Far more interesting than this—architecturally at least—is the tomb of

Theodoric, the Gothic king, now known as Santa Maria Rotunda. The lower

storey is a decagon externally, enclosing a cruciform crypt. It is 45

ft. in diameter, each face being ornamented by a deep niche. These

support a flat terrace, on which originally stood a range of small

pillars supporting arches which surrounded the upper storey. These have

all been removed, though their form can be restored from fragments

found, and as shown in Woodcut No. 435. On the face of the tomb itself

are the sinkings for the architraves and vaults which they supported.

The most singular part of the building is the roof, which is formed of

one great slab hollowed out into the form of a flat dome—internally 30

ft. and externally 35 ft. in diameter—and which certainly forms one of

the most unique and appropriate coverings for a tomb perhaps anywhere to

be found. Near the edge are a series of projecting bosses, which

evidently were originally used as handles, by means of which the immense

mass was raised to its present position. In the centre of the dome is a

small square pedestal, on which, it is said, once stood the urn which

contained the ashes of its founder.

The model of this building seems probably to have been the Mole of

Hadrian, which Theodoric saw, and must have admired, during his

celebrated visit to Rome. The polygonal arrangements of the exterior,

and the substitution of arcades for horizontal architraves, were only

such changes as the lapse of time had rendered indispensable. But the

building of the ancient world which it most resembles is the Tour Magne

at Nîmes. In both cases we have the polygonal basement containing a

great chamber, and above this externally the narrow ledge, approached by

flying flights of steps. We cannot now tell what crowned the French

example, though the fact of an urn crowning the tomb at Ravenna points

to an identical origin, but we must obtain a greater number of examples

before we can draw any positive conclusions as to the origin of such

forms. Meanwhile, however, whether we consider the appropriateness of

the forms, the solidity of its construction, or the simplicity of its

ornaments and details, this tomb at Ravenna is not surpassed by any

building of its class and age.

Though the investigation of the early history of these circular forms of

churches is not so important as that of the rectangular basilicas, it is

extremely interesting from the influence they had on the subsequent

development of the style. In Italy it is probable that one-half of the

early churches were circular in plan; and one such is still generally

retained attached to each cathedral as a baptistery. Except for this

purpose, however, the form has generally been superseded: the

rectangular being much easier to construct, more capable of extension,

and altogether more appropriate to the ritual of the Christian

community. In France the circular form was early absorbed into the

basilica, forming the Chevet or apse. In Germany its fate was much the

same as in Italy, but its supersession was earlier and more complete. In

England some half-dozen examples are known to exist, and in Spain they

have yet to be discovered.

Had the Gothic architects applied themselves to the extension and

elaboration of the circular form with the same zeal and skill as was

displayed in that task by their Byzantine brethren, they might probably

have produced something far more beautiful than even the best of our

mediæval cathedrals; but when the Barbarians began to build, they found

the square form with its straight lines simpler and easier to construct.

It thus happened that, long before they became as civilised and expert

as the Easterns were when they commenced the task, the Westerns had

worked the rectangular form into one of considerable beauty, and had

adapted it to their ritual, and their ritual to it. It thus became the

sacred and appropriate form, and the circular or domical forms were

consequently never allowed a fair trial in Western Europe.

SECULAR BUILDINGS.

Very few remains of secular buildings in the early Christian style are

now to be found in Italy. The palace of Theodoric at Ravenna, though

sadly mutilated, is perhaps the best and most perfect. In all its

details it shows a close resemblance to that of Diocletian at Spalato,

but more especially so to the Porta Aurea and the most richly and least

classically decorated parts of that edifice, but much intermixed with

mouldings and details which would seem to belong to a later style.

Another building, though perhaps of earlier date, is that which is now

called the Palazzo delle Torre at Turin, and which still retains the

architectural ordinance of the exterior of a Roman amphitheatre, but so

modified by common sense that the pilasters are frankly accepted as

purely decorative features, having only a slight projection. A similar

style of work is found at Bordeaux in what is known as the “Palais

Gallien,” but which in reality is a fragment of an amphitheatre built by

the Emperor Gallienus (260-268 A.D.). The example at Turin is built with

brick of large dimensions 15 in. by 11 in., which, coupled with its

character and style, has led M. Cattaneo to ascribe it to the 3rd or 4th

century of our era; the paucity of contemporary examples, however,

renders it extremely difficult to trace the exact history of the style

at this age.

[Illustration: 438. Palazzo delle Torre, Turin. (From Osten’s ‘Bauwerke

in der Lombardei.’)]

In so progressive an art as architecture it is always very difficult,

sometimes impossible, to fix the exact date when one style ends and

another begins. In an art so pre-eminently ecclesiastical as

architecture was in those days, it will probably be safer to look in the

annals of the Church rather than in those of the State for a date when

the debased-Roman expired, giving birth, phœnix-like, to the Romanesque.

Viewed from this point there can be little doubt but that the reign of

Gregory the Great (A.D. 590 to 603) must be regarded as that in which

the Latin language and the Roman style of architecture both ceased to be

generally or even commonly employed.

After this date we wander on through five centuries of tentative efforts

to form a new style, and in the age of another Gregory—the VII.—we find

at last the Romanesque style emancipated from former traditions, and

marching steadily forward with a well-defined aim. What had been

commenced under the gentle influence of a Theodelinda at Florence in the

year 600, was completed in the year 1077 under the firmer guidance of a

Matilda at Canossa.

CHAPTER IV.

LOMBARD AND ROUND-ARCHED GOTHIC.

CONTENTS.

Chapel at Friuli—Churches at Piacenza and Novara—St. Michele, Pavia—St.

Ambrogio, Milan—Cathedral, Piacenza—Churches at Verona—Churches at

Toscanella—Circular Churches—Towers.

When, in the early centuries of the Christian era, the great mass of

Gothic barbarism moved up the Valley of the Danube towards the west, one

great division followed that river to its source, and thence penetrated

into and settled in the Valley of the Rhine. Though sufficiently

numerous to be able almost wholly to obliterate all traces of former

civilisation, they had virtually no style of their own, and it seems

probable that the edifices left by the Romans sufficed for the early

wants of the people.

The other great division of the horde turned to the Sömmering Alps and,

penetrating into Italy by way of Udine and Conegliano, settled in the

Valley of the Po. They may have been as numerous as the others; but

Italy in those days was far more densely peopled than Germany, and the

inhabitants were consequently able to resist obliteration far more

successfully than on the north of the Alps, and even where the new

element prevailed most strongly its influence was far less felt than in

the more sparsely-peopled Rhenish provinces. This was generally more

apparent along the coast than in the interior. Venice did not exist, and

Ravenna, though overwhelmed, became the great centre of Romano-Byzantine

art. Pisa and Lucca resisted throughout. Florence was divided. The

Barbarian influence was strongly felt at Siena, more feebly at Orvieto;

but there it was stopped by the influence of Rome, which throughout the

Middle Ages remained nearly uncontaminated.

Notwithstanding the almost insuperable barrier of the Alps which

stretched between them and the different influences to which they were

subjected, the connection between the northern and southern hordes

remained intimate during the whole of the Middle Ages. Milan was as much

German as Italian; and, indeed, except from a slightly superior degree

of elegance in the southern examples, it is sometimes extremely

difficult to distinguish between the designs of Lombard and of Rhenish

churches. As the Middle Ages wore on, however, the breach between the

two styles widened; and there is no difficulty, in the later pointed

schools, in seeing how Italy was gradually working itself free from

German influence, till at last they became distinct and antagonistic

nationalities, practising two styles of art, which had very little in

common the one with the other.

Whoever the Barbarians were who in the 5th and 6th centuries swarmed

into Italy—Austro-Goths, Visi-Goths, or Lombards—they certainly did not

belong to any of the great building races of the world. Few people ever

had better opportunities than they of employing their easily-acquired

plunder in architectural magnificence, if they had any taste that way;

but, though we hear everywhere of the foundation of churches and the

endowment of ecclesiastical establishments during the Carlovingian

period, not one important edifice of that age has come down to our time.

The monumental history of the early Romanesque style is as essentially a

blank in Italy as it is in Saxon England. One or two circular buildings

remain tolerably entire; some small chapels let us into the secrets of

the style, but not one important edifice of any sort attests the

splendour of the Lombard kingdom of Northern Italy. Aryans they must

have been, and it was not till the beginning of the 11th century, when

their blood was thoroughly mixed with that of the indigenous inhabitants

and a complete fusion of races had taken place, that we find buildings

of a monumental character erected, which have come down to the present

day.

[Illustration: 439. Chapel at Friuli. (From Gailhabaud.)]

Among the smaller monuments of the age none has been preserved more

complete and less altered than the little chapel at Friuli; which,

though extremely small (only 18 ft. by 30 inside the walls), is

interesting, as retaining all its decorations almost exactly as they

were left by Gertrude, duchess of Friuli, who erected it in the 8th

century. It shows considerable elegance in its details, and the

sculpture is far better than it afterwards became, though perhaps its

most remarkable peculiarity is the intersecting vault that covers

it—_pulchre testudinatum_, as the old chronicle terms it. This is one

proof among many, how early that feature was introduced which afterwards

became the formative principle of the whole Gothic style, and was as

essentially its characteristic as the pillars and entablatures of the

five orders were the characteristics of the classical styles of Greece

and Rome. As before remarked, it is this necessity for a stone roof that

was the problem to be solved by the architects, and to accomplish which

the style took almost all those forms which are so much admired in it.

From this example of the Carlovingian era we are obliged to pass to the

11th and 12th centuries, the first great building age of the Lombards.

It is true that there is scarcely a single important church in Pavia, in

Verona, or indeed in any of the cities of Lombardy, the original

foundation of which cannot be traced back to a much earlier period.

Before the canons of architectural criticism were properly understood,

antiquaries were inclined to believe that in the buildings now existing

they saw the identical edifices erected during the period of the Lombard

sway. Either, however, in consequence of the rude construction of the

earlier buildings, or because they were too small or too poor for the

increased population and wealth of the cities at a later period, every

one of the original churches has disappeared and been replaced by a

larger and better-constructed edifice, adorned with all the improvements

which the experience of centuries had introduced into the construction

of religious edifices.

Judging from the rudeness of the earliest churches which we know to have

been erected in the 11th century, it is evident that the progress made,

up to that period, was by no means equal to what was accomplished during

the next two centuries.

[Illustration: 440. Plan of San Antonio, Piacenza. (From Osten.[293])

Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.[294]]

This will appear from the plan and section of St. Antonio at Piacenza

(Woodcuts Nos. 440 and 440a), built in the first years of the 11th

century, and dedicated in 1014 by Bishop Siegfried.

[Illustration: 440a. Section of Church of San Antonio at Piacenza. (From

Osten.)]

[Illustration: 441. Plan and section of Baptistry at Asti. (From Osten.)

Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

Its arrangement is somewhat peculiar; the transepts are near the west

end, and the octagonal tower rising from the intersection is supported

on eight pillars, the square being completed by four polygonal piers.

The principal point, however, to observe is, how completely the style

has emancipated itself from all Roman tradition. A new style has grown

up as essentially different from the early Christian as the style of

Cologne or of York Cathedral. The architect is once more at liberty to

work out his own designs without reference to anything beyond the

exigencies of the edifices themselves. The plan, indeed, is still a

reminiscence of the Basilica; but so are all the plans of Mediæval

cathedrals, and we may trace back the forms of the pillars, the piers,

and the arches they support, to the preceding style. All these were

derived from Roman art, but the originals are forgotten, and the new

style is wholly independent of the old one. The whole of the church too

is roofed with intersecting vaults, which have become an integral part

of the design, giving it an essentially different character. On the

outside buttresses are introduced—timidly, it is true, but so

frequently, as to make it evident that already there existed no

insuperable objection to increase either their number or depth, as soon

as additional abutment was required for wider arches.

The windows, as in all Italian churches, are small, for the Italians

never patronised the art of painting on glass, always preferring

frescoes or paintings on opaque grounds. In their bright climate, very

small openings alone were requisite to admit a sufficiency of light

without disturbing that shadowy effect which is so favourable to

architectural grandeur.

Being a parochial church, this building had no baptistery attached to

it; but there is one at Asti (Woodcut No. 441) so similar in style and

age, that its plan and section, if examined with those of San Antonio,

will give a very complete idea of Lombard architecture in the beginning

of the 11th century, when it had completely shaken off the Roman

influence, but had not yet begun to combine the newly-invented forms

with that grace and beauty which mark its more finished examples. One

peculiarity of this building is the gloom that reigns within, there

being absolutely no windows in the dome, and those in the aisles are so

small, that even in Italy the interior must always have been in

comparative darkness.

[Illustration: 442. Plan of the Cathedral at Novara. Scale 100 ft. to 1

in.]

The cathedral of Novara, which in its present state is one of the most

important buildings of the 11th century in the North of Italy, shows the

style still further advanced. The coupling and grouping of piers are

here fully understood, and the divisions of the chapels which form the

outer aisle are, in fact, concealed buttresses. The Italians were never

able to divest themselves of their partiality for flat walls, and never

liked the bold external projections so universally admired on the other

side of the Alps. They therefore gladly had recourse to this expedient

to conceal them; and when this was not available they used metallic ties

to resist the thrust of the arches—an expedient which is found even in

this example. As will be seen from the annexed plan, the atrium

connecting the basilica with the baptistery is retained, which seems to

have been an arrangement almost universal in those early times. The half

section, half elevation of the front (Woodcut No. 443) shows very

distinctly how far the invention of the new style had then gone; for

except some Corinthian pillars, borrowed from an older edifice, no trace

of debased-Roman architecture is to be found in it. The design of the

façade explains what it was that suggested to the Pisan architects the

form to which they adapted their Romanesque details. In both styles the

arcade was the original model of the whole system of ornamentation. In

this case it is used first as a discharging arch, then as a mere

repetition of a useful member, and lastly without pillars, as a mere

ornamental string-course, which afterwards became the most favourite

ornament, not only in Italy, but throughout all Germany.

