merchant of the name of Jacopo Galli, who left by will sixty thousand
ducats for this purpose. The architect is uncertain; the front is of two
orders, or rather of one order surmounted by an attic of almost equal
height, forming a square composition, with an unmeaning pediment over
the centre. The columns are very wide apart, as there are only four in
the range in the whole front; yet on the whole, the appearance is not
bad, though one cannot call it good. The inside has a nave and side
recesses, or as Moschini has it, a nave with three transepts, the
farthest of which is longer than the others; each intersection is
covered with a little dome, and each dome is crowned with a small
lantern. The piers which separate these transepts are perforated in both
directions with a small arch. The lights are kept high, and the general
effect is very good. Where there is a range of lower arches opening into
the nave, surmounted by a continued cornice, the simple vault forms by
far the finest finish, out in a case like this, where the side arches
are as high as the nave, the succession of domes is possibly superior,
at least the upper and lower parts seem perfectly suited to each other.
The New Prison was built by Antonio da Ponte in 1589; it is a very
handsome building, with rustic arches below, and above these a range of
Doric columns on pedestals, and a large cornice with consoles in the
frieze. These would be objectionable if the columns were on the ground,
or perhaps if the height were divided by any strongly projecting cornice
over the rustic arcades, but as it is, forming the only entablature to
the whole height, it has a noble effect. The greatest fault of the
building is, that it does not look at all like a prison.
In front of the arsenal are four marble lions. Under the two first are
inscriptions, telling us they were brought as trophies of victory from
the Piræus at Athens; under the third is merely _ex Atticis_, and the
fourth has no inscription. The first is erect; the marble has reddish
stains, and but few traces of mica. The second is I think the finest,
though it is said, I know not why, to be modern; it is recumbent. The
marble has no red stains, but the effect of the mica is very evident.
They are both admirable works, and undoubtedly of Pentelic marble. The
third appeared to me to represent a panther rather than a lion, the
figure is lanky and not beautiful. The fourth is a little thing of not
much value, I believe of _marmo greco_, that is, a large grained, saline
marble, of a white not very pure, and marked more or less with grayish
stripes.
The number of pictures here is immense, mostly of course of the Venetian
school, but of these there are magnificent specimens. The names of Gian
Bellino, the two Palmas, and three Bassans, are almost as well known as
those of Titian, Paul Veronese, and Tintoret; but there are also very
fine paintings by Andrea Vicentino, Sebastian Ricci, Bonifacio, Aliense,
Mario Vecelli, &c.; and Luca Giordano has also left here a great number
of his works. But the majority of these fine paintings are very badly
lighted. In the churches there is usually a row of wax candles before
them; and if on some feast day, when these are lighted, one of them
should fall back, and burn a hole in the canvass, nobody seems to care
much about it. Many of them are half hid by a statue of white marble,
whose colour sadly deadens the tints of the painting; or what is worse,
by the painted wax face, white veil, silver crown, and gaudy satin
drapery of some wretched Madonna. Sometimes a crown and girdle of gold
or silver are stuck on the painting itself, and when this represents, as
is often the case, a Madonna in the clouds, they give her a silver moon
to stand upon. All the pictures in the churches are wretchedly dirty,
and it is provoking to see so little care taken of the finest of them.
No English churchwarden can be fonder of whitewash, than those who have
the care of the churches in Venice; and if they do not cover their
Titians with it, they do almost as bad, in whitewashing all round them.
Those returned from Paris are in a better condition. The French are
accused of having restored, as well as cleaned; the accusation may be
just in some degree, but not to the amount one is led to expect by the
complaints made against them. And after all, when the question is
between a very beautiful thing, but invisible, and another somewhat less
beautiful, which may be seen, I confess that I prefer the latter. These
paintings are now at the convent of the Carità, which is converted into
an academy of the fine arts, but the building contains no large rooms in
which they may be exhibited, and they are laid together in great
confusion: a few indeed have been picked out and put in front, where
they are tolerably well seen. The San Pietro Martyre was placed upon an
easel, in an excellent light, and without any thing to disturb the view
of it, so that I enjoyed it in all its perfection. Many of the larger
paintings have not been unpacked, and as they cannot be exhibited till a
room is erected for their reception, and there is now no Napoleon to
order such an erection, and no rich merchant to supply the funds; it is
not improbable that they may remain rolled up for these twenty years. I
have already said that there is a fine collection of ancient marbles in
the ducal palace. There are also one or two excellent private
collections of the same sort, and some of the palaces are rich in
pictures. One in particular, the Manfrin, has a glorious collection.
