at an elevation of a hundred feet above the junction of the streams, the highest not less than two hundred and fifty. The temperature of the hottest is 128 or 129 of Fahrenheit. The soil is everywhere a micaceous grit, except at one point, where we see a calcareous rock, accompanied with a breccia of rounded pebbles, the cement of which is, I believe, also calcareous, dipping rapidly under the hill.
The next morning began in the same way, but after a time it cleared up, and I proceeded to visit the Prato Fiorito, a mountain a few miles distant, of whose botanical treasures both learned and ignorant had talked to me with raptures. It amused me as I walked along to hear my guide ask the peasants if the field were in flower. It is in fact, a high, sloping meadow of close turf, intermixed with mosses, and embellished at this season with quantities of the Narcissus poeticus, here called violets, and Gentiana acaulis. There is also a profusion of cowslips, which are here rarities. Lilium Martagon, and L. croceum, Pæonia officinalis, and many other showy plants, are said to be very abundant at a later season. The elevation of the summit does not probably exceed 4,000 feet, as snow lies on it very little even in the winter. On the south-east it is precipitous, and some of the neighbouring mountains are very craggy, but clouds obscured the higher ridges, which occasionally appeared covered with forests, and the summits streaked with snow. The view is quite Apennine, exhibiting steep slopes and sharp ridges, without the solid masses which characterize the Alps. The mountain on which we stand (Monte a Celle) divides into two heads. One which seems to be entirely of limestone, carries on its back the Prato Fiorito. The other is called Monte Coronata, probably from a thick bed of chert, which forms a crest near its summit. The back and summit of this are covered with what appears to be a red marl, sometimes containing a dark red jasper. The limestone has a conchoidal fracture, and smells when breathed upon. I observed one ribbed, bivalve shell, and a portion of a smooth shell on the ascent of Monte Coronata; but these were the only traces I could find of organic remains.
A new road has been made across the mountains to Modena, which is perhaps the most interesting to a naturalist, of all the carriageable passes of the Apennines. We there see the limestone in the valleys and lower hills frequently following the shape of the ground, the strata dipping sometimes one way and sometimes another: sometimes they are horizontal, and sometimes vertical. The upper beds are thin, and interstratified with a red, jaspery substance. The higher parts of the mountains are formed of a solid, micaceous grit, not without some disturbance, but in general dipping at a comparatively small angle towards the north-east. In one part the road cuts through the limestone, where a rock of this grit rises almost perpendicularly above it. On returning from Terraglio, which was my sleeping-place on an excursion along this road, I went a little out of my way up the valley of the Serchio to Ghivizzano, where I was told that a bed of coal had been discovered, but I found only a lignite, under a bed of coarse gravel. The greatest thickness of the lignite is about two feet. A large portion has evidently been wood; the rest seems to consist of leaves, but I could not determine any species; perhaps by digging into the hill we might find more perfect remains.
On this occasion I also visited Viareggio, the only port possessed by the government of Lucca, or rather the only place on the shore, for it cannot be called a port. A wide marshy tract, and a strip of sand separate the mountains from the sea; the sand is in great measure covered with the wood, and immediately south of Viareggio this consists principally of the Pinus Pinaster. There is a considerable lake; and on its borders, at a place called Massa Ciuccoli, at the foot of the hills, there are remains of baths, which probably belonged to some Roman villa. I went from Viareggio by water, and found enough to gratify me in the antiquities, though they are hardly such as could excite any interest in the description. In 1826 I crossed the Apennines from Pistoja to Modena. The road is much less interesting than that from Lucca to Modena, but there is a tolerable inn at La Bettona, just at the summit of the pass; an accommodation which the other wants. The distance between them is small, and the roads unite a few miles beyond the summit. The highest point of the Apennines in this neighbourhood is Monte Cimone, which is hardly ever free from snow, and must exceed 7,000 feet in elevation. It advances a little north from the general range, and on the Modena side towers over all the rest. My guide in a walk from La Bettona, an intelligent woodman, assured me that there was limestone in almost all the bottoms. The wood-cutters fell the trees, (chiefly the Pinus Pinea) and form oars and other articles; but the great staple is oars. Afterwards come the charcoal-makers; and since the establishment of some iron-founderies in the valleys, the natural reproduction falls far short of the waste, and no means are taken to supply it, though it seems to be agreed that the wasteful character of the torrents descending from the Apennines is very much increased by the destruction of the woods.
