the same appearance externally, but very different in the plan and
extent within. The court is much larger, and it is adorned with many
fragments of colossal statues which excite our wonder. We hear of such
things, but the imagination is hardly excited, till something of them is
seen, and then we begin to fancy what the effect must have been of these
enormous productions, occupying the most conspicuous situations in a
large city. I can hardly conceive any one circumstance which could
produce a more impressive effect. On the ascent to the staircase are
some fine bas-reliefs, supposed to be taken from an unknown triumphal
arch of Marcus Aurelius, and which to me were the more interesting, as
some ancient temples are represented in them. One of these has a
continued ornament over the pediment. Here is also a figure of Curtius
leaping into the gulf, which is evidently a marsh. On the first floor is
a range of rooms adorned with paintings, not of much merit, by Arpini
and Lauretti; and containing a few antiquities, one of which is the wolf
recorded by Cicero to have been struck by lightning. Here also are
preserved the _Fasti consulares_, found in the time of Paul the Third.
Returning from these apartments, and passing through different passages,
I was surprised to find myself on the ground, in a court from which
another flight of steps leads to the picture gallery. This consists of
two large rooms, not immediately connected together, containing a
considerable collection of paintings, some of which are very fine.
Indeed a great many would be highly prized, anywhere but amongst the
papal collections; but while some are really first-rate, it must be
acknowledged that there are also a good many indifferent pictures. They
are by far too much crowded, and the rooms are neither handsome in
themselves, nor well suited to the exhibition of paintings. This is all
that is shown of this great rambling building, which we may visit
repeatedly without obtaining any tolerable idea, either of its extent or
disposition.
The Palace of the Senator is also part of a large building, of no
regular plan, and occupying different levels; part of it is a prison,
and the rest of it, I know not what. It contains considerable remains of
ancient walls and piers, and I have already mentioned its appearance
behind, where the tabularium forms part of the same mass. The great hall
is a fine room, but it did not strike me by any particular excellence.
There are three statues in front of this building, two of which are
recumbent figures, and have been christened the Nile and Tiber. When the
statues of Hercules and Theseus are without veins, they are supposed to
represent those heroes in a deified state, but both these river gods
have the veins strongly marked. The middle statue is of porphyry; it is
called Rome; the body and drapery, which alone are ancient, are very
fine. It was perhaps a Bellona, for there seems no sort of reason for
calling it Rome. I mention this, in order to shew how everything here is
patched and named.
One of the earliest and finest palaces of modern Rome is the Palazzo
della Cancellaria, which was built by Bramante, and affords a good
specimen of his style. The principal lines are unbroken, the openings
are small, those of the principal order too small, and the relief of the
ornamental parts very trifling, and this in a large building, produces a
breadth and repose very favourable to magnificence. The orders are not
very good, but there are some beautiful ornaments of the cinque cento
style. The composition is formed of a basement, and two orders of
pilasters upon pedestals; the pilasters are disposed alternately in
larger and smaller intervals. Over the windows of the principal floor
are pateras; and small windows, or rather holes, over those of the
upper; both are bad. There are two doorways in front, one of which was
designed by Domenico Fontana, and is not handsome; the other was erected
by Vignola, and is not suited to the building. The court has two orders
of arches on single granite columns, light, airy, and elegant. The upper
story of wall and pilasters over these arches is too high, and indeed
the composition would be better if it were altogether omitted. All the
details, that is, all the parts essential to the order, are bad; the
mere ornaments are sometimes good.
The Palazzo Giraud was also built by Bramante, and like the former,
consists of a basement, and two orders. In some respects it is superior
to the Cancellaria; the pilasters are in pairs, which produces a better
effect than the unequal spacing in that building, but the upper order is
too small, and its two rows of windows are insignificant; there ought
certainly to be only one row of windows to the upper story, when there
is only one to the lower, yet Bramante has repeated this fault in both
buildings. The present doorway is a posterior addition, not in good
taste, the original having been apparently too quiet and simple. The
Palazzo Sora has also been attributed to Bramante, but it has no
characteristic of his architecture.