[Illustration: 443. Elevation and Section of the Façade of the Cathedral

at Novara. (From Osten.)]

Interesting as such an example is to the architectural antiquary who is

tracing back and trying to understand the forms of a new style, it would

be difficult to conceive anything much uglier and less artistic than

such a façade as this of Novara or that of San Antonio, last quoted.

Their sole merit is their history and their expression of rude energy,

so characteristic of the people who erected them.

[Illustration: 444. Section of San Michele, Pavia. (From Agincourt.) No

scale.]

The church of San Michele at Pavia, which took its present form either

at the end of the 11th or beginning of the 12th century, is one of the

most interesting of this age, and presents in itself all the

characteristics of a perfect round-arched Gothic church. Indeed there is

hardly any feature worth mentioning which was invented after this date

except the pointed arch—a very doubtful improvement—and window tracery,

which the Italians never cordially adopted or understood. The section

(Woodcut No. 444) shows the general arrangement of San Michele in its

present state. The researches of M. de Dartein,[295] however, have shown

that, when first built, the nave was covered over with two square

quadripartite vaults, as might in fact have been divined from the

difference in size[296] of the centre and two other piers. The existing

oblong vaulted compartments date from the 15th century, when secondary

shafts were carried up above the ground storey shafts of piers 1 and 3.

The section, however, shows that well-marked vaulting shafts spring from

floor to roof, that the pier arches in the wall are probably distinct

and well understood, and that the angles of these piers are softened and

ornamented by shafts and other subordinate members. Altogether, it is

evident that that subdivision of labour (if the expression may be used)

which was so characteristic of the true Gothic style had here been

perfectly understood, every part having its own function and telling its

own story. To complete the style only required a little experience to

decide on the best and most agreeable proportions in size and solidity.

In a century from the date of this church the required progress had been

made; a century later it had been carried too far, and the artistic

value of the style was lost in mere masonic excellence. San Michele and

the other churches of its age fail principally from over-heaviness of

parts and a certain clumsiness of construction, which, though not

without its value as an expression of power, wants the refinement

necessary for a true work of art. Externally, one of the most pleasing

features of this church is the apse with its circular gallery. In

Italian churches the gallery is usually a simple range of similar

arcades; here, however, it is broken into three great divisions by

coupled shafts springing from the ground, and these again subdivided by

single shafts running in like manner through the whole height of the

apse. The gallery thus not only becomes a part of the whole design,

instead of looking like a possible afterthought, but an agreeable

variety is also given, which adds not a little to the pleasing effect of

the building.

[Illustration: 445. View of the Apse of San Michele, Pavia. (From Du

Somerard, ‘Les Arts au Moyen-Age.’)]

There are at least two other churches in Pavia, which, though altered in

many parts, retain their apsidal arrangements tolerably perfect. One of

these, that of San Teodoro (1150), may be somewhat later than the San

Michele, and has its gallery divided into triplets of arcades by bold

flat buttresses springing from the ground. In the other, San Pietro in

Cielo d’Oro, dating from 1132, the arcade is omitted round the apse,

though introduced in the central dome. It has besides two subordinate

apses of graceful design, but inferior to the other examples.

Though Milan must have been rich in churches of this age, the only one

now remaining tolerably entire is San Ambrogio, which is so interesting

as almost to make amends for its singularity. Historical evidence shows

that a church existed here from a very early age. It was rebuilt in the

9th century by Bishop Angelbert, aided by the munificence of Louis the

Pious, and an atrium was added by Bishop Anspertus; but except the apse

and “the canons’” tower, nothing remains of even that church, all the

rest having been rebuilt in the 11th or 12th century. During the late

restoration the bases of some of the columns of the 9th-century church

were discovered, and one of them is now visible in the pulpit enclosure.

The disposition of the building will be understood from the annexed

plan, which shows both the atrium and the church. The former is

virtually the nave; in other words, had the church been erected on the

colder and stormier side of the Alps, a clerestory would have been added

to the atrium, and it would have been roofed over; and then the plan

would have been nearly identical with that of a Northern cathedral.

[Illustration: 446. Plan of San Ambrogio, Milan. (From Ferrario.) Scale

100 ft. to 1 in.]

The third (sexpartite) bay was revaulted in the 14th century with two

oblong quadripartite vaults, but these are now replaced by sexpartite

vaulting. The dome is probably an addition of the end of the 12th

century, and it is raised over what would otherwise have been the fourth

bay of the church. As it is, the atrium (Woodcut No. 446) is a highly

pleasing adjunct to the façade, removing the church back from the noisy

world outside, and by its quiet seclusion tending to produce that

devotional feeling so suitable to the entrance of a place of worship.

The façade of the building itself, though, like the atrium, only in

brick, is one of the best designs of its age; the upper loggia, or open

gallery, of five bold but unequal arches, producing more shadow than the

façade at Pisa, without the multitude of small parts there crowded

together, and with far more architectural propriety and grace. As seen

from the atrium, with its two towers, one on either flank, it forms a

composition scarcely surpassed by any other in this style.

As now restored, the simplicity and line effect of the vaulted interior

is remarkable, and it is also a museum of ecclesiological antiquities of

the best class. The silver altar of Angilbertus (A.D. 835) is unrivalled

either for richness or beauty of design by anything of the kind known to

exist elsewhere, and the _baldacchino_ that surmounts it is also of

singular beauty: so are some of its old tombs, of the earliest Christian

workmanship. Its mosaics, its pulpit, and the bronze doors, not to

mention the brazen serpent—said to be the very one erected by Moses in

the wilderness—and innumerable other relics, make this church one of the

most interesting of Italy, if not indeed of all Europe.

[Illustration: 447. Atrium of San Ambrogio, Milan. (From

Ferrario.[297])]

Generally speaking, the most beautiful part of a Lombard church is its

eastern end. The apse with its gallery, the transepts, and above all the

dome that almost invariably surmounts their intersection with the choir,

constitute a group which always has a pleasing effect, and is very often

highly artistic and beautiful. The sides of the nave, too, are often

well designed and appropriate; but, with scarcely a single exception,

the west end, or entrance front, is comparatively mean. The building

seems to be cut off at a certain length without any appropriate finish,

or anything to balance the bold projections towards the east. The French

cathedrals, on the contrary, while they entirely escape this defect by

means of their bold western towers, are generally deficient in the

eastern parts, and almost always lack the central dome or tower. The

English Gothic architects alone understood the proper combination of the

three parts. The Italians, when they introduced a tower, almost always

used it as a detached object, and not as a part of the design of the

church. In consequence of this the façades of their churches are

frequently the least happy parts of the composition, notwithstanding the

pains and amount of ornament lavished upon them.

[Illustration: 448. Façade of the Cathedral at Piacenza. (From Chapuy,

‘Moyen-Âge Monumental.’)]

The elevation of the cathedral at Piacenza is a fair illustration of the

general mode of treating the western front of the building, not only in

the 11th and 12th centuries, but afterwards, when a church had a façade

at all—for the Italians seem to have been seldom able to satisfy

themselves with this part of their designs, and a great many of their

most important churches have, in consequence, not even now been

completed in this respect.

Instead of recessing their doors, as was the practice on this side of

the Alps, the Italians added projecting porches, often of considerable

depth, and supported by two or more slight columns, generally resting on

the backs of symbolical animals. No part of these porches, as an

architectural arrangement, can be deemed worthy of any commendation;

for, in the first place, a column planted on an animal’s back is an

anomaly and an absurdity, and the extreme tenuity of the pillars, as

compared with the mass they support, is so glaring that even its

universality fails in reconciling the eye to the disproportion. In the

present instance the porch is two storeys in height, the upper being a

niche for sculpture. Its almost exact resemblance to the entrance porch

below is therefore a defect. Above there is generally a gallery,

sometimes only in the centre; sometimes, as in this instance, at the

sides, though often carried quite across; and in the centre above this

there is almost invariably a circular window, the tracery of which is

frequently not only elaborately but beautifully ornamented with foliage

and various sculptural devices.

Above this there is generally one of those open galleries mentioned

before, following the slope of the roof, though frequently, as in this

instance, this is replaced by a mere belt of semicircular arches,

suggesting an arcade, but in reality only an ornament.

VERONA.

Almost every important city in Lombardy shows local peculiarities in its

style, arising from some distinction of race or tradition. The greater

number of these must necessarily be passed over in a work like the

present, but some are so marked as to demand particular mention. Among

these that of Verona seems the most marked and interesting. This Roman

city became the favourite capital of Theodoric the Goth—Dietrich of

Berne, as the old Germans called him—and was by him adorned with many

noble buildings which have either perished or been overlooked. There is

a passage in the writings of his friend Cassiodorus which has hitherto

been a stumbling-block to commentators, but seems to find an explanation

in the buildings here, and to point to the origin of a mode of

decoration worth remarking upon. In talking of the architecture of his

day he speaks of “the reed-like tenuity of the columns making it appear

as if lofty masses of building were supported on upright spears, which

in regard to substance look like hollow tubes.”[298] It might be

supposed that this referred exclusively to the metal architecture of the

use of which we find traces in the paintings at Pompeii and

elsewhere.[299] But the context hardly bears this out, and he is

probably alluding to a stone or marble architecture, which in the

decline of true art had aspired to a certain extent to imitate the

lightness which the metallic form had rendered a favourite.

To return to Verona:—The apse of the cathedral seems to have belonged to

an older edifice than that to which it is now attached, as was often the

case, that being the most solid as well as the most sacred part of the

building. As seen in the woodcut (No. 449) it is ornamented with

pilasters, classical in design, but more attenuated than any found

elsewhere; so that I cannot but believe that this is either one of the

identical buildings to which Cassiodorus refers, or at least an early

copy from one of them.

[Illustration: 449. Apse of the Cathedral, Verona. (From Hope’s ‘History

of Architecture.’)]

At a far later age, in the 12th century, the beautiful church of San

Zenone shows traces of the same style of decoration (Woodcut No. 450),

pilasters being used here almost as slight as those at the cathedral,

but so elegant and so gracefully applied as to form one of the most

beautiful decorations of the style. Once introduced, it was of course

repeated in other buildings, though seldom carried to so great an extent

or employed so gracefully as in this instance. Indeed, whether taken

internally or externally, San Zenone may be regarded as one of the most

pleasing and perfect examples of the style to be found in the North of

Italy.

The cathedral at Modena is another good example, though not possessing

any features of much novelty or deserving special mention. That of Parma

is also important, though hardly so pleasing. Indeed, scarcely any city

in the Valley of the Po is without some more or less-perfect churches of

this date, none showing any important peculiarities that have not been

exemplified above, unless perhaps it is the apse of the church of San

Donato on the Murano near Venice, which is decorated with a richness of

marble decoration to which the purer Gothic style never attained, and

which entitles this church to rank rather with the Byzantine than with

the Lombard buildings of which we are treating, or a style so curiously

exceptional as to make it one of the most interesting churches,

historically, to be found in the North of Italy.

[Illustration: 450. Façade of San Zenone, Verona. (From Chapuy.)]

Recent discoveries in Syria[300] have proved almost beyond a doubt that

the carved slabs with which it is adorned externally were borrowed from

some desecrated building on the coast of Syria—destroyed probably by the

Moslems—and brought to Venice, probably at the time when the church

acquired the remains of San Donato, in the beginning of the 12th

century. Whether brought then or at an earlier period, they belong to

the age of Justinian, certainly came from the East, and, mixed up with

Italian details of the period, make up an exterior as picturesque as it

is interesting to the student of the history of art in those days.

It is extremely difficult to draw a line between the pointed and

round-arched Gothic styles in Italy. The former was so evidently a

foreign importation, so unwillingly received and so little understood,

that it made its way but slowly. Even, for instance, in the church at

Vercelli, which is usually quoted as the earliest example of the pointed

style in Italy (built 1219-1222), there is not a pointed arch nor a

trace of one on the exterior. All the windows and openings are

round-headed, and, except the pier-arches and vaults, nothing pointed

appears anywhere. Even at a later date than this the round arch,

especially as a decorative form, is frequently placed above the pointed

one, and always used in preference to it. Instead, therefore, of

attempting to draw a line where none exists in reality, it will be

better now to pass on from this part of the subject, and to take up the

older style at a point from which we can best trace the formation of the

new. The latter does not essentially differ from the former, except in

the introduction of the French form of the pointed arch and its

accompaniments. It remains only to say a few words on the peculiarities

which the round form of churches took in the hands of the early Lombard

architects, as well as on the campanile, which forms so striking a

feature in the cities of Northern Italy.

TOSCANELLA.

On the boundary-line which separates the Guelfic from the Ghibelline

influence, there exist at Toscanella, near Viterbo, two churches of

great beauty of detail; but which, as might almost be predicated from

their situation, defy any attempt at classification. They are not

Gothic, for they have no vaults, nor does their style suggest any

vaulting contrivances. They are scarcely debased Roman, for the tracery

of their circular windows, their many-shafted doors, and generally their

details are such as to indicate a Northern rather than a Roman affinity;

and the Byzantine sculpture which is found in the pulpit was probably

taken from an earlier church—though an Italian Byzantine influence can

be traced in much of its decoration. Under these circumstances, it is

better to treat them as exceptional, than to attempt to give them a name

which might mislead without conveying any correct information.

The elder of these two churches, Sta. Maria, was erected in the

beginning of the 13th century (1206?), but is so unlike most buildings

of that age, that it is usually ascribed to the 6th or 7th. On a close

examination, however, all its details are found to be full of advanced

Romanesque forms. The pillars are rude Corinthian, with a Lombardic

abacus. They are widely spaced, having no vault to support; and the

mouldings of the arches are what we should call “Transitional Early

English.”