A little beyond the summit I overtook a boy who was going to school. We past near the establishment, which seems a very large one. The boy said there were so many schools that he could tell nothing of the number of boys. This is the Italian practice. The pupils are divided into several large classes, and each class forms a school, occupying its peculiar room, and having its own master. I stopt at Birigazza, to see what is called a volcano, i. e. flames issuing from the ground. These are much stronger than those of Pietra Mala were when I saw them in 1817, but the weather had been rainy before I arrived at Birigazza, and the flames are always most considerable in wet weather. They sometimes go out, and do not inflame again of themselves. The smell was that of a clear, coal fire, and I could distinguish nothing of that of sulphur. There was a small deposit of soot on some of the stones. There seem to be several of these places on the northern side of the Apennines.
On the 24th of May I left Lucca. After crossing a low part of the ridge, which forms the western boundary of the valley of the Serchio, the road lies along a wide plain, extending from the mountains to the sea. It is said to be marshy in many parts, but except in one or two places, this is hid from the eye by the luxuriant vegetation. The immediate neighbourhood of the road abounds in olives. On the right are chesnut-covered mountains, whose craggy summits were lost in the clouds. At Pietra Santa there is a Gothic cathedral with a rose window. The columns of the nave are of a beautiful, reddish breccia. There is another church with a Gothic front in that town. Massa stands at the entrance of a fine valley opening among the Apennines, and watered by a brilliant stream. Carrara is at some distance up another valley, sheltered by bold and craggy mountains, which have a look of greater solidity than is common among the Apennines. The road between the two cities passes over a ridge, which seems principally to consist of a dark, bituminous limestone. The marble quarries occupy three or four descending ridges, uniting in a lofty mountain called Monte Sagro, which exhibited a few spots of snow; but it did not appear to be one of the highest in the district. On leaving Carrara we ascend by the side of a little brook, which runs through it, and soon arrive at the beds of dove-coloured marble, here called bardiglio: higher up the valley are the beds of white marble. They are very much inclined, but not following any common direction. Only a few of these beds produce marble of such a grain and transparency as to be highly prized by the statuary; and from these beds, if they get one block in ten which preserves a good colour throughout, they are satisfied; higher up still, the marble becomes of a dull, dead colour, but of this much larger blocks may be obtained. The principal quarries of veined marble are in a parallel valley, which I did not visit.
There is a Cathedral at Carrara, which seems to have been begun in imitation of that at Pisa. It is in five divisions below, but each division except the centre has two arches. In the upper part there are slender shafts and pointed arches to the raking semigables of the side aisles, but a richly ornamented square, with an elegant rose-window in its centre, occupies great part of the middle division of the building. The smaller structure, which no doubt was to have crowned the truncated gable, has never been erected. There is a school of sculpture at Carrara, in which at least the materials of study are to be found. Great attention has been very properly paid to architectural ornament, but the effect has not been happy, as the productions are dry and tasteless, though considerable mechanical skill is displayed.
After having seen the lions of Carrara I engaged a carriage to Lerici. The wide valley of the Magra divides the hills which surround the gulf of Spezia from the mass of the Apennines. I walked to the old castle at Lerici, picturesquely situated on an advancing point, which sheltering the little cove behind it, forms the harbour. On Wednesday, in spite of the bad weather, I visited the island of Palmari, close to Porto Venere at the mouth of the gulf of Spezia, where are the quarries of black and yellow marble; this gives hardly any smell on rubbing. The beds dip about eight degrees to the north, or a little to the east of north. Some cliffs in the island appear of a pale gray or buffish limestone, with yellowish veins, probably the effect of exposure. From this island we command fine views of the noble gulf of Spezia, which is everywhere beautiful, although the shapes of the mountains which bound it on the north, are perhaps rather lumpish. On the opposite side, the lower slopes are covered with olives, above are vines and chesnuts, but many of the summits are rocky and naked. The quarantine for the port of Genoa is established in a cove in this gulf.