Besides pictures, the Italians adorn their churches with painted images,
to which I have occasionally alluded, and which are dressed out as
finely as gold and satin can make them, and with as much taste as you
would expect, when a monk undertakes to perform a lady’s toilet. An
image of the Madonna in the Santi Apostoli, exhibited a gilt crown, a
shawl of white silk was loosely thrown over the head and shoulders, and
her gown was of yellow satin with blue stripes, and decorated with roses
and other flowers intended to imitate Nature. The child had a gilt
glory, and an apron like his mother’s gown. I have not selected this as
a remarkable one, but merely in hopes to give you a more distinct idea
of these figures by describing an individual.
The Venetians used to paint the outsides of their houses, and Paul
Veronese and Tintoret were sometimes employed in this manner; but these
paintings have all disappeared, except that here and there some scarcely
distinguishable shades attest that such things were. The ceilings of the
apartments are always decorated, and they are generally lighter than the
walls. I do not mean to include such walls as are enriched with
pictures, but those only with decorative painting. The pattern is
usually of a darker colour than the ground, and often exhibits a great
deal of taste. We sometimes see the joists exposed, either moulded or
painted, and the little bits of ceiling between them painted; but never
our plain one-coloured surface of plaster.
LETTER XX.
JOURNEY TO BOLOGNA.
_Bologna, 13th December, 1816._
MY Venetian life ended with the month of November; and on the thirtieth
of that month, at eight o’clock in the evening, I got into the courier’s
boat for Bologna. Our accommodation consisted of one room for all sorts
of passengers, and their luggage, among which we found seats as well as
we could. One of the company was a young Venetian widow, a marchesa, who
being young and handsome, and left in good circumstances by her first
husband, was doubting whether she should marry again, and expressed her
doubts to the company. As she spoke in the Venetian dialect, I missed a
good deal of her conversation. Another was captain of a trading vessel,
who claimed me for a countryman, because he was a Maltese; but his
Italian was still more difficult than that of the marchesa. About
midnight a new arrangement of the packages was completed, and mats were
spread, partly on them, and partly on the floor, and we all lay as we
could. Before morning we stuck for three hours on a sand-bank, but in
other respects had a most prosperous voyage. About six we stopt at a
coffee-house, and most of my companions had some black coffee, _i. e._
coffee without milk, but as I wanted a little more sleep, I did not
follow their example.
The courier engages to find us dinner and supper for one day, and dinner
the next, but no breakfast; and he ingeniously contrived to give us
dinner at five o’clock, and supper at eight, in order to save as much of
the latter as possible; but every body felt it a duty to eat something
at supper, out of spite. We changed boats, and soon afterwards entered
the Po, a great, muddy river running above the level of the country,
great part of which in the present season is under water. Our voyage
terminated at midnight; but it makes no difference whether the boat
arrives at six in the evening or six in the morning, you must remain in
it till daylight, when all the lighter luggage is taken out and carried
by land to Bologna. As however there might be some grumbling, if the
passengers found themselves at Ponte di Lago Scuro early in the evening,
and had no better place to sleep in than the boat, the courier takes
care this shall never happen. We stopped five hours at Ferrara,[36] the
courier assuring me we should not stay there above an hour. This is one
of the customary lies of these people in Italy, but I was not
sufficiently aware of it. If I had known beforehand, that the carriage
would stay so long at Ferrara, I could have employed my time very
pleasantly; but this was impossible with the expectation of having to go
away at every moment. On the other hand, the couriers and vetturini
usually mention a time of setting off in the morning rather later than
that which they intend, thinking probably, that their passengers would
be unwilling to dedicate so short a time to repose, and well knowing,
that when once roused, a man does not easily settle to sleep again. We
did not arrive at Bologna till past ten at night, but the kindness of
Sig. Vracliotti had furnished me with a letter to a brother of his, who
is a student in the university, and I stept at once into a comfortable
lodging. I have a large bed-room, well furnished, and a great bed, with
a silk bag of down to lay over my feet. No hangings, which are not usual
in Italy. Adjoining is another room, or ante-chamber, of about the same
size, which is my sitting room; and between this and the hall, another
sitting-room, which communicates with two more bed-rooms; and I always
have to pass through these two sitting-rooms in going to my own
bed-room. No party is formed, and no fires are lighted, except in the
kitchen, till about three o’clock, which is dinner-time. Afterwards they
are kept up all the rest of the day, though the party always separate
after dinner. In the evening we again assemble, but there is no other
regular meal. Some are reading; the ladies are knitting; some are
talking, and some playing at cards. Besides the Greek student, there are
two lodgers, one of whom is an elderly gentleman, whom they call Sig.