[Illustration: 451. Plan of Sta. Maria, Toscanella. (From Gailhabaud.)

Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

Externally the façade is too plain to be quite pleasing, but this arises

from its depending originally on painting for its decoration—some traces

of which still remain, but the greater part has perished. Its three

doorways are richly and beautifully ornamented with shafts and

sculptured foliage, quite equal in detail to anything of the class to be

found in Italy, and its great circular window would not be thought out

of place at Chartres or Lincoln.

[Illustration: 452. View of the Interior of Sta. Maria, Toscanella.

(From Gailhabaud.)]

The church of St. Pietro is probably a century later than that of Sta.

Maria, and its façade is richer and more elegant—a difference arising

more from those details being in this instance carved which in the

earlier church were painted. The design, however, deserves attention for

its historical, perhaps, even more than its artistic claims; for it was

this class of façade that Palladio and the architects of the

cinque-cento period seized upon, and, applying pilasters and pediments

of classical type, converted it into the fashionable churches which are

to be found in every part of Europe.[301]

[Illustration: 453. Elevation of the Exterior of Sta. Maria, Toscanella.

(From Gailhabaud.) No scale.]

The difficulty which the Italians never entirely conquered, was how to

amalgamate the sloping lines of the roofs of the aisles with the

horizontal lines of the rest of the façade. The gallery over the central

doorway enabled them very nearly to accomplish it in these Toscanella

churches, and if the same string-courses had been carried all across,

the whole might have been harmonised; but it was just missed, and, what

is strange, more so in the second than in the first example.

CIRCULAR CHURCHES.

In the earliest times of Christian architecture, as we have already

seen, the circular form of church was nearly as frequent as that derived

from the Roman basilica. In process of time the latter was found to be

much better adapted to the extended requirements of Christianity. Hence

in the 11th and 12th centuries, when so many of the early churches were

rebuilt and enlarged, most of the old circular buildings disappeared.

Enough, however, remain to enable us to trace, though imperfectly, what

their arrangements were.

Among those which have been illustrated, perhaps the most interesting is

that known as the church of San Stefano at Bologna, or rather the

circular centre of that congeries of seven churches usually known by

that name.

It is one of those numerous churches of which it is impossible to

predicate whether it was originally a baptismal or a sepulchral edifice.

In old times it bore both names, and may have had both destinations, but

latterly, at all events, the question has been settled by the compromise

usually adopted in such cases, of dedicating it to the first martyr, to

whom a sepulchral form of building is especially appropriate.

[Illustration: 454. Plan of the Duomo, Brescia. (From Hübsch.) Scale 100

ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 455. Elevation of Duomo at Brescia. (From Hübsch.) Scale

50 ft. to 1 in.]

Notwithstanding a considerable amount of ancient remains mixed up in the

details, no part of the present church seems older than the Carlovingian

era; while, on the other hand, its extreme irregularity and clumsiness

of construction point to a period before the 11th century. Its general

form is that of an extremely irregular octagon, about 60 ft. in

diameter, in the centre of which stands a circlet of columns, some

coupled, some single, supporting a semicircular dome. The circumscribing

aisle is covered with the usual intersecting ribbed vault of the 10th

century, but the whole is so rude as scarcely to deserve mention except

for its antiquity.

The Duomo Vecchio of Brescia is ascribed to the 8th or 9th century, but

this date according to Cattaneo[302] can only be ascribed to an earlier

basilica church, the crypt of which still exists on the east side of the

Duomo. As will be seen from the plan, it is a large church, 125 ft.

across over all, and is covered by a dome 65 ft. in diameter internally

supported by eight piers of plain design. The mode in which light is

introduced into the central compartment illustrates the various

tentative expedients by which the architects in that age attempted to

accomplish their object. First, there is a range of small windows in the

dome below the springing of the dome. In the dome itself there are four

circular sides, and, as if the architect felt that he was doing

something unusual and inartistic, he managed externally to confuse these

with the rudiments of the roof gallery.

[Illustration: 456. Section of Duomo at Brescia. (From Hübsch.) Scale 50

ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 457. San Tomaso in Limine. Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 458. San Tomaso. (From Isabelle, ‘Édifices Circulaires.’)

Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

It is not clear whether originally it had or was intended to have an

apse between its two round towers—where the foundations of some

buildings can still be traced; but these may be the remains of the early

church referred to.

Turning from these, we find the round-arched Gothic style completely

developed in the church of San Tomaso in Limine, near Bergamo. From the

annexed plan it will be seen that the circular part is the nave or

entrance, as in Germany and England, in contradistinction to the French

mode of arrangement, where the circular part is always the sanctum, the

rectangular the nave or less holy place.

The general plan of this example is circular. It is not more than 30 ft.

across internally. In the centre stand eight pillars, supporting a

vaulted gallery, which forms a triforium or upper storey, and, with the

dome and its little cupola, raise the whole height to about 50 ft. A

small choir with a semicircular niche projects eastward.

The dimensions of the building are so small that it hardly deserves

notice, except as a perfect example of the style of the 11th or 12th

century in Lombardy, and for a certain propriety and elegance of design,

in which it is not surpassed, internally at least, by any building of

its age. It is to be regretted that the idea was never carried out (at

any rate no example remains) on such a scale as to enable us to judge of

the effect of such a domical arrangement as is here attempted. The great

defect of all one-storeyed domes is their lowness, both internally and

more especially externally. This method of building a dome in two

storeys would seem calculated to obviate the objection; but though

common in small sepulchral chambers, it has never been tried on a scale

sufficiently large to enable us to judge of its real effect. After this

period the circular shape was so completely superseded by the

rectangular, that no further improvement took place in it.

TOWERS.

There is perhaps no question of early Christian archæology involved in

so much obscurity as that of the introduction and early use of towers.

The great monumental pillars of the Romans—as, for instance, those of

Trajan and Antoninus—were practically towers; and latterly their tombs

began to assume an aspiring character like that at St. Remi (Woodcut No.

231), or those at Palmyra and elsewhere in the East, which show a marked

tendency in that direction. But none of these can be looked upon as an

undoubted prototype of the towers attached to the churches of the

Christians.

At Ravenna, as early as the age of Justinian, we find a circular tower

attached to St. Apollinare in Classe (Woodcut No. 412), and in the other

churches of that place they seem even then to have been considered

necessary adjuncts.[303] At the same time it is by no means clear that

they were erected as bell-towers; indeed the evidence is tolerably clear

that bells were not used in Christian churches till the time of Pope

Adrian I., some two centuries later. What, then, were they? There is, I

think, no trace of their being sepulchral monuments, or that they were

designed or used as tombs; and unless they were, like the _sthambas_ of

the Buddhists, pillars of victory, or towers erected to mark sacred or

remarkable spots, it is difficult to say what they were, or where we are

to look for an analogy.

Be this as it may, the oldest circular towers with which we are

acquainted are those of Ravenna; while the last of the series is the

famous leaning one at Pisa, commenced in the year 1174. The gradations

between these two extremes must have been the same that marked the

changes in the architecture of the churches to which they are attached;

but the links are more completely wanting in the case of the towers than

in that of the churches.[304]

[Illustration: 459. Tower of Sta. Maria in Cosmedin. (From Gutensohn and

Knapp.)]

The tower of St. Apollinare in Classe, above referred to, the most

perfect of those of Ravenna, is a simple brick tower (see Woodcut No.

412), nine storeys in height, the lower windows being narrow single

openings; above there are two, and the three upper storeys are adorned

with four windows of three lights each.

In Rome, as far as we know, the first tower attached to a church was

that said to have been built by Pope Adrian I. in front of the atrium of

St. Peter’s; but there are no examples now existing in Rome which can be

said to be earlier than the 11th century, and that date applies only to

the lower portion of them. In the 12th and 13th centuries they became

common, and we find them attached to the churches of S. Lorenzo without

the walls, S. Croce in Gerusalemme, SS. Giovanni e Paolo, S. Giorgio in

Velabro (13th century), and others. All these are square in plan and

extremely similar in design, no improvement and scarcely any change

having taken place between the first and the last, as if the form were

an old and established one when we find it first adopted. That attached

to Sta. Maria in Cosmedin (Woodcut No. 459) is perhaps one of the best

and most complete. Its dimensions are small, its breadth being little

more than 15 ft., and its height only 110; but notwithstanding this

there is great dignity in the design, and, in a city where buildings are

not generally tall, its height is sufficient to give it prominence

without overpowering other objects,—a characteristic which renders these

Roman towers not only beautiful structures in themselves, but

appropriate ornaments to the buildings to which they are attached.

The chief interest of these towers is derived from the numerous progeny

to which they gave birth: for though there is scarcely an instance of a

square Romanesque tower beyond the walls of Rome during the period in

which this style flourished, the form was seized upon with avidity by

the Gothic architects in all the countries of Europe; and whether as a

detached campanile (as in Italy), or as an integral part of the building

(as we soon find it employed on this side of the Alps), it forms the

most prominent, and perhaps also the most beautiful, feature in the

aspiring architecture of the Middle Ages.

There is certainly no architectural feature which the Gothic architects

can so justly call their own as the towers and spires which in the

Middle Ages were so favourite, so indispensable a part of their churches

and other edifices, becoming in fact as necessary parts of the external

design as the vaults were of the internal decoration of the building.

It is true, as before remarked, that we neither know where they were

first invented, nor even where they were first applied to Christian

churches—those of Rome and Ravenna being evidently not the earliest

examples; nor have they any features which betray their origin—at least

none have yet been pointed out, though it is not impossible that a

closer examination would bring some such to light. They certainly are as

little classical, in form or details, as anything that can well be

conceived; and belong to an undefined Romanesque style.

Those of which we have already spoken are all church-towers—_campaniles_

or bell-towers attached to churches. But this exclusive distinction by

no means applies to the Gothic towers. The tower of St. Mark at Venice,

for instance, and the Toraccio at Cremona, are evidently civic

monuments, like the belfries of the Low Countries—symbols of communal

power wholly distinct from the church, their proximity to which seems

only to arise from the fact of all the principal buildings being grouped

together. This is certainly the case with a large class of very ugly

buildings in Italy, such as those attached to the town-halls of Florence

and Siena, or the famous Asinelli and Garisenda towers at Bologna. They

are merely tall square brick towers, with a machicolated balcony at the

top, but possessing no more architectural design than the chimney of a

cotton factory. Originally, when lower, they may have been towers of

defence, but afterwards became mere symbols of power.

A third class, and by far the most numerous, of these buildings are

undoubtedly ecclesiastical erections; they are either actually attached

to the churches, or so placed with regard to them as to leave no doubt

on the matter. There is not, however, I believe, in all Italy a single

example of a tower or towers forming, as on this side of the Alps, an

integral part of the design.

Sometimes they stand detached, but more generally are connected with

some angle of the building, the favourite position being the western

angle of the southern transept. Occasionally we find one tower placed at

the angle of the façade, but this is seldom the case when the tower and

the church are of the same age. It is so in the cathedral at Lucca, and

San Ambrogio at Milan; in the latter of which a second tower has been

added more recently to balance the older one. It does also happen as in

the instance of Novara, before quoted (Woodcut No. 443), that two towers

are actually parts of the original design; this, however, is certainly

the exception, not the rule.

In design the Italian campaniles differ very considerably from those on

this side of the Alps. They never have projecting buttresses, nor assume

that pyramidal form which is so essential and so beautiful a feature in

the Northern examples. In plan the campanile is always square, and

carried up without break or offset to two-thirds at least of its

intended height. This, which is virtually the whole design (for the

spire seems an idea borrowed from the North), is generally solid to a

considerable height, or with only such openings as serve to admit light

to the stairs or inclined planes. Above the solid part one round-headed

window is introduced in each face, and in the next storey two; in the

one above this three, then four, and lastly five, the lights being

merely separated by slight shafts, so that the upper storey is virtually

an open loggia (see Woodcut No. 498). There is no doubt great beauty and

propriety of design in this arrangement; in point of taste it is

unobjectionable, but it wants the vigour and variety of the Northern

tower.

So far as we can judge from drawings and such ancient examples as

remain, the original termination was a simple cone in the centre, with a

smaller one at each of the angles.

At Verona an octagonal lantern is added, and at Modena and Cremona the

octagon is crowned by a lofty spire, but these hardly come within the

limits of the epoch of which we are now treating. So greatly did the

Italians prefer the round arch, that even in their imitation of the

Northern styles they used the pointed shape only when compelled—a

circumstance which makes it extremely difficult, particularly in the

towers, to draw the line between the two styles; for though pointed

arches were no doubt introduced in the 13th and 14th centuries, the

circular-headed shape continued to be employed from the age of the

Romanesque to that of the Renaissance.

One of the oldest and certainly the most celebrated of the Gothic towers

of Italy, is that of St. Mark’s at Venice, commenced in the year 902; it

took the infant republic three centuries to raise it 180 ft., to the

point at which the square basement terminates. On this there must

originally have been an open loggia of some sort, no doubt with a

conical roof. The present superstructure was added in the 16th century;

but though the loggia is a very pleasing feature, it is overpowered by

the solid mass that it surmounts, and by the extremely ugly square

extinguisher that crowns the whole. Its locality and its associations

have earned for it a great deal of undue laudation, but in point of

design no campanile in Italy deserves it less. The base is a mere

unornamented mass of brickwork, slightly fluted, and pierced

unsymmetrically with small windows to light the inclined plane within.

Its size, its height, and its apparent solidity are its only merits.

These are no doubt important elements in that low class of architectural

excellence of which the Egyptian pyramids are the type; but even in

these elements this edifice must confess itself a pigmy, and inferior to

even a second-class pyramid on the banks of the Nile, while it has none

of the beauty of design and detail displayed by the Giralda of Seville,

or even by other Italian towers in its own neighbourhood.

