out of Ravenna. The building is decagonal below, and circular on the
upper part: the decagon of the basement is somewhat larger than the
superior edifice. Each face has a deep recess, covered with a
semicircular arch, whose stones are notched into one another. This
basement is now half buried, and the water stands in it: an oblique
flight of steps on each side of the division which faces the approach,
conducts us to the upper story. This has also ten sides externally on
the lower part, but is circular within. Each side, except that which
contains the door, has two square-headed recesses, and each recess is
placed under an arch, the support of which is not carried down to the
ground, but projects from the face of the work. In front of these
recesses and arches, tradition says that there has been a range of
columns, but I could discern no certain traces of such an ornament, and
the space to receive them, arising from the projection of the basement
beyond the upper part of the edifice, is very narrow for such a purpose.
The work looks unfinished, and I have no doubt that something more than
what at present exists was either executed or intended, but I cannot
form any probable conjecture of what it was. Immediately over these
arches there is a broad circular band, above which all the work is
circular. This band is interrupted by the vault-stones, forming a
straight arch above the door, which are very curiously notched together,
and there is nevertheless a small opening between these and the cornice
and architrave below, made in order that the latter might not be in any
danger of being broken by the settlement of the arch. The mouldings
round the doorway are small and confused. Above the circular band we
find a plain face of wall, with some small windows irregularly disposed,
and then a massive cornice, of really a very fine character, and well
adapted to a sepulchral building; and this solidity of character is well
preserved throughout the edifice, but the range of little columns, if it
ever existed, must have formed a singular contrast. The inside is a
plain circular room, with a niche opposite the door, apparently for an
altar, but the present altar is modern. The most wonderful part of the
building is the roof, of which I have purposely avoided speaking till
the last. It is a dome, the internal diameter of which is thirty,[17]
the external thirty-five and a half[18] English feet, formed entirely
out of one enormous stone; a crack now divides it into two very unequal
parts, which is attributed to a stroke of lightning; and its form and
irregularity clearly announce it to have taken place after the stone was
raised, though it may have happened during the settlement of the mass
into its new situation. On the inside, the depth of the part hollowed
out is ten feet, the whole thickness of the original stone about
fourteen feet, the thickness at the edges two feet nine inches. I will
not pledge myself for the minute accuracy of these dimensions, but none
of them can err more than two or three inches. The weight of such a
stone, even reckoning sixteen cubic feet to the ton, must considerably
exceed two hundred tons. On the outside are twelve large, perforated
projections, which doubtless served as so many handles in raising it,
and which are perhaps favourable to its general appearance. Some names
upon these have led to the notion that they supported the statues of
eight apostles and the four evangelists, but as their upper surface is
not level, this could hardly have been the case. It is perhaps more
probable that these names were given to the engines, or perhaps to the
windlasses, one to each handle, used in raising this enormous mass.
There is a little projection on the summit, which is now surmounted
merely with an iron cross; but a sarcophagus, or bath of porphyry, at
present standing in front of the palace of Theodoric, is said originally
to have occupied the situation. The stone, of which the lower parts of
the edifice are composed, is a light-coloured limestone, of a fracture
between earthy and slaty, abounding in petrifactions. The roof is
described by the earlier authors as of granite, by Beltrami and the
later ones, it is said to be of the same quality as the rest of the
building; but viewed from below, it has the appearance of a dark gray
sandstone, unlike the walls both in grain and colour.
A fragment still remains, which is known by tradition as the Palace of
Theodoric. It forms a little symmetrical façade in three parts; the
centre has an arched gateway in the lower part, and over this a large
niche, with a triple entrance at the back. The sides are recessed,
terminating above in four arches, which are supported in each on three
columns, and these rest upon as many corbels. The capitals are Gothic
imitations of the Corinthian, but in the disposition, we may trace a
similarity to the taste of Dioclesian’s palace at Spalatro.
One monastery at Ravenna has been appropriated to the purposes of a
public library and museum. The former is said to contain fifty thousand
volumes. The museum contains a few objects of natural history, a few
antiquities, a few casts for the use of the academy, and a few
paintings. If this does not sound very magnificently, you must recollect
that the establishment is young, and that Ravenna is no longer a
flourishing city. You may abuse the Italians as you please, but can you
shew me any country where, under similar circumstances of prosperity or
decay, equal public spirit has been exhibited? Ravenna contains a
memorial of how much this public spirit has frequently degenerated into
party spirit, which are more nearly allied than it is pleasant to allow,
the tomb of Dante; certainly one of the greatest, boldest, and most
original geniuses of modern days, but who, exiled by a party from his
native Florence, employed his wonderful talents in devoting to Hell and
infamy his political enemies, and placing in Paradise, or in the way
there, all his own party, however morally reprehensible.