On the evening of the 27th I went on board a felucca to go to Genoa. We crossed the gulf almost in a calm, and then a contrary wind detained us at Porto Venere. I had predicted this result, but the master assured me so positively from all his past experience, that there was no danger of such an event, that I was persuaded to accompany him, not however without contemplating the possibility of getting out and walking. I do not often complain of fleas, but they swarmed so in this instance, as to hasten my determination of going by land. Accordingly, after one night in the boat, finding another passenger in the same disposition, we hired a little open boat for La Spezia, and thence walked to Borghetto.
I found my companion fidgetty and fretful. He was a Frenchman, almost ignorant of the Italian language, but seemed to have very little inclination for talking. A mile or two before Borghetto he met an Italian priest, with whom he entered into conversation in dog Latin; and he liked his new companion so much better than the old, that on arriving at the inn at Borghetto, he told the landlord that I should sleep there, but that the priest and himself were going on immediately, on horseback. It was really my intention to stay, but I had not said so, and therefore considered this as a declaration that he wished to get rid of me. However, he soon quarrelled with the landlord about his bill, and about his horses and his luggage; and abusing the priest for throwing difficulties in the way, said he should give up proceeding for that night, and walk with me in the morning; but I had no more inclination for his company, than he had before witnessed for mine, and told him that I intended to proceed on horseback; and the priest very good humouredly offering to accompany him on foot that evening to Matarano, they made it up, and set off together, and I saw no more of them.
The next morning I procured a horse and rode two posts to Matarano, but how many miles my informants disagreed. The rocks in general were covered with a loamy soil, but one hill was remarkably black, and broke so like coal, that I could not persuade myself that it was not so, till I found it did not stain my fingers. At Matarano I obtained another horse to carry me to Bracco. The road is continually up and down hill, though always at a very considerable elevation. The country is excessively rugged; it seemed nature grown poor and old.
I afterwards pursued my journey on foot to Chiavari. A long descent from Bracco brought me to the sea-shore, where I met an Englishman, who asked me some questions in French. I replied in the same language: he then said “Stop,” and began to feel in his pocket for a paper of directions. I said, that since I perceived he was an Englishman, I should answer him in English. He started from me, “God bless me, I am an Englishman.” His surprise seeming to be not so much at finding me one, as at discovering for the first time that he was so himself. He said he had walked 1,500 miles in France, and never in his whole journey used any sort of carriage except now and then a boat to cross a ferry or a bay. He was very anxious that I should return with him to Ponte di Sestri, which I had passed about a mile before, and take a glass of wine with him; but I was neither disposed to drink nor to return.
The next morning was wet at first, and the clouds hung low all day, yet I had a very pleasant walk to Areco. This day’s journey was mostly along the old road, which is very hilly; the new one is to keep a better level, and when completed will be a noble work. The present way takes advantage of a tunnel cut for a considerable distance, which will make part of the new road.
At Areco I found a carriage going to Genoa, and procured a place in it for three lire. By the way we passed Rapalo, which is, I think, the most beautiful part of the gulf, and carriages are frequently passing from thence to Genoa, so that it is very accessible.
Genoa struck me at first view as presenting a long, and somewhat elevated horizontal line, advancing from the mountains to the sea; a fine composition, but completely different from what I had been taught to expect. The loftier mountains here recede considerably from the shore, but the interval is filled with high and steep hills, and the horizontal line was a very deceiving appearance, for of all cities I ever was in, it is the most uneven; and in most situations it takes the appearance usually ascribed to it of an amphitheatre rising from the sea. The palaces of Genoa are more celebrated than her churches, and in fact I shall have little to say concerning the latter. The Cathedral, dedicated to St. Lawrence, was built in the eleventh century, consecrated in 1118 by the pope Pelagius II., and restored in 1300. The front belongs to the latter date; the lower part is occupied by three pointed arches, with the little columns and other appendages of Gothic architecture. There is one marigold window in the centre, and several smaller ones. The intention was probably to erect two towers, but of these only one has been executed, and that at a later period, and it does not preserve the character of the rest of the building. There is not the least trace in this edifice of the taste which prevailed at Pisa and Lucca. Internally, the first arch is Gothic, and corresponds in style with the front; in the remaining part, small pointed arches rest on single columns. The latter are probably original parts of the building, and the arches above them, I suppose to have been originally semicircular.