The campanile at Piacenza (Woodcut No. 448) is, perhaps, more like the

original of St. Mark’s than any other, and certainly displays as little

beauty as any building of this sort can possess.

That of San Zenone at Verona is far more pleasing. It is, indeed, as

beautiful both in proportion and details as any of its age, while it

exemplifies at once the beauties and the defects of the style. Among the

first is an elegant simplicity that always is pleasing, but this is

accompanied by a leanness and poverty of effect, when compared with

Northern examples, which must rank in the latter category.

Mr. Jackson, in his work on Dalmatia and Istria, gives illustrations of

several towers in those countries which, in beauty of design, excel many

of the Italian examples. The Romanesque style would seem to have had a

much longer duration on the east side of the Adriatic than in Italy.

Thus the tower of Spalato, a lofty campanile of six storeys in height,

commenced in the beginning of the 13th century and not terminated till

1416 (except the upper octagon and spire), is virtually in the same pure

Romanesque style throughout. Mr. Jackson notes also the continued

influence of Roman work of the 3rd century, by which it is surrounded,

and that fragments of ancient material, columns and capitals, have been

used up in its construction. The campaniles of Zara and in the island of

Arbe are both fine examples of Romanesque design.

CHAPTER V.

BYZANTINE-ROMANESQUE.

CONTENTS.

Cathedrals of Naples—San Miniato, Florence—Cathedrals of Pisa and

Zara—Cathedrals of Troja, Bari, and Bittonto—San Nicolo,

Bari—Cloisters of St. John Lateran—Baptistery of Mont St. Angelo—San

Donato, Zara—Churches in South Italy—Circular Buildings—Towers—Civil

Architecture.

CHRONOLOGY.

DATES.

The Normans enter Italy A.D. 1018

The Normans conquer Apulia from the Greeks 1043

The Normans attack the Saracens in Sicily 1061

Conquest of Sicily completed by Roger de Hauteville 1090

Roger II. 1101

William I., surnamed the Wicked 1153

William II., surnamed the Good 1166

Tancred 1189

Frederic Hohenstaufen of Germany 1197

Conrad 1250

Conradin 1254

Charles I., first Angiovine King of Naples 1266

René, last Angiovine King of Naples 1435

It would be easier to define the limits and character of the styles of

Italian Mediæval Architecture in the centre and south of Italy by a

negative than a positive title. To call them the “non-Gothic” styles

would describe them correctly, but would hardly suffice to convey a

distinct idea of their peculiarities. Romanesque, or even Italian

Romanesque, would not be sufficient, because that term fails to take

cognizance of the foreign element found in them. That element is the

Byzantine, derived partly from the continued relations which such cities

as Venice or Pisa maintained during the Middle Ages with the Levant, and

partly from the intercourse which the inhabitants of Magna Gracia kept

up across the Adriatic with the people on its eastern shores. To such a

mixture of styles the term Byzantine-Romanesque would be quite

appropriate; and although there are in Apulia churches, such as Molfetta

and St. Angelo, which look more like Levantine designs than anything to

be found in other parts of Europe (except perhaps such buildings as St.

Front, Périgueux, and one or two exceptional buildings in the South of

France), and in a very detailed description of Italian styles it might

be expedient to attempt a further subdivision with other specific terms,

for the present it will probably suffice to describe the various

non-Gothic styles of the centre and southern half of Italy in local

sections without attempting any very minute classification of their

variations. As the Italians had no great national style of their own,

and both in the North and South were principally working under foreign

influences, it is in vain to look for any thread that will conduct the

student straight through the labyrinth of their styles. Italian unity is

the aspiration of the present century; during the Middle Ages it did not

exist either in politics or art.

[Illustration: 460. The Old and New Cathedrals at Naples. (From

Schultz.) Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

Although Naples is in the very centre of its province, where we

naturally first look for examples of the style, there are few cities in

Italy which contain so little to interest the architect or the

antiquary. Still she does possess one group of churches, which, by their

juxtaposition, at least serve to illustrate the progress of the style

during the Middle Ages. The earliest of these, Sta. Restituta—shaded

dark in the plan (Woodcut No. 460)—may be as old as the 4th or 5th

century, and retains its original plan and arrangement, though much

disfigured in details. The baptistery, a little behind the apse on its

left, is certainly of the date indicated, and retains its mosaics, which

seem to be of the same age.

In the year 1299 Charles II. of Anjou commenced the new cathedral at

right angles with the old, his French prejudices being apparently

shocked at the incorrect orientation of the older church. It is a

spacious building, 300 ft. long, arranged, as Italian churches usually

were at that age, with a wooden roof over the nave and intersecting

vaults over the side-aisles. Opposite the entrance of the old cathedral

is a domical chapel of Renaissance design, so that the group contains an

illustration of each of the three ages of Italian art.

[Illustration: 461. Plan of San Miniato.]

[Illustration: 462. Section of San Miniato, near Florence. (From drawing

by R. W. Schultz.) Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 463. Elevation of San Miniato. (From drawing by R. W.

Schultz.)]

The church of San Miniato (Woodcuts Nos. 461-463), on a hill overlooking

Florence, is one of the earliest (1013), as well as one of the most

perfect, of the Byzantine-Romanesque style. Internally it is only 165

ft. in length by 70 in width, divided longitudinally into aisles, and

transversely into three nearly square compartments by clustered piers

supporting two great arches which run up to the roof. The whole of the

eastern compartment is occupied by a crypt or under-church open to the

nave, above which are the choir and apse, approached by flights of steps

in the aisles. The entire arrangement, together with the division of the

nave into three compartments, is most satisfactory, and the proportions

of the whole are very appropriate. The pillars themselves are so nearly

classical in design that they almost seem to have been taken from some

ancient building, and the architraves and stringcourses are all well

designed and fitted to the places they occupy. The principal ornament of

the interior is an inlaid pattern of simple design, sufficient to

relieve the monotony of the interior, but without producing any

confusion. The exterior depends principally, like the interior, for its

effect on coloured panelling, but has a range of blind arches running

round the sides and across the front. The façade, however, is very badly

designed: either it was one of the earliest examples, and the architects

had not learned how to combine the sloping roofs of the aisles with the

upper part of the façades, or it has been altered in more modern times;

but for this slight defect it would be difficult to find a church in

Italy containing more of classic elegance, with perfect appropriateness

for the purposes of Christian worship.

[Illustration: 464. Transverse Section of San Miniato. (From R. W.

Schultz.)]

There must have been several, probably many, buildings in the same style

erected in Tuscany during the first half of the 11th century. Otherwise

it is almost impossible to understand how so complete a design as that

of Pisa Cathedral could have been executed. It was commenced apparently

in 1006, but it was not till 1063, after the plundering of Palermo,

according to Reber,[305] that the means were provided for the

extraordinary richness of the design, the magnificence of which had at

that time no parallel among the ecclesiastical edifices of Italy; the

work was suspended in 1095, and could only be resumed by means of

pecuniary aid given to the undertaking by the Byzantine emperor. After

the consecration of the cathedral in 1103, the interior decorations were

carried on until the 15th century. Internally its design is evidently

based on that of the basilicas of Rome and Ravenna, except that instead

of the range at the latter place of figures in mosaic, it has a splendid

triforium gallery and in plan strongly marked projecting transepts. Its

great merit, however, as a design arises from the fact that the builders

had learned to proportion the parts to one another so as to get greater

magnificence with very much smaller dimensions. The size, for instance,

of the nave of San Paolo fuori le Mure at Rome is 290 ft. by 215; these

dimensions are nearly double those at Pisa, where they are 173 ft. by

106. Yet, in consequence of the greater relative height of the nave and

the better spacing of the pillars and proportion of the parts, the

interior of Pisa is more pleasing and more impressive than the Roman

church. Its effect, too, is immensely increased by the truly Mediæval

projection of the transepts. In no church in Italy is there such poetry

of perspective as in looking anglewise across the intersection, and

seldom anywhere a more satisfactory interior than that of this church.

[Illustration: 465. View of the Cathedral at Pisa. (From Chapuy’s

‘Moyen-Age Monumental.’)]

The exterior, too, is almost equally pleasing. The side-aisles are

adorned with a range of blind arches running all round, adorned with

parti-coloured marble, inlaid either in courses or in patterns. Above

this is a gallery, representing the triforium, carried all round, and in

the façades formed into an open gallery; a second open gallery

represents the sloping roof of the aisles, a third the clerestory, a

fourth the slopes of the great roof. The difficulty here, as in almost

all Italian designs, is caused by the sloping roofs; but, with this

exception, the whole makes up a rich and varied composition without any

glaring false construction, and expresses with sufficient clearness the

arrangements of the interior. The dome is of later design, and, being

oval in plan, cannot be said to be pleasing in outline.

[Illustration: 466. Plan of Zara Cathedral. Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

The Italians were evidently delighted with their new style. It was

repeated with very little variation at Lucca, in the church of San

Michele (1188), only that the arcades stood free on the sides as well as

on the front. The façade of San Martino, in the same city, is in the

same style; so is that of the cathedral at Pistoja, and so is Sta. Maria

at Arezzo. The arrangement was probably suggested by the porticoes of

Pagan temples; and were it not for the awkwardness caused by the sloping

line of the roofs, it might be characterised as one of the most

successful inventions of the age.

In some instances, as in the façade of the Cathedral at Zara in Dalmatia

(Woodcut No. 467), which according to Mr. Jackson[306] was not begun

before the 13th century, the consecration taking place in 1285, the

difficulties of the design of the façade are to a great extent conquered

by reducing the arcades to mere decorative panelling, and more than this

by separating the design of the centre from that of the aisles by a bold

square pilaster. This is exactly the feature we miss at Pisa and Lucca,

where the want of it imparts a considerable degree of weakness to the

whole design.

[Illustration: 467. View of Zara Cathedral. (From Sir Gardner

Wilkinson’s ‘Dalmatia and Montenegro.’)]

The plan of the Zara Cathedral (Woodcut No. 466) is that usually adopted

in churches of this class; but it possesses a lady chapel and

baptistery, placed laterally in a somewhat unusual manner. Its

dimensions are small, being only 170 ft. by 65 externally.

The east end of this church, its doorways and windows, show, as might be

expected from its locality, a greater tendency towards Romanesque art

than can be found on the western shores of the Peninsula, but in

internal arrangements it belongs wholly to the Italian style.

The cathedral at Trau, also in Dalmatia, illustrated in Mr. Jackson’s

work, is a fine example, which is not only built in one consistent style

throughout, but possesses the still rarer advantage of being completed

outside as well as inside, “instead,” as Mr. Jackson observes, “of

presenting, like so many Italian churches, a rough face of unfinished

brickwork or masonry awaiting in vain the splendid veneer of marble or

sculpture that never comes.” The main part of the church was built in

the first half of the 13th century. The floor is of the basilica type,

with nave (five bays, vaulted) and aisles, centre and side apses, and a

magnificent narthex, the full width of nave and aisles, with a sumptuous

portal of pure Romanesque design (1240), which is perhaps finer than any

example in Italy, and is only rivalled in its decorative sculpture by

those of the French portals. Mr. Jackson is of opinion that Dalmatian

art took a great departure under Hungarian rule, and followed more in

the direction of the purer Romanesque style than in that of the

Byzantine. The artists were foreigners, invited not only from Germany

but also from France. Villars d’Honecourt recounts his having been sent

for, and “French influence,” Mr. Jackson states, “may be detected in

some other churches in Hungary.” The portal of the church at Jak, in

Hungary, illustrated in Mr. Jackson’s work, is French in character, with

a profusion of orders carved with the zigzag fret and dentil very

similar to the later Norman work, and includes capitals “à crochet” such

as belong to French 12th-century work. The series of trefoil-headed

niches, with figures in them which rise above the doorway, are French in

character, and remind one of the façade of St. Père-sous-Vezelay. At

Cattaro, in Dalmatia, and at Veglia, in one of the islands of the

Quarnero, are other examples of fine Romanesque work of the 12th

century.

Further south on the mainland of Italy, at Troja, we find a singularly

elegant cathedral church (1093-1115?) in the same style (Woodcut No.

468). Its flanks and apse are perhaps even more elegant than anything in

the neighbourhood of Pisa. So is the lower part of its façade, which is

adorned with a richness and elegance of foliage characteristic of the

province where it is found; and the cornice that crowns the lower storey

is perhaps unmatched by any similar example to be found in Italy, either

for beauty of sculptural decoration or for appropriateness of profile.

The upper part of the façade differs, however, considerably from that of

the examples just quoted. A great rose-window, of elegant but

ill-understood tracery, takes the place of the arcades, and, with the

sculptured arch over it, completes all that remains of the original

design. The plain pieces of walling that support the central window are

parts of a modern repair.

[Illustration: 468. Façade of Cathedral at Troja. (From Schultz.[307])

No scale.]

[Illustration: 469. Cathedral at Bari. Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

As a general rule, all the churches in the South of Italy are small.

This one at Troja is arranged in plan like that at Pisa, with bold

projecting transepts, but its length is only 167 ft., and the width of

its nave 50, while in the Northern cathedral these dimensions are nearly

double—310 ft. by 106—and the area four times as great. This is true of

all, however elegant they may be—they are parish churches in dimensions

as compared with their Northern rivals.

[Illustration: 470. East End of Cathedral at Bari. (From Schultz.) Scale

50 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 471. Apse of San Pellino. (From Schultz.) Scale 50 ft. to

1 in.]

[Illustration: 472. Church at Caserta Vecchia. (From Schultz.) Scale 50

ft. to 1 in.]