Paolo, but what his cognomen is I do not know, for the _name_ in Italy
is always that of baptism, and by this you are addressed. The other is
also a student in the university, a very modest, pleasing young man. The
Greek complains much of the fast days. The Greek church is, indeed, more
severe in this respect than the Roman; but he tells me, that at Corfu
they are little attended to.
We have here the Roman money, which ascends by tens; ten _bajocchi_
making a _paolo_; ten _paoli_ a _scudo_. This is the most convenient
numeration of any, unless, indeed, that of twelve be preferable; the
great thing is always to use the same multiple, even to the largest
amount, and twelve has an advantage over ten, in its greater
divisibility. The most common silver coins are, the piece of the two
paoli, called also a _papetto_, and the half-paolo, or _grosetto_, for
the Italian leaves nothing without a name. The latter generally has some
charitable motto, _Pauperi porrige manum_; _In cibos pauperum_; and
others similar.
The pictures here are, to my taste, far preferable to those of Venice;
for if the Venetian school surpass in colouring, and perhaps, in
composition, the Bolognese is decidedly superior in drawing and
expression; and the Caracci shine here like gods. The two finest
collections are, that of the paintings returned from Paris, which are
put up for the present in the suppressed church of the Spirito Santo,
and the one at the Pinacotheca, which is collected from the suppressed
churches, and is, perhaps, even finer than the other. Yet it contains a
great deal of trash, from which the other is free. There are fine things
scattered about in the different churches, and several very extensive
private collections.
In architecture I shall not have a great deal to say; Bologna is a fine
city, abounding in large churches and handsome palaces; but though the
general style is good, there is little of very excellent, or of very
striking and characteristic, to demand attention. The foot-paths are
under arches, as at Bern and at Padua, but here they are fine lofty
arcades, and the architecture is in better taste, more finished, and on
a larger scale. I must however, take you round as usual to the principal
buildings.
I. The largest church is that of San Petronio, of which the nave alone,
which, with a little temporary choir, is all that has been erected, is
400 feet long. It was founded in 1390, when Bologna was a republic; the
first stone being laid with great solemnity on the 7th of July in that
year. The architect was a Bolognese, of the name of Antonio Vincenzi, or
Di Vincenzo, who, in 1396, was ambassador from the Bolognese, to the
Venetian republic. The plan was to have been a Latin cross, with a door
at the end of the nave, and of each transept; each door opening from a
public square, to form which a number of houses and churches were to be
pulled down. From a plan published in 1653, (but which I did not see),
it appears that the whole length internally was to have been 570
Bolognese feet, or nearly 712 English, (the length of St. Peter’s at
Rome is only 571,) that of the transept 370 Bolognese, or 462 English
feet. An octagonal cupola in the middle was to be 130 feet in diameter,
and 400 feet high, both in Bolognese measure, to which I shall adhere in
the rest of the description, each foot being very nearly 15 English
inches. This word _cupola_ is perhaps ill-applied by the writer of the
Bolognese Guide, but the size of it, equal to the diameter of the whole
building, including the side-chapels, does not seem to be a Gothic
idea.[37] There were to have been four towers at the four extreme angles
of the transept. It appears however, that this is only one of several
plans, none perhaps of much authority, but none of which I have been
able to procure. In the description of a model, (which I believe exists
no longer) it is said that the length was to have been 590 feet. _The
width of the three arms_, each of them augmented _by a chapel on each
side_, (I do not understand this) 390 feet; the diameter of the cupola
86 feet, and the height 250, including the lantern. This model was made
by Arduino, who ceased to be architect to the fabric in 1530. It does
not appear, that as far as has been executed, any alteration took place
in the original plan; (with the exception of the choir already
mentioned) the disputes are altogether on what was intended to have been
the form of the remaining part.