I should not mention the Church of St. Cyr, if it were not boasted of for the richness of its marble. The nave has arches resting on coupled columns, which are rather gouty. It is one among the many proofs, that a profusion of rich and beautiful materials may be employed without producing either richness or beauty. The Annunziata is another example of the same sort; but such are not wanting in Genoa. The Church of Santa Maria di Carignano is a fine building of modern architecture, in the form of a Greek cross, with a lofty dome in the centre. The arms are rather too long, and the entablature is poor and meagre. The vault is divided into thirteen panels, which is too many; but the lines are well preserved, and considered with respect to its interior, it will occupy a distinguished place among the most beautiful churches of modern times. In this church is the statue of St. Sebastian by Puget, which alone is well worth a visit. Bernini never did any thing to equal it, and if Puget had always worked in this manner, he would have been the first statuary of modern times.
Besides these, the churches of St. Ambrose and St. Stephen must be visited for their paintings, and St. Matthew for the tomb of a truly great man, Andrea Doria. In the rest a few paintings are scattered about, and there is abundance of fine marble and of gilding, but in general disposed without taste or effect.
But if Genoa is not much distinguished for the beauty of her churches, she may justly be proud of her Palaces; and if you walk along the three continuous streets of Balbis, Nuova, and Nuovissima, looking into the courts and staircases on each hand as you proceed, you may indeed think yourself in a city of kings. The usual disposition exhibits a large hall supported partly on columns leading to a court surrounded by arcades, the arches of which likewise rest upon columns. On one side of the streets, these courts are on a level with the external pavement; on the other, the rapid rise of the ground is compensated by a flight of marble steps. Beyond this court is the great staircase rising on each hand, and further still is frequently a small garden, shaded with oranges; so far the composition is admirable; it is invariably open to public view; and the long perspective of halls, courts, columns, arches, and flights of steps, produce a most magnificent effect, and this is still further enhanced when the splendour of the marble is contrasted with the dark shade of the orange-groves. But the chief merit of the buildings lies in these parts. There are internally fine apartments, but by no means of a magnificence corresponding with that of the entrance. The other streets of Genoa are narrow and dark; but even here we find some noble edifices. In the Palazzo Brignola there is a large collection of paintings; in the Durazzo a very good one. I think these two may suffice in that respect for any person who is not a professed connoisseur.
I missed somehow the saloon of the Serra palace, which is said to be the finest in Genoa.
The Poor-house at Genoa exceeds all you can conceive of magnificent poor-houses. It is a stately palace, extending above 560 feet each way, and inclosing four equal courts, each about 170 feet square. The internal buildings, dividing the courts, form a cross, in the middle of which is the chapel, or at least the altar; the different classes of inmates occupying the arms during the time of public service: it boasts a Pietà of Michael Angelo, in which the attitude and half-closed eyes of the Virgin seem to indicate that she is about to faint on the dead body of her son, but the lips are firm. This poor-house will contain 2,200 persons, and includes a manufacture of lace, linen cloths, and other objects. The great hospital is also a large and magnificent building.
I left Genoa on the 9th of June by the diligence, at three o’clock in the morning, and passed the long ascent of the Bocchetta in a violent storm. We slept at Alessandria. The next morning we were called at one o’clock, and set off at two. The upper part of the Tanaro and Po, and the numerous rivers which fall into them in the early part of their course, seem to traverse one vast lake-like plain, which has two outlets; one a narrow gorge among sandy hills, through which the Tanaro finds its passage; the other wider, and less distinctly marked, below Turin. I breakfasted at Asti at eight, but the rest of the party waited till eleven, when they dined at Villa Nuova. From this place to Moncaglieri, the near scenery is flat and uninteresting, with hardly elevation enough to exhibit the tremendous barrier of the distant Alps, more than half surrounding us, which from elevated points in other parts of the road, we saw covered with eternal snow. It seemed an extravagance to think of passing them, and I could not but reflect on the vanity of attempting to keep out an enemy by any artificial ramparts, when a barrier like this had never protected Italy. I took up my quarters at Turin, at the Pension Suisse, where I was in every respect very comfortable.