Many also, as the cathedral at Bari (Woodcut No. 469), have their apses

internal, which detracts very much from the meaning of the design, and

does away with the apsidal terminations, which are perhaps the most

beautiful features in the external design of Italian churches; while

they lack the great traceried windows which go so far to replace the

absence of the apse in English design. The annexed elevation of the east

end at Bari (Woodcut No. 470) gives a fair idea of the general

arrangement of that part in the churches in Apulia. It is novel, and the

two tall towers with a central dome combine with elegant details to make

up a whole which it is impossible not to admire though it will not bear

comparison with the more artistic arrangements of Northern architects.

Where the apse[308] is allowed to be seen externally, it is sometimes,

as at San Pellino (Woodcut No. 471), an object of great beauty and

originality, but such examples are rare in the province, and the designs

suffer in proportion.

[Illustration: 473. West Front of Bittonto Cathedral. (From a Sketch by

A. J. R. Gawen, Esq.)]

In the richer churches, as at Pisa, a blind arcade is carried round the

flanks, sometimes with an open gallery under the eaves, as in German

churches, but this was far from being universally the case; on the

contrary, it would be difficult, as a typical example of the style, to

select one more characteristic than the flank of the church of Caserta

Vecchia (1100-1153) (Woodcut No. 472). The windows are small but

numerous, and mark the number of bays in the interior. The transept is

slightly projected, and ornamented with an arcade at the top, and above

this rises a dome such as is found only in Calabria or Sicily. The tower

was added afterwards, and, though unsymmetrical, assists in relieving a

design which would otherwise run the risk of being monotonous.

[Illustration: 474. West Front of the Church of San Nicolo in Bari.

(From a Sketch by A. J. R. Gawen, Esq.)]

It was, however, on their entrance façades that the architects of

Southern Italy lavished their utmost care. The central doorways are

usually covered with rich hoods, supported by pillars resting on

monsters somewhat like those found in the North of Italy. Above this is

either a gallery or one or two windows, and the whole generally

terminates in a circular rose-window filled with tracery. As exemplified

in the front of Bittonto Cathedral (Woodcut No. 473), such a composition

is not deficient in richness, though hardly pleasing as an architectural

composition.

The same arrangement, on about the same scale, occurs at Bari, Altamura,

and Ruvo; and on a somewhat smaller scale in the churches of Galatina,

Brindisi, and Barletta. The great and peculiar beauty of the cathedral

at Bittonto is its south front, one angle of which is shown in the

woodcut; but which becomes richer towards the east, where it is adorned

with a portal of great magnificence and beauty. The richness of its open

gallery (under what was the roof of the side-aisles) is unsurpassed in

Apulia, and probably by anything of the same kind in Italy.

[Illustration: 475. View of the Interior of San Nicolo, Bari. (From

Schultz.)]

The façade of San Nicolo at Bari (1197) is something like the last

mentioned, except that handsome Corinthian columns have been borrowed

from some older building, and add to the richness of the design, though

they hardly can be said to belong to the composition. Internally this

church seems to have displayed some such arrangement as that of San

Miniato (Woodcuts No. 463, 464). Instead, however, of improving upon it,

as might be expected from the time that had elapsed since the previous

one was erected, the Southern architect hardly knew the meaning of what

he was attempting. He grouped together the three pillars next to the

entrance, and threw arches across the nave from them, but these arches

neither support the roof nor aid the construction in any other way. They

do add to the perspective effect of the interior, but it is only by a

theatrical contrivance very rare in the Middle Ages, and by no means to

be admired when found.

[Illustration: 476. Plan of Crypt at Otranto. Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 477. View in Crypt at Otranto. (From Schultz.)]

Most of these Apulian churches possess crypts almost as important as

that of San Miniato, some more so; and the numerous pillars in some of

these give rise to effects of perspective only to be found elsewhere in

such buildings as the Mosque at Cordova, or the cisterns at

Constantinople. As in the annexed example, from the cathedral at

Otranto, it is wonderful what space and what variety may be attained

with small dimensions by the employment of numerous points of support.

This was the secret of most of the best effects produced by the Northern

architects; but the Italians never understood it, or practised it,

except in crypts. Perhaps it may have been that they thought it

necessary to sacrifice architectural effect to the exigencies of public

worship. Whether this were the cause or not, the result, as already

pointed out, was fatal to the architectural effect of many of their

designs, especially in the Northern province.

In Southern Italy this is seldom the case, but the difference arose from

the fact that the naves of the churches had never vaulted roofs, and

were consequently separated from the aisles by single pillars instead of

composite piers. This took away all temptation to display mechanical

dexterity, and left the architect free to produce the best artistic

effect he was able to design with the materials at his command.

[Illustration: 478. Window in the South Side of the Cathedral Church at

Matera. (From a Sketch by Mr. Gawen.)]

No one who takes the pains to familiarise himself with the architecture

of these Southern Italian churches, can well fail to be impressed with

their beauty. That beauty will be found, however, to arise not so much

from the dimensions or arrangement of their plans, or the form of their

outline, as from the grace and elegance of their details. Every feature

displays the feeling of an elegant and refined people, who demanded

decoration as a necessity, though they were incapable of rising to any

great architectural conception. They excelled as ornamentists, though at

best only indifferent architects.

It is impossible to render this evident in such a work as the present;

but besides the examples already given, a window (Woodcut No. 478) from

the cathedral church at Matera (1270) will explain how unlike the style

of decoration is to anything with which we are familiar in the North,

and at the same time how much picturesque effect may be produced by a

repetition of similar details. The church itself has this peculiarity,

that its west front is plain and unimportant, and that all the

decoration is lavished on the south side, which faces the piazza. There

are two entrances on this face, that towards the east being, as usual,

the richer. Above these is a range of richly-ornamented windows, one of

which—a little out of the centre—is far more splendid than the rest

(Woodcut No. 478). From this it is said that letters and rescripts from

the Greek patriarch at Constantinople used to be read, and it is perhaps

as elaborate a specimen of the mode of decoration used in these churches

as can be found in the province.

[Illustration: 479. Doorway of Church of Pappacoda, Naples. (From

Schultz.)]

The same exuberance of decoration continued to be employed down to the

latest period of the art, and after Northern forms had been introduced

by the Angiovine dynasty at Naples. The doorway from the church at

Pappacoda (Woodcut No. 479) is a type of many to be found in that city

and elsewhere in the architectural province. True, it is overdone to

such an extent that much of the labour bestowed upon it must be

considered as thrown away; but if a love of art induced people to labour

so lovingly in it, it is hard to refuse them the admiration which their

enthusiasm deserves.

Another class of ornamental detail in which this province is especially

rich is that of bronze doors, of which some six or seven examples still

remain. Of these perhaps the finest are those of the cathedral at Trani.

They were made in 1160, and for beauty of design, and for the exuberance

and elegance of their ornaments, are unsurpassed by anything of the kind

in Italy, or probably in the world. Another pair of doors of almost

equal beauty, made in 1119, belongs to the cathedral at Troja (Woodcut

No. 468), and a third, which is still in a very perfect state,

constructed at Constantinople, in the year 1076, for the church of Mont

San Angelo; and is consequently contemporary with the doors of Sta.

Sophia, Novogorod, and San Zenone, Verona, and so similar in design as

to form an interesting series for comparison.

Other churches in the same style as those mentioned above are found at

Canosa, Giovenazzo, Molo, Ostuni, Manduria, and other places in the

province. Those of Brindisi, from which we should expect most, have been

too much modernised to be of value as examples; but there is in the town

a small circular church of great beauty, built apparently by the Knights

Templars, and afterwards possessed by the Knights of St. John. It is now

in ruins, but many of the frescoes which once adorned its walls still

remain, as well as the marble pillars that supported its roof. Being at

some distance from the harbour, the Knights of St. John built another

small church near the port, which still remains nearly unaltered.

[Illustration: 480. Cloisters of St. John Lateran. (From Rosengarten.)]

Although throughout the Middle Ages Rome went on building large

churches, it was in the debased-Roman style already referred to, fitting

together Roman pillars with classical details of more or less purity,

but hardly, except in their cloisters, deserving the name of a style.

Perhaps the most original, as it certainly is one of the most beautiful,

things the Romans did, is the cloister of St. John Lateran. There the

little arcades, supported by twisted columns, and adorned with mosaics,

are as graceful and pleasing as anything of that class found elsewhere;

and as they are encased in a framework of sufficient strength to take

off all appearance of mechanical weakness, their unconstructive forms

are not unpleasing. The entablature, which is the ruling feature in the

design, retains the classical arrangement in almost every detail, and in

such purity as could only be found in Rome in the 13th century, when

this cloister appears to have been erected; but the style never extended

beyond the limits of that city, and thus has little bearing on the

thread of our narrative.

The cloister of the Benedictine monastery adjoining the basilica of St.

Paul’s outside the walls, is another example of the same kind in which

the columns present almost every variety of form; spiral, twisted,

fluted, and sometimes two or three of these combined, many of them, as

well as the entablature, being covered with mosaics.

SOUTHERN ITALY.

As already remarked, the architects of the southern half of the Italian

peninsula were generally content to adopt the Romanesque plan of

covering their naves with a wooden roof—for when an intersecting vault

is found it is clearly a French or German interpolation—but they often

employed one dome, generally over the altar, and used it as an ornament

both external and internal. The two illustrations already given of the

domes at Bari (Woodcut No. 470) and Caserta Vecchia (Woodcut No. 472)

show the form these usually took in the province. They belong to a type

not unusual in the East, but unknown to the Gothic architects of Europe.

[Illustration: 481. Plan of Church at Molfetta. Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 482. Section of Church at Molfetta. (From Schultz.) Scale

50 ft. to 1 in.]

When called upon to roof their churches with stone, they almost

invariably adopted the domical in preference to the vaulted form, as at

Molfetta (1162), where they make a pleasing form of roof, not unlike

that of Loches Cathedral (Woodcut No. 585). The great defect of domes

when thus employed is their height, which generally throws the whole of

the building out of proportion; and unless light is introduced through

openings in the drum, or in the dome itself, they are dark and gloomy.

This is certainly the case at Molfetta, but otherwise the church seems

well designed and of pleasing proportions. To be successful, domes

should be low and flat internally; and any height required externally

must be given by a false dome, as at St. Mark’s, or as done by the

Renaissance architects generally.

[Illustration: 483. Baptistery, Mont St. Angelo Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 484. Plan of Baptistery, Mont St. Angelo. Scale 50 ft. to

1 in.]

This was not so much felt when the building was square, and covered by

only one dome, like the baptistery or tomb of Mont St. Angelo, where

effect of space on the floor was not aimed at so much as a combination

of external dignity with limited dimensions in plan, and was attained by

the arrangement adopted. As will be observed, the pointed arch, as in

the tower at Gaeta (Woodcut No. 489), is used in the basement, but above

this round arches with balusters for pillars, such as we should call

Saxon, though their age here may be the 12th century.

[Illustration: 485. Tomb of Bohemund at Canosa. (From Schultz.)]

Among the little bits of Orientalism that crop up here and there all

over the province, one of the most pleasing is the little tomb of

Bohemund at Canosa (1111). It is charming to find in Italy an Eastern

Kibleh with its dome, erected to contain the remains of a Christian

king. Though elegant, however, the dome is not fitted to the square, as

it would have been in more experienced hands, and the whole design is

somewhat badly put together. Its bronze doors are among its chiefest

ornaments, and are elegant, though inferior to numerous examples of the

same class in the churches of the province.

Many other examples of Byzantine domical forms might be quoted as

existing in Southern Italy. It is not, however, so much in the forms as

in the details that the Eastern influence is felt, and that no less in

the churches which retain the basilican form of Ravenna than in those

which assume the domical form of Constantinople.

The buildings of the Southern Province cannot certainly compete with

those of the Northern either in size or in daring mechanical

construction, but in detail they are frequently more beautiful, while

their forms are more national and less constrained. Their great

interest, however, in the eyes of the student, consists in their forming

a link between the Eastern and Western worlds, and thus joining together

two styles which we have hitherto been too much in the habit of

considering as possessing no point of contact.

CIRCULAR BUILDINGS.

One of the best known, as well as one of the largest examples of this

class of buildings in Italy, is the baptistery at Pisa (seen partially

on the left side of Woodcut No. 465). Internally it is, as nearly as may

be, 100 ft. in diameter, and the walls are about 8 ft. 6 in. in

thickness. The dome itself, however, is only 60 ft. in diameter, and is

supported on four piers and eight pillars. These serve to separate the

central space from the aisle which runs round it, and which is two

storeys in height, but singularly ill-proportioned and clumsy in detail.

The worst part of the design, however, is the dome, if dome it can be

called. Internally it is conical in form, and thrust through an external

hemispherical dome in a manner more clumsy and unpleasing than any other

example of its class. Externally, these defects are to some extent

atoned for by considerable richness and beauty of detail. It had

originally only one range of blind arcades, with three-quarter columns,

surmounted by an open arcade; an arrangement exactly similar to that of

the two lower storeys of the cathedral and the leaning tower (Woodcut

No. 488). A considerable amount of pointed Gothic decoration was

afterwards added, which, though somewhat incongruous, is elegant in

itself, and hides to some extent the original defects of the design. But

the outline of the building and its whole arrangements are so radically

bad, that no amount of ornament can ever redeem them.

Taken altogether, the Pisan baptistery is so very peculiar, that it

would be interesting if its design could be traced back to some

undoubted original. That this is possible will hardly be doubted by any

one at all familiar with the subject; meanwhile, the building most like

it that has been illustrated is the little church of San Donato, at

Zara. The church was probably built according to Mr. Jackson by Bishop

Donatus III. at the beginning of the 9th century, with materials taken

from ancient buildings, some of them of the best period of Roman

architecture. The two monolithic columns in front of the triple

sanctuary, and which are 30 ft. in height, bear testimony to the size

and importance of the temple they originally adorned, and the great

thickness of the walls and the size of the piers suggest a wealth of

material at the disposal of the builders. The rectangular building on

the south side Mr. Jackson considers to be coeval with the church; and

the chamber over it, which was on the same level and originally opened

on to the gallery round the aisles, formed a second church intended for

the use of the catechumens. The church is so built round that it is

impossible to say what its external appearance may have been. Both from

its resemblance to the Pisan baptistery and its own merits, it is an

interesting addition to our knowledge of those circular churches which

were such favourites with all the Christian architects in the

Carlovingian period. The resemblance in this instance is the more

remarkable, because the façade of the cathedral at Zara (Woodcut No.

