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.
LETTER XXII.
JOURNEY TO ROME.
_Rome, 2nd January, 1817._
MY impatience to arrive at Rome did not permit me to remain long at
Florence, and I must postpone any account of its neighbourhood to my
next visit, which I hope will be in a more favourable time of year; but
I must say a few words on Fiesole, which I have visited, and found the
walk to it most delightful, even on Christmas-day; as it is situated on
a hill, the ascent to which completely commands the rich and beautiful
valley of the Arno. There are some fragments of Ionic columns near the
convent of St. Francis, which is supposed to occupy the situation of the
ancient citadel of this little rival of Florence; and there are some
ancient graves, hollowed in the slaty rock, about six feet long,
eighteen inches wide, and two feet and a half deep. I observed also a
larger pit, of a circular plan, but enlarging, like a bell, as it
descends, and was informed that two other similar ones had been
discovered and filled up. If these were repositories for corn, it seems
singular that we should find them in such close neighbourhood with those
for the dead. Here is a Cathedral which pleased me by the uniformity of
its sober brown colour, after my eye had been disgusted with the gaudy
dressings of the Florentine churches; but it is a rude, and not
otherwise a handsome building. A little out of the road to Fiesole is
the church of the Badia, said to have been built by Brunelleschi for
Cosmo, P. P. Nothing of the front is finished except a portion in
marble, whose style is at least as early as the lower part of the façade
of Santa Maria Novella.
I left Florence, in company with Mr. Scott, on the 26th of December, at
about half past ten in the morning. Our companions were two German
artists. One had been travelling about for several years, drawing
landscape, which he touches very prettily. The other was a young student
of eighteen, who means to spend four or five years in Rome. The journey
is hilly, with more cultivation and less wood than that I had passed in
coming from Bologna; yet there are some woods, and some large trees
(many of which are stone pines) scattered here and there, and the
cultivated land is frequently shaded with olives and vines; so that the
same ground produces at one time corn, wine, and oil. The Apennines run
into long lines, rising frequently into obtusely conical summits, each
of which is crowned by a castle, a village, or a convent. They present
no precipitous faces, but their successive ranges fall in well varied,
sweeping lines, with occasionally a detached hill standing out from the
great body. We slept at a little place called Poggi Bonzi, once an
independent republic, which we left at five the next morning. There are
some very picturesque _castelli_ on the road. The English castle is, or
was, a fortified house; these Italian castelli were fortified villages.
As we approach Siena, the villas are numerous; and as the Vetturino
enumerated the excellences of each, he never failed to mention the
ice-house and the garden-theatre.
Siena occupies the irregular summit of a commanding eminence, and
contains in itself many interesting objects; but I was rather surprised
to find the Florentine guttural so strongly retained in the
pronunciation. The first time I heard this Tuscan peculiarity, it was in
the expression _Riveris-ho vossignoria_, but though called a guttural,
it would be more correct (in Florence, at least,) to call it a very
strong aspiration. “How is this room called?” I asked at the Corsini
Palace at Florence, which was the first I went to see, _La sehonda
antihamera_ was the reply. At Siena, in the chapel of the hospital, I
inquired the name of the author of one of the pictures, and was told in
reply, that it was _Sebastiano Honha_. I thought the sound more guttural
than at Florence; but my guide was a native of Siena. This pronunciation
is not peculiar to the common people of Tuscany; you hear it from all
ranks. To make amends, they pronounce the _h_ in Latin words as if it
were _k_. The Florentines also pronounce _ci_, _ce_, in the manner
which, in our mode of spelling, would be indicated by _she_, _sha_, and
they often give a nasal tone to their words. I do not know how far these
customs extend.
The Piazza, _i. e._ the principal opening in the city, the square, if
you please, only it is frequently, as in this instance, not rectangular,
is like half a great shallow basin, or rather like half a tea-saucer,
with the government palace and its lofty tower at the bottom.
The Cathedral is only a small part of what was intended. It was founded,
as we are told, in the thirteenth century, but it is not all of one
date; and the tower appears to be older than the rest, as it much
resembles that of S. Zeno at Verona. The front was erected in 1284 by
Giovanni di Pisa. It a good deal resembles that of the cathedral at
Orvieto, erected probably about the same time by Lorenzo Maytani, a
Sienese, whose name I have met with on no other occasion; it is
ornamented with horizontal bands of black and white marble; and this
disposition, which prevails all through the building, is said to have
been adopted because the banner of Siena is in black and white stripes;
but the Italians are fond of stripes, and they frequently occur where no
such explanation can be given. It is a rich, but hardly handsome front.
Its great defect is that the apparent solids are not placed well above
each other. A great many fragments remain, of the parts once intended,
and begun, but not completed. They prove the immense size of the design.
The present nave and choir were to have formed the two arms of the
cross; but as the dome at the intersection rises on an hexagonal plan,
two sides of which open into the present nave and choir, it follows that
an angle and its supporting pier would have been in the middle of the
opening of the new nave. The walls are striped internally, in the same
manner as on the outside, but in the lower part this is not very
offensive, because the marble has there acquired a warm tinge, which
does not extend equally to the upper part; however, the effect is much
softened by the painting and gilding of the vaults. The piers are
crippled, and it appears by the swelling of the pavement, that they have
sunk a little into the ground. The lower arches of the nave are
semicircular, but those of the clerestory, and the windows in them, are
painted; with tracery such as in England we might refer to the beginning
of the reign of Edward III. The continued vaulting of the nave, as well
as of the side aisles, is semicircular. The capitals are ornamented with
foliage and figures. There is no triforium.
A series of heads of popes, alternating with triglyphs, forms a sort of
entablature over the lower arches; and circular niches with busts, occur
in the spandrils. Some change of design seems to have taken place in the
progress of the work; and in the choir, some of the arches appear to be
obtusely pointed; they spring from a pedestal above the capital, and the
lower capitals are omitted. Here then is another style of the
architecture of the middle ages, which can hardly be classed either with
our Norman or Gothic, and which, in a large building like this, where
all the parts are rich, splendid, and harmonious, can hardly fail to be
magnificent. Yet I would by no means recommend it as a model. The
pavement is covered with a sort of engraving on a large scale, by lines
upon the marble, from designs of Beccafiumi. There is some shading
produced by a pale gray marble, and a small quantity of black and of
buff, of which latter, however, little use is made. In order to preserve
the work, the best part is covered with boards, and instead of a rich
effect, we have the appearance of poverty. The sacristy is adorned with
a history of Eneas Sylvius, afterwards Pope Pius II., partly painted by
Raphael at a very early age, and partly from his designs; and in the
same room, is a most beautiful antique groupe of the three graces, one
of which in particular, is an exquisite figure.
Under the cathedral is a subterranean church dedicated to San Giovanni,
to which you obtain a level access from a lower street: we visited it,
but did not find any thing particularly worthy of observation.
After having surveyed the cathedral, we were conducted to the Hospital,
from the back window of whose hall, is a very beautiful view. In the
church, or chapel of this establishment, the circular tribune is painted
so as to represent a perspective of straight-lined architecture. An
ingenious and difficult folly, which can only look well just in one
point of view, and everywhere else is distorted, or rather indeed,
totally unintelligible.