I have led you through Ravenna without saying a word to you about the
Cathedral. This was a magnificent building, erected towards the end of
the fourth century, having double side aisles, supported on fifty-six
columns of various marbles; but all this is past, and the modern
building was raised in 1734 by the archbishop Maffeo Niccolò Farsetti,
at his own expense. These instances of individuals laying out great sums
in public buildings are much more common in Italy than anywhere else; we
could not produce one such edifice to their twenty. I am sorry the
architecture is not as praiseworthy as the act. It contains two very
beautiful frescos by Guido; the other churches are not rich in
paintings, but there are some good ones in the private galleries.
The Campanile is all that remains of the old building, or rather perhaps
it was an intermediate erection of about the eleventh century. It has
several points of resemblance with the baptistery. But it hardly
deserves a particular description.
I left Ravenna on the sixth for Rimini; the road lies through the
Pineta, a flat sandy tract near the shore, covered with stone pines
(_Pinus pinea_). The bushes, where there are any, are so low that the
eye looks over them, and the foliage of the pines never descends low
enough to unite with them. The scenery in consequence wants the variety
of a deciduous forest; yet it would afford some good studies, and as the
sea is said to make several little harbours, these would probably
present home scenes of considerable beauty. This wood extends
twenty-five miles from the river Lamon, one of the mouths of the Po, to
the city of Cervia; its greatest width is three miles. It belongs almost
entirely to the regular ecclesiastics, and produces annually about two
thousand _rubbii_ of cones (2,034 quarters) and affords a considerable
revenue.
I breakfasted, or dined, as you please, at eleven o’clock at Cesenatico,
and then continued my journey to Rimini. My guide on the way amused me
with a long story of a family of several brothers and one sister, who
haunted the Pineta as robbers; the brothers were all taken or killed,
and at last the sister was taken and _calzelata_. I puzzled my head to
think why they should give her shoes, and whether any punishment by
means of iron slippers, or something of that sort, could be in use; and
it was not till he had repeated the words several times that I found
_calzelata_ meant _carcerata_, and it seems here that the _r_ is
commonly changed into _l_; while on the other side of the Apennines, the
_l_ is frequently changed into _r_.
Rimini contains a bridge which is attributed to the time of Augustus. It
is well built, as you may imagine, since it has lasted so long, and
apparently, as to the solid mass of the work, with hardly any repairs;
but it is not handsome, nor are the ornaments and mouldings well chosen.
My driver assured me that it was erected by the Devil, St. Julian having
promised him his own soul as a reward; but the saint was the greater
knave of the two, and cheated his adversary out of the bargain. There is
also a triumphal arch, the pediment of which, like that of Drusus at
Rome, hardly extends beyond the opening. It is worth observation, that
the cornice has no corona. I have been apt to consider the suppression
of so important a member, as a proof of the decline of Roman art, but
this arch is confidently and universally attributed to Augustus, and
Fabretti even thinks he has proved that Vitruvius was the architect. Yet
the inscriptions, on which I believe the evidence for the period of its
construction principally rests, seem to me discordant fragments, not all
belonging to the situations which they now occupy. The seven middle
vault-stones are continued through the architrave, and the bull’s head
on the key-stone interrupts its line, and there are some other
peculiarities in the details, yet it would be a very handsome structure
if it were not for the silly little pediment.
The Cathedral, which was restored and altered by Leon Battista Alberti,
interested me more than any of these. The works of this artist are few,
and lie rather out of the beaten track, and they are particularly
interesting, not merely as he was practically one of the earliest
restorers of Roman architecture, but as he was the first who reduced it
into a system by his writing. The old building was of pointed
architecture, but I know not of what date, and it is so completely
covered by more recent work, that we cannot attempt to form any judgment
concerning the time of its erection, from the appearance of what remains
in sight. The front, and the one flank, which is exposed to public view,
are entirely by L. B. Alberti, and an inscription on the frieze gives us
the date of 1450. The front consists of four columns, whose order is a
compound of Doric and Ionic, neither of them well understood; and three
arches, of which the middle is the largest, and contains the doorway;
while the side ones are merely shallow recesses. These columns are set
upon a continued basement, which is unfortunately cut through by the
doorway, but in other respects the proportions are good, and suited to
the style adopted. I should say that the columns were too far apart, if
they were introduced as essential parts of the building, but Alberti has
used them as Palladio has so frequently done, as ornaments, which may
indeed contribute to the firmness of the edifice, but are not absolutely
necessary to its support; and the entablature, consistently with this
view of their office, breaks round them. The upper part is not
completed, but we learn from a medal that there were to be pilasters
over the two middle columns below, supporting an ornamented arch, with a
portion of a circular pediment on each side. It is probably better that
it has not been executed, but here also we find something of the
disposition afterwards followed more successfully by Palladio. The flank
is much better than the front, from the beautiful simplicity of its
seven equal arches, rising on insulated piers; each pier has a panel,
which though they are quite shallow, is a great defect. Above each pier
there is a circle of porphyry, surrounded by a wreath; and at a moderate
distance over these, the entablature, corresponding with that of the
front. In each arch there is a stone sarcophagus, and the whole is
elevated on a continued basement. The only fault in the composition is
the panelling of the piers. Everything else is beautiful.