467) is in the Pisan style, only slightly modified by local

peculiarities. From what we already know, it seems undoubted that there

was a close connection—architecturally, at least—between Pisa and Zara.

If this were fully investigated, it would probably throw considerable

light on the origin of the Pisan style, which has hitherto seemed so

exceptional in Italy, and also explain how the Byzantine element came to

be so strongly developed in what at first sight appears to be a

Romanesque style of art.

[Illustration: 486. Ground and Upper Storey of San Donato, Zara. (From

Jackson.) Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 487. Section San Donato, Zara. Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

TOWERS.

The typical example of a tower in the Italian style is the celebrated

leaning tower at Pisa, partly seen in Woodcut No. 465. It is, indeed, so

far as we at present know, the only one which carries out that

arrangement of numerous tiers of superimposed arcades which is so

characteristic of the style. The lower storey is well designed as a

solid basement for the superincumbent mass; its walls are 13 ft. in

thickness, and it is adorned with 15 three-quarter columns: its height

being 35 ft. The six storeys above this average 20 ft. in height, and

are each adorned with an open arcade. The whole is crowned by a smaller

circular tower, 27 ft. in height, in which the bells are hung. The

entire height is thus 182 ft.; the mean diameter of the main portion,

52. There is no doubt that it was originally intended to stand

perpendicular, though the contrary has been asserted; but before the

commencement of the fifth storey the foundations had given way, and the

attempts to readjust the work are plainly traceable in the upper

storeys, though without success. It leans 11 ft. 2 in. out of the

perpendicular,[309] which, though not sufficient to endanger its

stability, is enough to render it very unsightly. Even without this

defect, however, its design can hardly be commended; an arrangement of

six equal arcades, with horizontal entablatures, is not an expedient

mode of adorning a building, where elevation is the element of success.

The introduction of strongly-marked vertical lines, or some variation in

the design of the arcades, would have greatly improved the design: and

so the Italians seem to have thought, for it was never repeated, and the

Pisan tower remains a solitary example of its class.

[Illustration: 488. Leaning Tower at Pisa. (From Taylor and Cresy.)

Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 489. Tower of Gaeta. (From Schultz.) No Scale.]

Nothing at all resembling it occurs in the southern parts of the

province, though it must be admitted that they contain very few really

important towers of any sort.

Perhaps the earthquakes to which a great portion of the country is

liable may have deterred the architects from indulging in structures of

great altitude; but it must be added that the idea of belfry or tower

did not enter into their municipal arrangements, and their towns are not

consequently illustrated by such towers as those of Venice, Cremona, or

Verona in the north. Of those which do exist that of Gaeta is perhaps as

picturesque as any. It was erected 1276-1290, and is both characteristic

of the style and elegant in outline. As will be observed, the lower

storey has pointed arches, while those above are all round; an

arrangement which, though to our eyes it may appear archæologically

wrong, is certainly constructively right, and the effect is very

pleasing, from the height and dignity given to the entrance.

The two towers of the cathedral at Bari (Woodcut No. 470) are not so

happy in design as this. They are too tall for their other dimensions,

and want accentuation throughout; while the change from the lower to the

upper storey is abrupt and ill-contrived. The tower at Caserta Vecchia

(Woodcut No. 472) is low and squat in its proportions, and unfortunately

too typical of the towers in this land of earthquakes.

CIVIL ARCHITECTURE.

As a rule, it may be asserted that the southern province of Italy is

singularly deficient in examples of civil or domestic architecture.

Great monastic establishments existed there during the Middle Ages which

must have possessed buildings befitting their magnificence; but these

have either perished and been rebuilt, or have been so restored that

their original forms can hardly be recognised. There are, indeed,

cloisters at Amalfi and Sorrento; much more remarkable, however, for the

beauty of their situation than for their architecture, which is

extremely rude and clumsy. There are no chapter-houses: no halls or

conventual buildings of any sort. In this respect, the province forms a

remarkable contrast with Spain in the same age; though it must be

confessed that the North of Italy is also very deficient in conventual

buildings of the Middle Ages, the most magnificent and beautiful

belonging more to the Renaissance than to the Mediæval period.

At Ravello there is the Casa Ruffolo, a picturesque palace of the 13th

century, still nearly entire: a strange mixture of Gothic and Saracenic

taste, but so exceptional, that it would not be fair to quote it as a

type of any style. It seems to owe its peculiarities more to the taste

of some individual patron or architect rather than to any national taste

or form of design.

[Illustration: 490. Plan of Castel del Monte. (From Schultz.) Scale 100

ft. to 1 in.]

There are, however, several Hohenstauffen castles of tolerable

preservation, more or less typical of the domestic arts of the day in

which they were erected. One of the best preserved of these is that of

Castel del Monte, erected by Frederick II., 1240-44. It is an octagon in

plan, with octagonal turrets at each angle. It measures 167 ft. across

its extreme breadth, and surrounds a courtyard 57 ft. in diameter. Both

storeys are vaulted, and all the details throughout are good and

pleasing. The whole is an admixture of Italian taste, superimposed on a

German design; but it will be observed how little removed the

architectural details of the entrance are, even at that early age, from

the style of the Renaissance. This is, indeed, the great characteristic

of the architectural objects in Southern Italy. Though they adopted

Christian forms, they never abandoned the classical feeling in details;

and it is this which mainly renders them worthy of study. Whether

considered in regard to dimensions, outline, or constructive

peculiarities, their churches will not bear a moment’s comparison with

those of the North; but in elegance of detail they often surpass purely

Gothic buildings to such a degree as to become to some extent as worthy

of study as their more ambitious rivals.

[Illustration: 491. Part Section, part Elevation, of Castel del Monte.

(From Schultz.) Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

CHAPTER VI.

POINTED ITALIAN GOTHIC.

CONTENTS.

Fresco paintings—Churches at Vercelli, Asti, Verona, and Lucca—Cathedral

at Siena—Sta. Maria, Florence—Church at Chiaravalle—St. Petronio,

Bologna—Cathedral at Milan—Certosa, near Pavia—Duomo at Ferrara.

CHRONOLOGY.

DATES.

Bologna independent A.D. 1112

Countess Matilda at Florence 1115

Obizzo d’Este at Ferrara 1184

Enrico Dandolo takes Constantinople 1203

War between Genoa and Venice 1205

Azzo d’Este at Ferrara 1208

Martino della Scala at Verona 1259

Martino delle Torre at Milan 1260

Visconti Lord of Milan 1277

Taddeo de Pepoli at Bologna 1334

Conspiracy of Marino Faliero 1355

Gian Galeazzo Visconti, Duke of Milan 1395

Verona ceded to Venice 1409

Cosmo de’ Medici 1434

Before the commencement of the 13th century, the Italians had acquired

such mastery over the details of their round-arched style, and had

worked it into such originality and completeness, that it is surprising

that they should so easily have abandoned it for that form of Pointed

Gothic which they afterwards adopted. It is true the Italians never rose

to the conception of such buildings as the great Rhenish cathedrals,

like those of Spires and Worms, or the old churches at Cologne; nor did

they perhaps even rival the quasi-classical grace and elegance of the

Provençal churches; but at Verona, Modena, and indeed throughout the

North of Italy, they had elaborated a complete round-arched style, all

the details of which were not only appropriate and elegant, but seemed

capable of indefinite development in the direction in which they were

proceeding. They had also before their eyes the Romanesque style of Pisa

and Lucca with all its elegance, and the example of Rome, where the

architects steadily refused to acknowledge the pointed arch during the

whole of the Mediæval period. Yet in the beginning of the 13th

century—say 1220, when the cathedrals of Amiens, Salisbury, and Toledo

were designed—Italy too was smitten with admiration for the pointed

arch, and set to work to adapt it to her tastes and uses.

It would be difficult to account for this, were we not aware how deeply

the feelings that gave rise to the Ghibelline faction were rooted in the

Italian soil. In all the cities, except Rome, the cause of the

Ghibellines was throughout the Middle Ages identified with that of

freedom and local independence, in opposition to that of the Guelfs,

which symbolised the supremacy of the Pope and the clerical party.

Knowing how strenuously this was resisted, we naturally expect to find

it expressed in the architecture of the country. Two, indeed, of the

great churches of Italy, Assisi (1228) and Milan (1385), were erected by

Germans in the German style of the day; but these are exceptional. The

form which the pointed-arched style took on its introduction, was that

of adaptation to the Italian style, in a manner which the Italians

thought more consonant with beauty and convenience than that adopted

north of the Alps. In this they were certainly mistaken. The elegance of

the details employed by a refined and cultivated people, and based on

classical traditions, goes far to redeem, in most instances, the defects

of their designs; but they never grasped the true principles of Gothic

art, and the fatal facility of the pointed arch led them more astray

after mechanical clevernesses than even the Germans. Still, it is an

original style, and, however imperfect, is well worthy of study.

Before proceeding to describe the style more in detail, it may be well

to point out one of the principal causes which led to the more marked

features of difference between the Gothic architecture of Italy and that

of Germany and France. This was the distaste of the Italians for the

employment of painted glass, or at least their want of appreciation of

its beauties when combined with architecture.

It will be explained in a future chapter how all-important painted glass

was to the elaboration of the Gothic style. But for its introduction,

the architecture of France would bear no resemblance to what it was, and

is. In Italy, indeed, the people loved polychromy, but always of the

opaque class. They delighted to cover the walls of their churches with

frescoes and mosaics, to enrich their floors with the most gorgeous

pavements, and to scatter golden stars over the blue ground of their

vaults; but rarely, if ever, did they fill, or design to fill, their

windows with painted glass. Perhaps the glare of an Italian sun may have

tended to render its brilliancy intolerable; but more probably the

absence of stained glass is owing to its incompatibility with

fresco-painting, the effect of which would be entirely destroyed by the

superior brightness of the transparent material. The Italians were not

prepared to relinquish the old and favourite mode of decoration in which

they so excelled. This adherence to the ancient method of ornamentation

enabled them, in the 15th and 16th centuries, to surpass all the world

in the art of painting, but it was fatal to the proper appreciation of

the pointed style, and to its successful introduction into the land.

The first effect of this tendency was that the windows in Italian

churches were small, and generally devoid of tracery, with all its

beautiful accompaniments. The walls, too, being consequently solid, were

sufficient, by their own weight, to abut the thrust of the arches: so

that neither projecting or flying buttresses nor pinnacles were needed.

The buildings were thus deprived externally of all the aspiring vertical

lines so characteristic of true Gothic. The architects, to relieve the

monotony arising from the want of these features, were forced to recur

to the horizontal cornices of the classical times, and to cover their

walls with a series of panelling which, however beautiful in itself, is

mere ornament—both unmeaning and inconsistent.

Internally, too, having no clerestory to make room for, and no

constructive necessities to meet, they jumped to the conclusion that the

best design is that which covers the greatest space with the least

expenditure of materials, and the least encumbrance of the floor. With

builders this is a golden rule, but with architects it is about the

worst that can possibly be adopted. The Germans were not free from this

fault, but the Italians carried it still further. If on four or five

piers they could support the vault of a whole nave, they never dreamed

of introducing more. A French architect, though superior in constructive

skill, would probably have introduced eight or ten in the same space. An

Italian aimed at carrying the vaults of the side-aisles to the same

height as that of the nave, if he could. A Northern architect knew how

to keep the two in their due proportion, whereby he obtained greater

height and greater width in the same bulk, and an appearance of height

and width greater still, by the contrast between the parts, at the same

time that he gave his building a character of strength and stability

perhaps even more valuable than that of size.

In the same manner the Northern architects, while they grouped their

shafts together, kept them so distinct as to allow every one to bear its

proportional part of the load, and perform its allotted task. The

Italians never comprehended this principle, but merely stuck pilasters

back to back, in imitation of the true architects, producing an

unmeaning and ugly pier. The same incongruities occur in every part and

every detail. It is a style copied without understanding, and executed

without feeling. The elegance of the sculptured foliage and other

details sometimes goes far to redeem these faults; for the Italians,

though bad architects, were always beautiful carvers, and, as a Southern

people, were free from the vulgarities sometimes apparent farther north,

and never fell into the wild barbarisms which too often disfigure even

the best buildings on this side of the Alps. Besides, when painting is

joined to sculpture in churches, the architecture may come to occupy a

subordinate position, and thus escape the censure it deserves.

Unfortunately there are only two examples of any importance in this

style that retain all their painted decorations—St. Francis at Assisi,

and the Certosa near Pavia. From this circumstance they are perhaps the

most admired in Italy. In others the spaces left for colour are still

plain and blank. We see the work of the architect unaided by the

painting which was intended to set it off, and we cannot but condemn it

as displaying at once bad taste and ignorance of the true Gothic

feeling.

One of the earliest, or perhaps the very first Italian edifice into

which the pointed arch was introduced, is the fine church of St. Andrea

at Vercelli, commenced in the year 1219 by the Cardinal Guala Bicchieri,

and finished in three years. This prelate, having been long legate in

England, brought back with him an English architect called, it is said,

Brigwithe, and entrusted him with the erection of this church in his

native place.