The Palazzo Stoppani was designed by Raphael; the upper part has been
added; what remains of his, consists of a basement, and one story,
ornamented with coupled Doric columns. In his time, the adaptation of
the parts of ancient architecture to dwellinghouses, was a matter of
experiment, rather than of experience, and Raphael has committed many
faults which neither he, nor any body else, would repeat; but I think we
may perceive in it, a power of combination, and a justness of sentiment,
which announces that this wonderful man would have been as eminent in
architecture as in painting, had his attention been equally directed
that way. There is a beautiful little chapel in the church of Santa
Maria del Popolo, of his design, which for elegance of proportion, and
for the beautiful drawing and delicate execution of the ornaments, has
no superior.
I do not know that I can do better than follow somewhat of a
chronological order in giving to you this account of the Roman
buildings; and the next work I shall therefore take up, is the Palazzo
Massimi, of the architecture of Peruzzi da Siena. The form of the ground
obliged him to make his front convex. The order here is placed below,
consisting of Doric pilasters and entablatures, on a rustic face of
wall. The upper part is also rusticated, but without pilasters, it has
one row of upright windows of the usual form, and two rows of windows
whose height is not equal to the breadth. This disposition is not at all
pleasing, and I think the front has been praised far beyond its deserts;
but Peruzzi died before the building was completed, and I wish to
believe that the two upper stories have not been executed according to
his intention. The vestibule is well managed, and the little court is
really beautiful; it is a square, with a vaulted loggia on two sides,
resting on columns, and corresponding pilasters on the others. The one
side, which is lower than the other, is adorned with a fountain placed
in a recess. It is excellent, but unfortunately for its effect, not
finished, and is usually in a very forlorn and dirty state.
The Farnesina is also a work of Peruzzi. It is composed of a centre and
two side pieces (pavillions) which advance a little; all is of one
height, and in two orders, the centre with five openings on each range,
the sides with two. The interpilasters of the lower part of the centre
are occupied by large arches, which originally opened into a loggia; so
far the arrangements and proportions are excellent, but I will not enter
into further details, because they are not good. The central arches are
now filled up, and what was an open loggia, is to the great detriment of
the building, a hall. Internally, Raphael’s Cupid and Psyche, and his
charming Galatea, hardly permit one to think of the architecture. Yet
the Cupid and Psyche is not all of Raphael’s painting, or rather a very
small part of it is his, though it may be all from his designs. It has
been disharmonized by a blue ground of Carlo Maratti, whose pencil has
perhaps not been confined entirely to the ground, but may be traced in
many of the figures. There are two or three other things by this
architect in Rome, but they are not of any great merit; yet they would
deserve attention from a young architect; his forms are well chosen, the
leading lines are well preserved, and the parts boldly and distinctly
marked.
The next artist to whose works I shall introduce you, is Antonio
Sangallo. There is one great merit in these early architects of Italy,
that they are totally devoid of affectation. Their houses are neither
temples, nor abbeys, nor castles, but simply dwellinghouses, and
dwellinghouses of the age in which they were constructed, without any
attempt to pass off as the productions of another period, either
externally or internally. The architecture of Antonio Sangallo, who
followed the profession and adopted the name of his maternal uncles, is
distinguished by real and apparent solidity. The latter is not obtained
by bold and massive projections, but by large spaces and small openings,
and by the ornamental parts, which are rather broad, than of much
relief, and have very little decoration. His style has a noble and
simple character, which well merits for him the rank he holds among the
great architects of Italy.
One of the finest works of this artist is the Palazzo Sacchetti, in the
Strada Giulia. It consists of a cellar story, whose windows are placed
between the consoles supporting the decorations of those of the ground
floor; and the place is so ample, and the parts are so well disposed,
that this does not appear at all defective. Over this are the ground
floor, the principal floor, a mezzanine, and an upper story. There are
seven windows in a range, all well distributed, and well proportioned,
except in the diminution upwards, of the principal windows. The
ornaments are also in fine style, and the doorway is handsome, and well
suited to the building.