The elevation at present begun would present a series of five gables,
the middle of which is the largest and highest; those of the aisles are
lower, and those of the side-chapels lower still; and between every two
gables there was to be a pinnacle. The part erected is cut up with
abundance of horizontal lines. The ancient design seems to have been
hardly as high as the present, and had fewer horizontal lines; in the
front there were three round windows, and no others. Multitudes of
designs have been offered for this façade, and among others, two of
Palladio are preserved. The best of these has a pediment supported on
four columns (he would not venture to introduce a greater number even in
a case like this, where he most wanted them); two wings of the same
order as the portico, with their fragments of pediments abutting against
an attic; and two secondary wings, with a smaller order. Each order was
to be on pedestals, all of the same height, and entirely cut through by
the doorways. It would not have succeeded; the thing was too big for the
artist. The proper design for such a building, where western towers are
out of the question, is a central gable, with two leantos on each side;
but such an arrangement could only succeed in Gothic architecture, for
it would be difficult, if not impossible, to give sufficient height to
the centre, supposing it to form a Greek portico.
The principal nave of this church is 49 feet in width. The two first
arches are 100 feet 10 inches high, but after these were erected,
disputes arose about the proper height; many contending that it ought to
form an equilateral triangle on the whole width of the base, which would
give an elevation of 133 feet 6 inches. The work was suspended till
1647, when it was executed with a height of 118 feet. The aisles are 70
feet 6 inches high, and 24 feet 6 inches wide; the side-chapels 24 feet
6 inches square, and 48 feet high. The choir is 116 feet long, and 106
feet high, all in Bolognese measure. Two side-chapels open into each
division of the nave; the width of the side-arches being the same as
that of the nave. These wide arches give a great appearance of space;
but they either become enormously high, or else the height of the arch
itself is too great for that of the pier which supports it. Here the
first is at least as much as the latter, a proportion, or rather a
disproportion, which is very offensive, and rendered still more so by
the great height of the capitals. These are but little ornamented, and
do not gratify the eye by any richness of detail, or beauty of
workmanship. Indeed there is much fault to be found throughout, in the
proportions of the different parts. All the principal arches are
retained by iron ties. Yet with all these faults, the size and
simplicity of design, and the space which every part seems to enjoy,
without confusion or huddling, produce a pleasing impression. On the
pavement of this church is the meridional line marked by Cassini in
1653, 178 feet 11½ inches in length.
II. The church of San Stefano is a very curious building, being formed
by the union of no less than seven churches. In one of these are some
very ancient columns with whimsical capitals, supporting circular
arches, but the precise dates do not seem to be known. There are coupled
columns, one of rich marble, the other of stone, miserably painted to
imitate it, and this combination is repeated several times in the
circuit of a round church, which is said to have been, and with great
probability, an ancient baptistery. The church adjoining is reputed to
have been formerly the cathedral, and the earliest of this group. It was
founded by S. Faustino about 330, is something like our Norman, with
small, rounded windows in the nave. One of the chapels contains an Ionic
capital, and some arabesques, which are probably antique; and several
fragments of the middle ages, which are interesting to an antiquary.
III. San Giacomo Maggiore is a large church, which was finished in 1315,
but modernized in 1478; and from its appearance it seems to have
undergone a posterior modernization: here are three side-chapels to each
arch of the nave. Almost all the old Italian churches have been
modernized, but enough remains to shew that Gothic architecture was
never well understood in this country. The outside reminded me of that
of S. Fermo at Verona, but it has never been completed.