[Illustration: 492. Plan of the Church at Vercelli. (From Osten’s

‘Baukunst in Lombardei.’) Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

In plan, it is certainly very like an English church, terminating

squarely towards the east, and with side chapels to the transepts,

arranged very much as we find them at Buildwas, Kirkstall, and other

churches of this class and size, only that here they are polygonal,

which was hardly ever the case in England. But with the plan all

influences of the English architect seem to have ceased, and the

structure is in purely Italian style. Externally the pointed arch

nowhere appears, all the doors and windows being circular-headed; while

internally it is confined to the pier-arches of the nave and the

vaulting of the roof. The façade is flanked at its angles by two tall,

slender, square towers; and the intersection of the nave and transept is

covered by one of those elegant octagonal domes which the Italians knew

so well how to use, and which is in fact the only original feature in

their designs. The external form of this church is interesting, as

displaying the germs of much that two centuries afterwards was so

greatly expanded by a German architect in the design of Milan cathedral.

A few years later, in 1229, a church was commenced at Asti, the tower of

which was finished in 1266. This allowed time for a more complete

development of the pointed style, which here prevails not only

internally, but externally. Tall pointed windows appear in the flanks,

and even the doorways assume that form, in their canopies, if not in

their openings. The porch (Woodcut No. 493) is a later addition, and a

characteristic specimen of the style during the 14th century. This

church is also one of the earliest examples in which those elegant

terra-cotta cornices of small intersecting arches seem to have been

brought to perfection.

[Illustration: 493. Church at Asti. (From Chapuy, ‘Moyen-Âge

Monumental.’)]

The most remarkable church of this age is that of St. Francis at Assisi,

commenced in 1228, and finished, in all essentials at least, in 1253. It

is said to have been built by a German named Jacob, or Jacopo. Certainly

no French or English architect would have designed a double church of

this class, though, on the other hand, no Italian could have drawn

details so purely Northern as those of the upper church. In the lower

church there are hardly any mouldings to mark the style, but its

character is certainly rather German than Italian. This church depends

for its magnificence and character much more on painting than on

architecture. In the first place it is small, the upper church being

only 225 ft. long, by 36 in. width; and though the lower one has

side-aisles which extend the width to 100 ft., yet the upper church is

only 60 ft. in height, and the lower about 30, so that it is far too

small for much architectural magnificence. None of its details are equal

to those of contemporary churches on this side of the Alps. The whole

church is covered with fresco paintings in great variety and of the most

beautiful character, which justly render it one of the most celebrated

and admired of all Italy. On this side of the Alps without its frescoes,

it would hardly attract any attention. It is invaluable as an example of

the extent to which the polychromatic decoration may be profitably

carried, and of the true mode of doing it; and also as an illustration

of the extent to which the Italians allowed a foreign style and mode of

ornamentation to be introduced into their country.

[Illustration: 494. Plan of Sta. Anastasia, Verona. Scale 100 ft. to 1

in.]

[Illustration: 495. One Bay of Sta. Anastasia, Verona.]

One of the purest and most perfect types of an Italian Gothic church is

that of Sta. Anastasia at Verona, commenced apparently in 1260. It is

not large, being only 285 ft. in length externally; but its arrangements

are very complete, and very perfect if looked at from an Italian point

of view. The square of the vault of the nave is the modulus, instead of

that of the aisles, as in true Gothic churches: owing to which the

pier-arches are further apart than a true artist would have placed them;

there are also no buttresses externally, but only pilasters. The

consequence of this is, that the arches have to be tied in with iron

rods at the springing, which internally adds very much to the appearance

of weakness, caused in the first instance by the wide spacing and

general tenuity. These bad effects are aggravated by the absence of a

string-course at the springing of the vault; and by the substitution of

a circular hole for the triforium, and a hexafoiled opening of very

insignificant dimensions for the glorious clerestory windows of Northern

churches. Altogether, though we cannot help being pleased with the

spaciousness and general elegance of design, it is impossible not to

feel how very inferior it is to that of churches on this side the Alps.

[Illustration: 496. One Bay, externally and internally, of the Church of

San Martino, Lucca.]

The church of San Martino at Lucca, built about a century after Sta.

Anastasia (middle of 14th century), presents a strikingly happy

compromise between the two styles. The pier-arches are still too wide—23

ft. in the clear; but the defect is remedied to some extent by the

employment of circular instead of pointed arches, and the triforium is

all that can be desired; the clerestory, however, is as insignificant as

it must be where the sun is so brilliant and painted glass inadmissible.

It would be easy to point out other defects; but, taking it altogether,

there are few more elegant churches than this, and hardly one in Italy

that so perfectly meets all the exigencies for which it was designed.

[Illustration: 497. Plan of the Cathedral at Siena. (From the ‘Églises

principales d’Europe.’) Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

The cathedrals of Siena and Orvieto (the former commenced in 1243, the

latter in 1290) are perhaps, taken altogether, the most successful

specimens of Italian pointed Gothic. They are those at least in which

the system is carried to the greatest extent without either foreign aid

or the application of distinctly foreign details. These two buildings,

moreover, both retain their façades as completed by their first

architects, while the three great churches of this style—the cathedrals

of Florence, Bologna, and Milan—were in this respect left unfinished,

with many others of the smaller churches of Italy. The church at Siena

illustrates forcibly the tendency of the Italian architects to adhere to

the domical forms of the old Etruscans, which the Romans amplified to

such an extent, and the Byzantines made peculiarly their own. I cannot

but repeat my regret that the Italians alone, of all the Western

Mediæval builders, showed any predilection for this form of roof. On

this side of the Alps it could have been made the most beautiful of

architectural forms. In Italy there is no instance of more than moderate

success—nothing, indeed, to encourage imitation. Even the example now

before us is no exception to these remarks, though one of the boldest

efforts of Italian architects. In plan it ought to have been an octagon,

but that apparently would have made it too large for their skill to

execute, so they met the difficulty by adopting a hexagon, which, though

producing a certain variety of perspective, fits awkwardly with the

lines of columns, and twists the vaults to an unpleasant extent. Still,

a dome of moderate height, and 58 ft. in diameter, covering the centre

of the church, and with sufficient space around to give it dignity, is a

noble and pleasing feature, the merit of which it is impossible to deny.

Combined with the rich colouring and gorgeous furniture of the church,

it makes up a whole of great beauty. The circular pier-arches, however,

and the black and white stripes by which the exterior is marked, detract

considerably from the effect of the whole—at least in the eyes of

strangers, though the Italians still consider it a beauty. The façade of

this cathedral is represented in Woodcut No. 498. It consists of three

great portals, the arches of which are equal in size, though the centre

doorway is larger than those at the sides. Above is the invariable

circular window of the Italian architects, and the whole is crowned by

steep triangular gables. Beneath the cathedral, or rather under the

choir, is the ancient baptistery, now the church of St. John the

Baptist; its front is in a much purer style of Gothic than the

cathedral.[310]

[Illustration: 498. Façade of the Cathedral at Siena.]

The carved architectural ornaments of the façade are rich and elaborate

in the extreme, though figured sculpture is used to a much less extent

than in Northern portals of the same age. It is also observable that the

strong horizontal lines do not harmonise with the aspiring character of

pointed architecture.

The cathedral of Orvieto is smaller and simpler, and less rich in its

decorations, than that at Siena, with the exception of its façade, which

is adorned with sculpture and painting. Indeed the three-gabled front

may be considered the typical one for churches of this class. The

façades intended to have been applied to the churches at Florence,

Bologna, Milan, and elsewhere, were no doubt very similar to that

represented in Woodcut No. 498. As a frontispiece, if elaborately

sculptured and painted, it is not without considerable appropriateness

and even beauty; but, as an architectural object, it is infinitely

inferior to the double-towered façades of the Northern cathedrals, or

even to those with only one great tower in the centre. It has besides

the defect of not expressing what is behind it; the central gable being

always higher than the roof, and the two others merely ornamental

appendages. Indeed, like the Italian Gothic buildings generally, it

depended on painting, sculpture, and carving for its effect, far more

than on architectural design properly so called.

Among the greatest and most complete examples of Italian Gothic is the

church of Sta. Maria dei Fiori, the cathedral of Florence, one of the

largest and finest churches produced in the Middle Ages—as far as mere

grandeur of conception goes, perhaps the very best, though considerably

marred in execution from defects of style, which are too apparent in

every part.

[Illustration: 499. Plan of Cathedral at Florence. (From Isabelle,

‘Édifices Circulaires.’) Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

The building of the church was commenced in the year 1294 or 1298 (it is

not quite clear which), from the designs and under the superintendence

of Arnolfo di Lapo, for unfortunately in this style we know the names of

all the architects, and all the churches show traces of the caprice and

of the misdirected efforts of individuals, instead of the combined

national movement which produced such splendid results in France and

England. It is not known how far Arnolfo had carried the building when

he died, in 1310, but probably up to the springing of the vaults. After

this the works proceeded more leisurely, but the nave and smaller domes

of the choir were no doubt completed as we now find them in the first

twenty years of the 14th century. The great octagon remained unfinished,

and, if covered in at all, it was only by a wooden roof of domical

outline externally, which seems to be that represented in the fresco in

the convent of San Marco, till Brunelleschi commenced the present dome

in 1420, and completed it in all essential parts before his death, which

happened in 1444. The building may therefore be considered as

essentially contemporary with the cathedral of Cologne, which it very

nearly equals in size (its area being 84,802 ft., while that of Cologne

is estimated at 91,000), and, as far as mere conception of plan goes,

there can be little doubt but that the Florentine cathedral far

surpasses its German rival. Nothing indeed can be finer than its general

ground-plan. A vast nave leads to an enormous dome, extending into the

triapsal arrangement so common in the early churches of Cologne, and

which was repeated in the last and greatest effort of the Middle Ages,

or rather the first of the new school—the great church of St. Peter at

Rome. In the Florentine church all these parts are better subordinated

and proportioned than in any other example, and the mode in which the

effect increases and the whole expands as we approach from the entrance

to the sanctum is unrivalled. All this, alas! is utterly thrown away in

the execution. Like all inexperienced architects, Arnolfo seems to have

thought that largeness of parts would add to the greatness of the whole,

and thus used only four great arches in the whole length of his nave,

giving the central aisle a width of 55 ft. clear. The whole width is

within 10 ft. of that of Cologne, and the height about the same; and

yet, in appearance, the height is about half, and the breadth less than

half, owing to the better proportion of the parts and to the superior

appropriateness in the details on the part of the German cathedral. At

Florence the details are positively ugly. The windows of the side-aisles

are small and misplaced, those of the clerestory mere circular holes.

The proportion of the aisles one to another is bad, the vaults

ill-formed, and altogether a colder and less effective design was not

produced in the Middle Ages. The triapsal choir is not so objectionable

as the nave, but there are large plain spaces that now look cold and

flat; the windows are too few and small, and there is a gloom about the

whole which is very unsatisfactory. It is nearly certain that the

original intention was to paint the walls, and not to colour the

windows, so that these defects are hardly chargeable to the original

design, and would not be apparent now were it not that in a moment of

mistaken enthusiasm the Florentines were seized with a desire to imitate

the true style of Gothic art, and rival Northern cathedrals in the glory

of their painted glass. This, in a church whose windows were designed

only of such dimensions as were sufficient to admit the requisite

quantity of white light, was fatal. Notwithstanding the beauty of the

glass itself, which seems to have been executed at Lubeck, 1434, from

Italian designs, it is so completely out of place that it only produces

irritation instead of admiration, and has certainly utterly destroyed

the effect and meaning of the interior it was intended to adorn.

[Illustration: 500. Section of Dome and part of Nave of the Cathedral at

Florence. Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

[Illustration: 501. Part of the Flank of Cathedral at Florence.]

[Illustration: 502. Dome at Chiaravalle, near Milan. (From a drawing by

Ed. Falkener, Esq.)]

Externally the façade was never finished,[311] and we can only fancy

what was intended from the analogy of Siena and Orvieto. The flanks of

the nave are without buttresses or pinnacles, and, with only a few

insignificant windows, would be painfully flat except for a veneer of

coloured marbles disposed in panels over the whole surface. For an

interior or a pavement such a mode of decoration is admissible; but it

is so unconstructive, so evidently a mere decoration, that it gives a

weakness to the whole, and most unsatisfactory appearance to so large a

building. This is much less apparent at the east end, where the outline

is so broken, and the main lines of the construction so plainly marked,

that the mere filling in is comparatively unimportant. This is the most

meritorious part of the church, and, so far as it was carried up

according to the original design, is extremely beautiful. Even the

plainness and flatness of the nave serve as a foil to set off the

varying outline of the choir. Above the line of the cornice of the

side-aisles there is nothing that can be said to belong to the original

design except the first division of the drum of the dome, which follows

the lines of the clerestory. It has long been a question what Arnolfo

originally intended, and especially how he meant to cover the great

octagonal space in the centre. All knowledge of his intentions seems to

have been lost within a century after his death: at least, in the

accounts of the proceedings of the commission which resulted in the

adoption of Brunelleschi’s design for the dome, no reference is made to

any original design as then existing, and no one appears to have known

how Arnolfo intended to finish his work. Judging from the structure as

far as he carried it, and with the knowledge we now possess of the

Italian architecture of that age, we can easily conjecture what his

design for its completion may have been. Internally, it probably

consisted of a dome something like the present, but flatter, springing

from the cornice, 40 ft. lower than the present one, and pierced with

large openings on each of its eight faces.

[Illustration: 503. Section of Eastern portion of Church at Chiaravalle.

(From Gruner’s ‘Terra Cotta Architecture in Italy.’) Scale 50 ft. to 1

in.]

Externally, two courses were open to him. The first and most obvious was

to hide the dome entirely under a wooden roof, as is done in St.