I could almost persuade myself at Turin that Italy was already left. The language seemed lost at Genoa, and those who there spoke to me in Tuscan, or who speak it here, do it with an evident effort, and in some degree as a foreign language; I think indeed they seem less familiar with it, than with the French. The weather is cloudy, wet, and rather cold, and the sky seems even still less Italian than the language.
Now, that I have seen the best productions of architecture, what I shall meet with in the rest of my journey will have comparatively little interest. The seeing new things is no longer a novelty, and unless the object be very striking it hardly makes any impression. Turin makes no shew at a distance; it is built quite on the flat; the domes and towers are neither numerous nor lofty, and on looking down on the city from the neighbouring hills, the dingy red tile roofs have a disagreeable appearance. Within, the architecture is uniformly bad, and differs only in degree. The houses are of brick intended for stucco, and not stuccoed. This is the fashion of the place, and yet it is a fine, and even magnificent city. The houses are large, the parts on a large scale, the windows and doors are always ornamented, and the houses are crowned with a cornice. Nor are the uniformly straight streets so disagreeable as might be imagined. The houses themselves are not all alike, though sometimes there are rows of considerable extent. Of the streets some open into a square, some terminate in another street, some expose a view of the plain country, some of the more distant hills, and some of the snowy Alps, so that hardly any two have exactly the same character.
The Duomo at Turin was built by the cardinal Domenico di Rovere, in 1491. It is said that he ordered his architect to make a beautiful building, and to spare no expense; but that the artist, from some pique against his employer, complied with the latter direction, but not with the former. One may believe his treachery against his employer, but hardly that against himself: at the same time every one acknowledges that he has not made a beautiful building. Above the altar, an arched opening exposes the Chapel of the Santo Sudario, i. e. of the linen cloth which received the body of our Saviour when it was taken down from the cross. We hear a long story of the manner in which this relic came to Turin, of which the most evident part is, that it was not honestly obtained.
The chapel is on a higher level than the church. It is circular, and built of black, or rather dark gray marble. The cupola is formed of arched ribs, on chords of the circle; from the summits of which other similar ribs spring in succession, thus forming a sort of dome. It is not handsome, but Guarini its architect is more licentious than Borromini, without the feeling which sometimes shines through the extravagance of the latter. The other famous Piedmontese architect, Ivara or Juvarra, is of the same sort. Neither of these were natives of Piedmont, but they seem to have been principally employed in this country.
The Church of San Filippo is perhaps the finest at Turin, but it is not very handsome. The architects of this city have been fond of dividing the nave into large parts, and redividing each of these into a centre and two sides, by an arch resting on two columns, and smaller openings between these and the piers. The effect is not at all good, nor is it possible it should be so; every thing which divides the parts into separate compositions weakens the effect of the whole, by destroying its unity. San Lorenzo is curious from its fantastical dome, formed on ribs, each of which is the chord of three eighths of a circle; we readily trace in this, the architect of the chapel of the Sudario. The Church of Santa Maria della Consolata, that of Corpus Domini, and that of San Martino, are all rich in marbles, many of which are beautiful, though not equal to those of Rome. The architecture is bad in all. It seems as if the French had made a bad copy of the early Italian, and the Piedmontese had again copied the French very badly, with a considerable addition of extravagance and affectation in each part of the process.
The Arsenal is a building which has a character of solidity suitable to its purpose, but the details, particularly those of the lower part, are very bad. The entrance is at the angle, which has some advantages both in convenience and picturesque effect. The palace is not a handsome building, nor is it particularly otherwise. It is large, but has not the magnificence which is expected in a royal mansion. Within, the rooms are too much adorned with gilding and looking-glass, yet the principal apartments are rich and splendid, if not beautiful; and this is some merit, for we have abundant evidence that costly materials may be disposed so as to leave a poor and meagre appearance. The collection of paintings is very fine, and there are among them a great many excellent productions of the Flemish school.
The principal theatre, which is united to the palace, is 83 feet wide. In the roof, the architect has endeavoured to unite in one system of timbers both the king-post and queen-post truss.
The style of ornament is not good, but there is hardly ever any representation at this theatre. That of Carignano is the one in common use.