Another very celebrated work is the great Palazzo Farnese, of which the
front towards the Piazza Farnese, and the two sides, were almost
entirely of the design of Sangallo; and quite so as to the general
distribution of the subject, except the cornice, which was by Michael
Angelo. The court is by Vignola, and the back has also been cut up by
the same artist; but of these I shall tell you more presently. This
front is of great extent, and the parts are large and magnificent; yet
it is by no means one of this artist’s best works. The windows are
crowded, and over ornamented, but perhaps this extra ornament is a
posterior addition; the great space above the upper range of windows has
a bad effect, as it gives to that story the appearance of the principal
one, which other circumstances do not, and ought not in such a building,
to bear out.
The cornice, as I have already said, was the design of Michael Angelo
Buonarroti. Paul the Third, who began this edifice before his elevation
to the papacy, determined when he was pope, to have the most magnificent
finish to his building that ever man conceived, and had a competition
among the architects of the day, for the production of the most
beautiful cornice. The pope himself examined all the designs, “and
after,” says Milizia, “he had praised that of Michael Angelo as
excelling all the rest, greatly to the mortification of poor Sangallo,
he directed at last one by a certain Melighino to be brought forward.”
This Melighino was a Ferrarese, who had just undertaken to be an
architect, after having, as is supposed, served his master many years as
a footman. Sangallo’s patience was exhausted, and he declared that
Melighino was a joke of an architect (architetto da Beffe) to which the
pope replied by a low bow and a bitter smile, “But we will, that
Melighino be an architect in good earnest.” These competitions are much
the fashion now in England, and there are some advantages in the plan;
but as they are usually conducted, there are also many disadvantages,
amongst which perhaps it is not the least, that under the notion of
encouraging rising merit, they deprive of its due reward, that which is
already in some degree risen; obliging every man who wishes to be
engaged in any public work, (generally the most honourable, because the
most conspicuous employment) to enter into competition with the rawest
beginners; not before competent judges, (for if that were the case, he
would have no right to complain) but before those, who perhaps have much
general knowledge and taste, but who have attended little to
architecture. The difference is so great between the drawings offered in
the first instance, and the ultimate production of this art in the
building, that a man of the strictest honour and purest taste, who has
not frequently compared the geometrical drawing, and the edifice which
it undertakes to explain, and deeply studied the relation between one
and the other, is perhaps as likely to admire a Melighino, as a Michael
Angelo, or a Sangallo. No building that has claimed the admiration of
ages was ever designed in this way. There is more to be said on the
subject, even in this particular point of view, but I will spare you,
and return to Michael Angelo, who has here produced a cornice too large,
even for the gigantic proportion of the palace which it crowns. I have
not measured it, but I believe, including the ornament immediately
below, which joins with it in general effect, that it is above nine feet
high, and nearly equal in height to the principal range of windows. The
showy part of the interior, which is nothing in comparison with the
extent and magnificence of the building, consists of a fine gallery, 62
feet long, and 19 wide (Roman feet, I suppose), and some adjoining
rooms. The gallery contains probably the noblest monument which Annibale
Caracci has left of his great abilities. The subject painted on the
ceiling is the triumph of Bacchus, full of life, spirit, and beauty.
Ariadne is a charming figure, but there is a fawn dancing by her, quite
overflowing with youthful spirits, so full of grace and animation, that
I do not wonder that her attention is directed towards him, rather than
to Bacchus. The upper rooms in this palace are assigned to the use of
the students in the Neapolitan academy at Rome.
I have already related all I had to say of Michael Angelo’s architecture
in the account of St. Peter’s and of the Campidoglio, I shall therefore
pass to Giulio Romano, whom I expect to see more advantageously at
Mantua. I would not, however, have you imagine that I do not set a high
value on what he has done at Rome, but the quantity is very little. At
first, to say the truth, I did not like it at all. What is different
from that we are used to admire, often displeases us merely on that
account, from habit, or rather I should say from the want of habit; and
the architecture of Giulio is very markedly different from that of every
one else. He strongly affected square forms, and seems to have laboured
as much as possible to divide his buildings into square, or nearly
square compartments. The receipt does not appear very promising, and yet
the Palazzo Cenci, as it was once called, the palace where the Accademia
Tiberina now holds its sittings, in spite of rags, and dirt, and
dilapidation, is a noble design.