George’s, Thessalonica (Woodcut No. 305), or in the baptistery in front

of the cathedral, and is done in half the baptisteries in Italy—as at

Parma, for instance (Woodcut No. 514). Had he done this, the span of the

dome might have been very much larger, without involving any

constructive difficulties, and the three towers over the choir and

transepts might have sufficed to relieve its external appearance

sufficiently for architectural effect. On the whole, however, I am

rather inclined to believe that something more ambitious than this was

originally proposed, and that the design was more like that of

Chiaravalle near Milan, built in 1221, and one of the most complete and

perfect of this class of dome now existing in Italy. Its external

appearance may be judged of from Woodcut 502, and its constructive

details from the section, Woodcut No. 503.

If the basement is sufficiently solid—and that at Florence is more than

sufficient for any superstructure of the sort—it is evident the

architect can dispose of such masses of masonry, that he can counteract

any thrust or tendency to spread that can exist in any dome of this

sort; and instead of being only 136 ft. across, 150 or 160 might easily

have been attempted. Instead of 375 ft., which is the height of the

present dome from the floor to the top of the cross externally, it might

even with the present diameter have been carried up to at least 500 ft.,

or as high as the church was long,—70 to 100 ft. above the height of St.

Peter’s at Rome.

Had this been done, the three smaller semi-domes must have been intended

to be crowned with miniature octagonal spires of the same class with the

great dome, and between these the vast substructures show that it was

intended to carry up four great spires, probably to a height of 400 ft.

Had all this been done (and something very like it seems certainly to

have been intended), neither Cologne Cathedral, nor any church in

Europe, ancient or modern, would have been comparable to this great and

glorious apse. As it is, the plain, heavy, simple outlined dome of

Brunelleschi acts like an extinguisher, crushing all the lower part of

the composition, and both internally and externally destroying all

harmony between the parts. It has deprived us of the only chance that

ever existed of witnessing the effect of a great Gothic dome; not indeed

such a dome as might with the same dimensions have been executed on this

side of the Alps, but still in the spirit, and with much of the poetry,

which gives such value to the conceptions of the builders in those days.

But for this change of plan, the ambition of the Florentines might have

been in some measure satisfied, whose instructions to the architect

were, that their cathedral “should surpass everything that human

industry or human power had conceived of great and beautiful.”

About a century later (1390), the Bolognese determined on the erection

of a monster cathedral, which, in so far as size went, would have been

more than double that at Florence. According to the plans that have come

down to us, it was to have been about 800 ft. long and 525 wide across

the transepts; at the intersection was to have been a dome 130 ft. in

diameter, or only 6 ft. less than that at Florence; and the width of

both nave and transepts was to have been 183 ft.: so that the whole

would have covered about 212,000 ft., or nearly the same area as St.

Peter’s at Rome, and three times that of any French cathedral! Of this

vast design, only about one-third (Woodcut No. 504), 74,000 sq. ft., was

ever carried out; but that fragment is quite sufficient to enable us to

judge of the merits or defects of this style in its state of greatest

perfection. The only other building in the same style on a sufficient

scale to admit of comparison with this is the nave of the cathedral at

Florence just described, but that is nearly as may be only half of its

dimensions, or 36,000 ft. as compared with 72,000. The chapels, too, at

Bologna add practically a fifth aisle, giving great variety and richness

to the perspective. The varied heights and proportions of the central

and side aisles are singularly pleasing, and there being six arches at

Bologna instead of only four as at Florence, and twelve side chapels

where none exist in the other example, go far to redeem the lean

mechanical look which is the great defect of this style. The great

advantage San Petronio has over the Florentine church is in the size and

number of its windows, and these not being filled with stained glass the

whole church has a bright and pleasing effect that contrasts most

favourably with the gloom of its great rival. Notwithstanding this, the

nave of San Petronio cannot be considered as a successful work of art.

In the first place it is too mechanically perfect. The area of the

points of support as compared with the voids is, as far as can be made

out from such plans as exist, about one-twelfth, which would be a merit

in a railway station, but something more is wanted in a monumental

building. In the next there is a singular deficiency of either

constructive or constructed ornament. On this side of the Alps an

architect with vaulting shafts, string-courses, galleries, and fifty

other expedients, would have relieved the bareness of the walls. At

Bologna it probably was intended they should be painted, and this never

having been executed may account for most of its apparent defects.

[Illustration: 504. Plan of the part executed of St. Petronio, Bologna.

(from Wiebeking.) Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

In Gothic architecture one of two systems seems indispensable: either

painted glass with strongly-marked carved mouldings over the whole of

the interior, or white glass with flat surfaces suitable for opaque

paintings. Few cathedrals are complete in both respects at the present

day, but in their imperfect state the Northern system has an immense

advantage over the Southern. The architecture of our cathedrals is

complete and beautiful even in ruins. An Italian church without its

coloured decoration is only a framed canvas without harmony or meaning.

Were San Petronio as complete in its coloured decoration as the Certosa

at Pavia or Monreale at Palermo, it might stand a fair competition with

the best interiors on this side of the Alps. As it is, it is only a

splendid example of ornamental but unornamented construction, and, as

was attempted to be explained in the Introduction, both elements are

wanted for success in architectural design.

[Illustration: 505. Section of San Petronio, Bologna. (From Wiebeking.)

Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

The exterior of the church is in too unfinished a state to enable us to

judge of what its effect might have been if completed, but many of its

details, especially of the façade, are of very great beauty, in many

respects superior to what is to be found on this side of the Alps. Its

central dome, however, never could have been a feature worthy of so vast

a church. In diameter it is equal, or nearly so, to that of Florence,

but the points of support are so small, and so far apart, that it must

have been mainly if not wholly of wood. No such towering structure as

Arnolfo’s vast substructures show that he intended, could have stood on

the slim supports of the Bolognese church.[312]

[Illustration: 506. Plan of the Cathedral of Milan. (From ‘Chiesi

Principali d’Europa.’) Scale 100 ft. to 1 in.]

The cathedral of Milan—at once the most remarkable and one of the

largest and richest of all the churches erected in the Middle Ages—was

commenced in the year 1385, by order of Gian Galeazzo, first Duke of

Milan, and consecrated in 1418, at which date all the essential parts

seem to have been completed, though the central spire was not finished

till about the year 1440, by Brunelleschi.

The design is said to have been furnished by a German architect,

Heinrich Arlez von Gemunden, or as the Italians call him, “da

Gamondia,”—a statement which is corroborated by the fact that the

details and many of the forms are essentially Northern; but it is

equally certain that he was not allowed to control the whole, for all

the great features of the church are as thoroughly Italian as the

details are German: it is therefore by no means improbable that Marco da

Campione, as the Italians assert, or some other native artist, was

joined with him or placed over him.

In size it is, except Seville, the largest of all Mediæval cathedrals,

covering 107,782 ft. In material it is the richest, being built wholly

of white marble, which is scarcely the case with any other church, large

or small; and in decoration it is the most gorgeous—the whole of the

exterior is covered with tracery, and the amount of carving and statuary

lavished on its pinnacles and spires is unrivalled in any other building

of Europe. It is also built wholly (with the exception of the façade)

according to one design. Yet, with all these advantages, the appearance

of this wonderful building is not satisfactory to any one who is

familiar with the great edifices on this side of the Alps. Cologne is

certainly more beautiful; Rheims, Chartres, Amiens, and Bourges leave a

far more satisfactory impression on the mind; and even the much smaller

church of St. Ouen will convey far more pleasure to the true artist than

this gorgeous temple.

The cause of all this it is easy to understand, since all or nearly all

its defects arise from the introduction of Italian features into a

Gothic building; or rather, perhaps, it should be said, from a German

architect being allowed to ornament an Italian cathedral. Taking the

contemporary cathedral of St. Petronio at Bologna as our standard of

comparison, it will be seen that the sections (Woodcuts Nos. 505, 507)

are almost identical both in dimensions and in form, except that at

Milan the external range is a real aisle instead of a series of side

chapels; but, at the same time, it will be perceived that the German

system prevailed in doubling the number of the piers between the nave

and side-aisles. So far, therefore, the German architect saved the

church. The two small clerestories, however, still remain; and although

the design avoids the mullionless little circles of Bologna, there is

only space for small openings, which more resemble the windows of an

attic than of a clerestory. The greater quantity of light being thus

introduced by the tall windows of the outer aisle, the appearance is

that of a building lighted from below, which is fatal to architectural

effect.

The model still preserved on the spot shows that the German architect

designed great portals at each end of the transepts. This, however, was

overruled in favour of two small polygonal apses. Instead of the great

octagonal dome which an Italian would have placed upon the intersection

of the whole width of the nave and transepts, German influence has

confined it to the central aisle, which is perhaps more to be regretted

than any other mistake in the building. The choir is neither a French

chevet nor a German or Italian apse, but a compromise between the two, a

French circlet of columns enclosed in a German polygonal termination.

This part of the building, with its simple forms and three glorious

windows, is perhaps an improvement on either of the models of which it

is compounded.

[Illustration: 507. Section of the Cathedral of Milan.[313] (From

Wiebeking.) Scale 50 ft. to 1 in.]

This is the nearest approach to the French chevet arrangement to be

found in all Italy. It is extremely rare in that country to find an

aisle running round the choir, and opening into it, or with the circlet

of apsidal chapels which is so universal in France. The Italian church

is not, in fact, derived from a combination of a circular Eastern church

with a Western rectangular nave, but is a direct copy from the old Roman

basilica.

[Illustration: 508. View of the Interior of Milan Cathedral. (From

Rosengarten.)]

The details of the interior of Milan cathedral are almost wholly German

(Woodcut No. 508). The great capitals of the pillars, with their niches

and statues, are the only compromise between the ordinary German form

and the great deep ugly capitals—fragments, in fact, of classical

entablatures—which disfigure the cathedrals of Florence and Bologna, and

so many other Italian churches. Had the ornamentation of these been

carried up to the springing of the vault, they would have been

unexceptionable; as it is, with all their richness, their effect is

unmeaning.

Externally, the appearance is in outline not unlike that of Sta. Maria

dei Fiori; the apse is rich, varied, and picturesque, and the central

dome (excepting the details) similar, though on a smaller scale, to what

I believe to have been the original design of the Florentine church. The

nave is nearly as flat as at Florence, the clerestory not being visible;

but the forest of pinnacles and flying buttresses and the richness of

the ornamentation go far to hide that defect. The façade was left

unfinished, as was so often the case with the great churches of Italy.

Pellegrini was afterwards employed to finish it, and a model of his

design is still preserved. It is fortunate that his plan was not carried

out. The façade was finished, as we now see it, from the designs of

Amati, by order of Napoleon. It is commonplace, as might be expected

from its age, but inoffensive. The doorways are part of Pellegrini’s

design, and the Mediæval forms being placed over those of the

cinque-cento, produce a strangely incongruous effect. For the west front

several original designs are still preserved. One of these, with two

small square towers at the angles, as at Vercelli and elsewhere, was no

doubt the Italian design. The German one (Woodcut No. 509) is preserved

by Bassi:[314] had this been executed, the façade would have been about

one-third (viz. 100 ft.) wider than that of Cologne. Had the height of

the towers been in the same proportion, they would have been the tallest

in the world. In that case the effect here, as at Cologne, would have

been to shorten and overpower the rest of the building to a painful

extent. A design midway between the two, with spires rising to the same

height as the central one, or about 360 ft., would perhaps have the

happiest effect. At any rate, the want of some such features is greatly

felt in the building as it stands.

[Illustration: 509. Design for Façade of Milan Cathedral. (From Bassi.)]

The Certosa, near Pavia, was commenced about the same date (1396) as the

cathedral at Milan. It is seldom that we find two buildings in the

Middle Ages so close to one another in date and locality, and yet so

dissimilar. There is no instance of such an occurrence on this side of

the Alps, till modern times; and it shows that in those days the

Italians were nearly as devoid of any distinct principles of

architecture as we have since become.

[Illustration: 510. View of the Certosa, near Pavia. (From a

Photograph.)]

The great difference between Pavia and Milan is that the former shows no

trace of foreign influence. It is as purely Italian as St. Petronio, and

by no means so complete or consistent in design. Nothing, in fact, can

be more painful than the disproportion of the parts, the bad drawing of

the details, the malformation of the vaults, and the meanness of the

windows; though all these defects are completely hidden by the most

gorgeous colouring, and by furniture of such richness as to be almost

unrivalled. So attractive are these two features to the majority of

spectators, and so easily understood, that nine visitors out of ten are

delighted with the Certosa, and entirely forget its miserable

architecture in the richness and brilliancy of its decorations.

Externally the architecture is better than in the interior. From its

proximity to Pavia, it retains its beautiful old galleries under the

roof. Its circular apses, with their galleries, give to this church, for

the age to which it belongs, a peculiar character, harmonising well with

the circular-headed form, which nearly all the windows and openings

present. Even in the interior there are far more circular than pointed

arches.

The most beautiful and wonderful part of the building is the façade.

This was begun in 1473, and is one of the best specimens in Italy of the

Renaissance style. It would hardly, therefore, be appropriate to mention

it here, were it not that the dome over the intersection of the nave and

transepts is of the same age and style, but reproduces so exactly

(except in details) what we fancy the Mediæval Italian Gothic dome to

have been, that it may be considered as a feature of the earlier ages.

Referring to Woodcut No. 502, it will be seen how like it is to that of

Chiaravalle in outline. It is less tall, however, and, if translated

into the details of the great church at Florence, would fit perfectly on

the basement there prepared for such a feature.

Like many other churches in Northern Italy, the principal parts of the

Certosa are built in brick, and the ornamental details executed in

terra-cotta. Some of the latter, especially in the cloisters, are as

beautiful as any executed in stone in any part of Italy during the

Middle Ages; and their perfect preservation shows how suitable is the

material for such purposes. It may not be appropriate for large details

or monumental purposes, but for the minor parts and smaller details,

when used as the Italians in the Middle Ages used it, terra-cotta is as

legitimate as any material anywhere used for building purposes; and in

situations like the alluvial plains of the Po, where stone is with

difficulty obtainable, its employment was not only judicious but most

fortunate in its results.