IV. The Cathedral is a fine building of modern architecture, (I speak of
the inside) built in 1575, but the front was not put up till 1647. It is
174 feet long, (of Bologna) exclusive of the choir and presbytery, which
are 74 more; 127 feet wide, including the chapels; and 103 feet high;
the width of the nave is 72 feet, the piers are perforated, and instead
of side-aisles there are recesses, forming, if you please, three short
transepts; a disposition I have already described to you in the church
of the Salvatore at Venice. It is not uncommon in Italy; and this
cathedral is perhaps one of the best examples of the arrangement, which
I confess is one which pleases me. It gives great width to the nave, and
reduces the aisles to a row of side-chapels communicating with each
other. The entablature, in this edifice, is continued without breaks;
and the side-arches, instead of being carried up the height of the
centre, are kept under the architrave; and this is also the case with
the choir, which appears in consequence rather low and confined. The
order is Corinthian, and not bad, though incorrect. Nothing however is
gained by the deviation from the usual forms. The vaulting is
semicircular, springing a little above the entablature, without any
moulding to mark the precise point. Some of the altars are very good. A
simple portico of two Corinthian columns never displeases; and with good
ornaments, good proportions, and handsome marbles, cannot fail to be
beautiful.
V. The church of San Giorgio, built in 1589, is one of those things,
which without any thing very blamable, yet produce no effect. It
exhibits a range of arches between Ionic pilasters, and a whitewashed
vault; this last circumstance is certainly injurious, but not sufficient
to account for its tameness.
VI. The church of San Salvadore was begun in 1605, and finished in 1623.
The front is not handsome, the wings being too small; and the general
appearance is that of several smaller buildings erected on the summit of
a large one. Internally, it has perforated piers, and consists merely of
two large arches and a semicircular choir as high as the nave. It is a
very handsome room, but without much of the character of a church, and
this want of peculiar character, seems to me the prevailing defect of
the churches of Italian architecture. On the other hand, the Gothic
architects, in their productions, whether in Italy or in England, hardly
ever missed it; but perhaps this opinion may be owing merely to early
association.
VII. San Paolo is another fine room, with perforated piers, and much
more character; which is, I believe, owing to its greater comparative
height and length. The proportions are very good, but the superabundance
of painting shows that an error on that side also may be injurious.
VIII. I mention to you S. Bartolommeo di Porta Ravegnana, to notice a
good effect in ornamental painting; the general tone is too gaudy, but
the choir, with Corinthian pilasters, of a purplish gray, with gilt
mouldings, and the capitals and ornaments in the panels of the pilasters
also gilt, is very elegant.
IX. The length and general proportions of the church of San Domenico,
would produce a fine perspective, if it were not most industriously
destroyed. Every other arch is made into a sort of separate composition,
with pilasters and an entablature; and a smaller included order to
ornament the opening. The intermediate ones are quite plain, without
even the entablature. I should hardly however have mentioned this
church, if it were not for a very beautiful little chapel which it
contains, said to have been built from a design of Michael Angelo
Buonarotti. Two other architects dispute it with him, apparently on
better foundations, Floriano Ambrosino, and Francesco Terribilia; it
forms a cross in itself, with a dome at the intersection, and a
semicircular choir at the end: the pilasters are of rich, coloured
marbles: and the parts are well disposed, and finely proportioned; the
semidome of the choir was painted in fresco by Guido, and the other
paintings are by no means contemptible. The whole is exceedingly
beautiful.
X. I walked one day up to the Madonna del Monte, a fine church, but not
in very pure taste, about three miles from Bologna. The most remarkable
circumstance is, that one walks under a portico the whole way. It is not
in one continued straight line, but makes four or five angles in the
ascent. The architecture of this portico has no merit in point of taste,
and the apparent construction is still worse, since to a thing on this
small scale, iron ties are necessary to all the arches, and the
beautiful effect of the perspective produced by the long series of
receding curves, is quite spoilt by them. One cannot walk along it
without feeling impressed with its wonderful length; it is indeed a
monument of superstition, erected for her own purposes, but one must
admire the courage and public spirit which could undertake such a work,
and the perseverance necessary to complete it.