The private palaces of Turin would strike a stranger who had just crossed the Alps as very magnificent, but one who has been much in Italy, will have met with too many on as grand a scale, and in a purer taste, to bestow on them much attention. That of Prince Carignano is spacious, but the architect, Guarini, was totally incapable of appreciating the value of simplicity. I observed among those of a smaller size two architectural features which particularly pleased me: in one the entrance is at the angle of the building, and the perspective on the diagonal has an agreeable and singular effect. That of the other is a spacious hall; and beyond it is a magnificent staircase ascending to the right and left. The coachman drives into the hall, and between the lower flights of the staircase, where he may let down his charge on either side, and then continue under the upper united flight into the court. The inhabitants of Turin say, that there are only two palaces in the city in which the owners are exposed to the weather in getting in and out of their carriages, and these were built by French architects. The climate renders such a provision useful, but the experience of Paris and London shews that it may be dispensed with. The care with which men provide against a disagreeable event is not in proportion to its frequency. A Frenchman, in expressing to me his satisfaction with the open gigs of Naples, added that they would be very unsuitable to so wet a climate as that of Paris. The Londoners seem to be of a different opinion. The Botanic garden at Turin is that of a royal palace, now for the most part destroyed. The superintendent Piottaz is very zealous for its improvement; but the want of funds, and other circumstances, have impeded him, and we cannot at present say much in its praise. I found there a young woman employed in making drawings of the plants it contains; and as for a long period, fifty of these drawings have been executed every year, (always by members of the same family,) the collection is a large one, but as might be expected from such an arrangement, they hardly rise above a respectable mediocrity.
On two different occasions I have walked over the hills south-east of Turin. The second excursion was on the 15th, when professor Balbis kindly accompanied me to the Superga. The church there is built, as you know, on the spot whence Prince Eugene, and the Duke of Savoy in 1706, surveyed the position of the French army then besieging Turin. The prince there formed his plans for forcing the enemy to raise the siege; and the edifice was begun in 1715. It is externally circular, with a portico of eight columns, which the architect could find no better way of arranging than the following.
They are very much bellied, and being built up of small pieces, the whole effect is poor. Internally, the arrangement proceeds on a design of eight larger columns disposed in a circle, (but at unequal distances) and supporting a circular entablature; but filled in octagonally with straight walls pierced with arches. This disposition has the disagreeable effect of two buildings, one within the other, without any harmony of parts or character. A chapel underneath forms the burial-place of the princes of Savoy. The last deceased occupies a station in front, and retreats to a recess behind when his successor comes to occupy his place. The situation of this church and convent, for the thing would have been imperfect without the latter, is uncommonly fine. They occupy the highest summit of a range of hills completely separated from the Alps by the Po and its immediate valley, which gives the eye full liberty to wander over those immense masses. Unfortunately for me, they were, at the time of my visit, enveloped in thick clouds. The valley of the Po and numerous ranges of lower hills were spread out before me, but the air was nowhere clear, and consequently the view was not seen to advantage, but we had a delightful walk, and good botanical success.
On the 18th of June I rode in a soaking rain from Turin to Susa, a city surrounded on three sides by snow-topped mountains. I spent some time at the Arch, which is a fine, but simple building of white marble. The upper part is destroyed, but enough of the Attic remains to exhibit the inscription. On the upper course, in a single line, are the following letters, which remain very perfect: Imp. Caesari Augusto divi f. pontifici maximo tribunic. potestate xx Imp. xiii.
The second course seems to have contained three lines of inscription, but the upper is so nearly destroyed, as to suggest the idea that the line above it must have been restored; the part most exposed could hardly have remained perfect while that below it suffered so much. Many letters of the third line, (the middle line of the second course of stones,) are distinguishable, but I could not make out the words reported by Millin. The general proportions are not unpleasing, but it is rather singular that the columns are set on a pedestal which raises them considerably above the pilasters of the arch; this diminishes their size and apparent importance. The details of the entablature are in bad taste, and the frieze is ornamented with a bas-relief of men and monsters rudely executed.
A.B. Clayton, del. from Sketches by J. Woods.
Arch of Augustus at Susa.
London. Published by J & A Arch. Cornhill, March 1st. 1828.
On the 19th, I walked up to the Madonna del Coà, which Sr. Balbis had recommended me to visit for the botany, and was much gratified in that respect; the rock is a decomposing mica-slate, a sort of soil which is almost always very productive.