Giulio may be considered as the last of the early Roman architects.
Their style is marked by a severity and magnificence, which I confess
please me better, or rather excite in me higher ideas of excellence,
than the grace and beauty of the Palladian. Do not accuse me of refining
too much, when I add, that I do not mean to say that I like any of their
houses, better than those of Palladio. I think that they followed a beau
ideal of a higher character and expression, but Palladio undoubtedly
reached his object much more nearly than any of the Roman architects;
had Raphael lived, and followed architecture, I am persuaded that we
should have had something far superior to what has ever been seen; but
Raphael could hardly have done more for the Roman style, than Palladio
did for that which he pursued. Of this more ornamental style, Vignola
was the best among the Roman architects, but his buildings still retain
something of the severity of his predecessors, and they fall far short
of the grace and elegance of the Vicentine. Within the city, he has left
very little but the court of the Farnese palace, which is not very fine,
and whose style he has preposterously carried to the outside of the
building, to form the centre of its north-west front, although entirely
discordant with the work of Sangallo. On the outside of the gates are
the little church of Sant Andrea, and the Villa Giulia, a work of
considerable beauty and great defects, and now in a very forlorn
condition. The first of these, the church of Sant Andrea, has been much
admired, and even pointed out as a model for young architects; yet it is
full of faults. It is oblong on the plan, covered with an elliptical
dome; a bad form, for which it does not appear that there was any
sufficient reason; since a design occupying the same ground, with a
square room and a portico, would have given to the front the relief that
it wants, and offered a reason for the pediment, which is now placed
against the plain wall. “Ecco,” says Stern, “come s’imita lo spirito
delle antiche invenzioni.” I should certainly think him ironical, if his
whole description were not excessively laudatory. It is too high, both
externally and internally, and yet with all this, there certainly is
united considerable beauty in the proportions, and in the principal
parts. In the front of the Villa Giulia, the upper story wants height
and consequence, as from its distribution and style of ornament, it
certainly ought to be the principal. The back court and nymphæum present
in some parts a pleasing variety of lines; but there are too many
breaks, and the whole is too intricate, and what is worse, whimsical;
and Vignola when licentious has less grace than Borromino; his _forte_
is in correct architecture. The circular gallery above, produces a very
pleasing effect, and would be admirable if filled with sculpture; at
present it is forlorn and naked.
The most famous work of this architect is the Palace of Capraruola, of
which I have already given you some account. It forms a pentagon, with a
bastion at each angle, as if it were a fortification. I do not like
these pretences, nor do I admire the taste which creates to itself
difficulties, in order to display ingenuity in overcoming them.
I will not detain you with the architecture of Giacomo del Duca, of
Bartolommeo Ammanati, or a dozen others, whose greatest merit is, that
they have not entirely lost the massive simplicity of the Roman school.
I should however be inclined to point out as worthy of attention, to any
person going to Rome, the Palazzo Alessandrini in the Piazza of the
Santi Apostoli; it is merely a square front, with seven windows in a
range, but so disposed as to give the idea of lofty and magnificent
rooms; perhaps, if one were to criticize it minutely, a little too
lofty, but the “too much” in architecture is infinitely preferable to
the “too little.”
Ammanati erected the Palazzo Ruspoli in the Corso, the ground-floor of
which is now occupied by the great coffee-house. An unbroken range of
nineteen windows must have an appearance of magnificence. The doorway is
not according to the original design. It is now shut up. I think the
greatest fault in the arrangement depends on the too great height of the
upper range of windows. This palace is admired for its staircase. All
that is seen at one view is a fine flight of marble steps, each of one
stone. The very frequent disposition of a Roman staircase is that of a
wall in the middle, and a flight of steps supported on an inclined
vault, alternately on each side, and that is the plan of the one in this
palace.