I left Susa on the 20th, and ascended Mount Cenis on foot. The scenes are on a grand scale, but have not much variety, and we gain little as we ascend but the prospect of a more extended waste of snow. I had however a very pleasant walk, and was amused all the way, both by the scenery and the plants. The road, nearly in its highest part, passes over a comparative plain about six miles in length, with a lake in the middle. Towards the Italian end of this plain there is a little village, which has a better title than Myrrem, near Lauterbrunnen, to be considered the highest in Europe. This plain has three outlets: one towards Lanslebourg, one towards Briançon, and one towards Susa; but the water is all discharged by the last.
I staid one day on Mount Cenis to botanize, walking up to the snow, first on one side of the valley, and then on the other. I thought myself very successful; but I was too early for some of the greatest rarities, as the more level parts of the higher elevations were still covered with snow. Remains of last year’s snow existed even below the level of the inn. You see nothing of the plains of Italy from the top, and must even descend for a considerable distance before you can catch the hills about Turin through the long perspective of the valley of Susa. The highest part of the pass over Mount Cenis is 2,057 feet above Lanslebourg; 6,887 above the sea. Roche Melun, which according to Millin is the highest point in the neighbourhood, is 11,240 feet above the sea. On the 22nd, I resumed my walk on the long descent down to Lanslebourg. The woods abounded in plants which would delight an English botanist. Not feeling at all fatigued, I continued my route on foot to Verney; but there is little interest in this part of the walk, and this induced me to procure there a sort of cart with a suspended seat, in which I rode to Modana. The river here runs very deep among the rocks, and a little stream which falls into it makes two magnificent cascades one after the other. It would be better to ride from Lanslebourg to Verney, and to walk from thence to Modana. At the latter place I slept, and setting off again at four the following morning, walked to St. Michel, which is seated in a beautiful little circular plain, environed by remarkably rude and craggy mountains. A bare rock, which seems to close the valley, the spur of a tremendously rugged mountain called La Bonne, is a particularly striking object. Hereabouts vineyards begin to make their appearance, the country above being too cold for them. Lanslebourg is 4,830 feet above the sea; St. Michel, perhaps 1,600. From St. Michel, I went in a char à banc to La Chambre; thence I walked to La Chapelle, intending to procure a horse or carriage to convey me to Aiguebelle, but being disappointed, and the inn having a very forlorn appearance, I proceeded on foot. At Aiguebelle I found a vetturino, who had offered me a place at Modana the evening before, and agreed to accompany him the next day to Chamberi. The day’s journey had been mostly through pleasant valleys, well shaded and well cultivated, watered by the impetuous Are, a branch of the Isere, and confined frequently within very narrow limits by abrupt and lofty mountains. Towards Aiguebelle the river makes extensive marshes. After leaving Aiguebelle we enter the valley of the Isere. Towards Chamberi the country becomes more open, and the road lies among gravelly hills cultivated with corn, and shaded with walnut-trees; while limestone mountains, resembling Giggleswick scars in appearance, but higher and bolder, bound the vale at no great distance.
There is a Cathedral at Chamberi of late Gothic: the style is rich, but the edifice being unfinished, it has little effect. It is probably of the latter half of the fifteenth century. The Sainte Chapelle is perhaps a little earlier, and the gateway of the prisons preceded both. This is all I could observe of pointed architecture, and the whole is but little. I walked to Charmettes, at one time the residence of J. J. Rousseau. Part of my walk was over rocky hills, inhabited by spiders of taste, for the remains of the wings shewed that they fed almost exclusively on the Papilio Apollo. Finding a voiture on the point of starting, I took a place in it for Geneva. We left Chamberi about a quarter before five, and passed through a pleasant country of gravelly hills, shaded by oaks and chesnut-trees, and bounded in the distance by limestone precipices. I slept at Aix, whose antiquities were soon despatched; a Doric triumphal arch, in a very imperfect state, is all the architecture, but there are considerable remains of ancient baths which are interesting, and would be much more so if the whole were cleared out.
At three the next morning we resumed our journey through a similar country as far as Frangi, but from hence till we approached Geneva, the scenery was less pleasant.