The front of the Quirinal palace is attributed to Domenico Fontana, and
taking it as it probably originally stood, it is not bad, although the
upper story, being the principal, has not a good effect, and the design
is now cut up by a great arched opening made for the benediction. This
was done by Bernini. The two upper stories of the flank, I suspect (for
I have no direct evidence) were added by Flaminio Ponzio: it is
completely one house upon another, and nothing can be more ugly. The
court is certainly very fine; it consists of a long square, surrounded
by open arcades on three sides, and the fourth, which is the end
farthest from the entrance, with a double row, and a clock tower;
forming a front and entrance, which if not very good in itself is
evidently the principal object in the court, and gives a unity and
character to the whole. The design was by Ottavio Mascherini, but here
also Ponzio has been at work with his abominable upper house. The great
staircase is badly placed, and has no effect, though on a magnificent
scale. The entrance hall I estimate at 40 feet wide, 50 high, and 100
long; the proportions are pleasing, but nothing else is good. Thence we
pass through a long passage or gallery vaulted with a waggon-head, with
windows on one side, to a range of apartments which was fitted up in
this palace by the French, to receive, as it is said, the king of Rome;
or at least begun for that purpose, and now completed for the emperor:
it is, I think, the most beautiful suite I have ever seen.
The Anticamera of the Guardia Nobile is 70 feet long, 40 wide, and 50
high. It was lighted, when I saw it, only by windows in the vaulted
roof, which shewed it to the best advantage. There are lower windows on
each side, but these were then closed. It is surrounded by a high
plinth, which is generally a much better finish than our base, dado, and
surbase. The general colour is pale gray. The chairs are yellow and
gold, the carpet green, the curtains white; there is no gilding on the
architecture, but this combination of colours is very good, and you must
not laugh at me for attending to these particulars, for if they be not
essential parts of the art, they are however accessories of great
importance in the effect produced. A handsome room may be quite spoilt
by bad finishing, and ill chosen colours in the walls and furniture; and
the defects of a poor one concealed, or at least much diminished, by
good management in this respect.
Most of the apartments of the suite have coved ceilings, which is
probably the best form for the rooms of a splendid mansion, but there is
always a difficulty in the management of the angles. If the margin of
the central flat compartment be continued down the cove, the angles are
left as bent panels, which seems absurd, and it is extremely difficult
to ornament them, yet this is probably the best practicable disposition.
We may sometimes see an angular rib, with or without the continuation of
the middle frame; but it does not look well. The chief rule to be given
in this style of finish, is to make the cove large, and the framings
broad and rich.
The red hangings shew the pictures best; (and there are some very fine
ones in this palace:) the combination of red and yellow produces the
richest effect. In one room in particular, a reddish flower on a yellow
damask is very beautiful. The cornice here has gilt mouldings on a white
ground. The furniture is mahogany and gold, with cushions of the damask
of the hangings. The gardens occupy a fine situation, overlooking great
part of Rome, and art has adorned them with the papal arms in coloured
sand, slags, broken pots, and other beauties of that sort, far more
lasting than the evanescent bloom of a few flowers.
In front of this palace are the celebrated horses ascribed to Phidias
and Praxiteles, and their attendants; of one of which you have a cast at
the King’s Mews. They are placed on each side of an obelisk, not on the
same line, but forming an angle, which is to embrace a fountain; the
enormous basin of which, a cup of a single block of granite, twenty-five
palms in diameter, was found in several fragments in the temple of
Peace. These figures do not unite perfectly well with the obelisk, and
their isolated situation is not such a one as that for which they were
originally intended, as may be certainly known by the unfinished backs
of the figures; and by the projecting parts having terminated abruptly,
certainly against a plain surface. Yet altogether they form a most noble
group, and one which would do honour to any building or situation in
Europe; one regrets to see the destruction which the weather has
occasioned of the surfaces of the marble, furrowing lines on it, and
introducing false lights and shades.