On the inside, the arches of the nave are pointed, almost the only
circumstance retained of their original form. The piers are now
ornamented with architraves and Corinthian pilasters; the former of
which are cut up by a multitude of small mouldings, but each still
retains the character of an architrave. The pilasters are divided in
their heights, like towers of several stories, composed of a succession
of distinct architectural compositions. We wonder to see the effects of
so pure a taste without, combined with such puerilities within. The
materials of this church are said to have been drawn from various Roman
antiquities, and particularly from the church of St. Apollinaris at
Classe, but there is no appearance of any ancient fragments.
There are some trifling remains of a theatre or amphitheatre at Rimini.
They consist of one or two arches, principally of brickwork, but with
the introduction of a portion of stone, built up in the walls of the
town; but there is nothing visible to detain us long.
The same vetturino who had brought me from Faenza to Ravenna, and
afterwards to Rimini, conducted me the next day to Pesaro; he was a
grumbling fellow, abusing monks and priests, and the government of
priests, without measure. To say a man is a priest, according to him, is
to say that he is a scoundrel; and yet with striking inconsistency, he
pronounced that Bonaparte did nothing wrong, except turning out the
friars. Even the inclemency of the seasons, and the scarcity of the late
winter, was all attributed to the poor pope or his ministers. These
sentiments are extremely common among the lower classes in the papal
states; and if in the provincial towns, we consult the opinions of those
a little higher in station, the only difference we shall find is, that
these do not regret the suppression of monasteries, by whose almsgiving
they did not profit. A more serious charge advanced by my vetturino
against the present government is, that it has taken the burden off the
rich, and oppressed the poor with a double weight of taxes. The French
policy seems rather to have been to oppress the upper classes. I know
not whether the papal government have only restored the balance, or have
in fact overloaded the opposite scale. I wanted to know if he would like
to see the Germans in possession of this part of Italy; he did not at
all care about it, and I abused him for the want of patriotism to the
best of my ability, but he was quite insensible to my reproaches; in
fact, how can we expect that those whose hopes and fears are absorbed by
the doubt of gaining their daily bread, should have much feeling to
spare for national liberty. It is indeed wonderful to observe how
generally and strongly such feelings exist, where they are favoured by
somewhat of republican institutions; but the Romagnuolo sees himself no
part of the state; he is already the subject of a power which he
considers as foreign, and perceives very little difference in that
respect between Romans and Germans. An Englishman is always seeking in
Italy for an Italian spirit of honour and independence, but under the
circumstances which have so long oppressed this country, no such feeling
can exist in the commonalty, though it may take place in men of liberal
minds and enlarged views; the effect of reflection, and not of habit or
of passion. A man of the people may be a Genoese, or a Florentine, or a
Roman, but not an Italian.
Almost the only thing which excited my admiration at Pesaro, was a
beautiful painting by Barocci. I found there a sedia going to
Senegaglia, and agreed with the driver to take me to Ancona. The
Itinerary mentions a Roman arch at Fano, but I inquired for it in vain;
and you perhaps, equally in vain, have been expecting that I should say
something about the Rubicon, but it is uncertain which of the little
rivers which cross the road, has a right to the name, and such things
are nothing when sought out in the midst of doubts.
I slept at Senegaglia: here is one of the three great fairs of the
Mediterranean; another is at Beaucaire: I do not recollect the place of
the third. It did not seem to me equal in display to that of Beaucaire,
and as it is entirely in the town, has not the picturesque effect of the
tents and trees of the other. We reached Ancona about two o’clock, a
city whose houses rise in one heap, one high above the other, without a
tree either in it or about it. In the midst of this mass, a little
portico of a church makes a singularly agreeable contrast. I delivered
my letters, but they were between people only connected by business, and
I have never found such letters of any use in Italy, unless indeed they
contained a credit, and I wanted money: perhaps if I got into a scrape,
I might find them advantageous.
There is a celebrated arch at Ancona, in honour of Trajan, erected on
the ancient mole, which being higher and narrower than the present pier,
they form two levels, nearly of equal breadth, of which the arch crosses
only the higher, and shows an elevated basement on one side. It is of
white marble, and though perhaps rather too high, yet the proportions
are pleasing, and the appearance noble and magnificent, an effect to
which its situation greatly contributes. The mouldings are rather
confused; none of them are enriched with sculpture, except those upon
the key-stone. There are various holes remaining, which render it
probable that the figures and ornaments were of metal, but except these
holes no sign of them remains.
The Cathedral, dedicated to San Cyriaco, is a curious building, but not
by any means beautiful. It was built by Margaritone, an architect of the
thirteenth century. The roofs are so combined, that the whole rises in a
sort of tent-like form not ungracefully, and it is crowned with a dome
upon a lofty drum, the former being covered with varnished tiles of
different colours. The porch is formed by an arch supported on columns,
which again rest on figures of animals, and these are completely worked
round, so as to exhibit the false bearing of the columns, in which
probably the artist prided himself. As this porch has every appearance
of being of the date of the church, we might at least fix a period in
which these animal-propt columns were in fashion, but unfortunately we
only know of Margaritone, that he died at the age of seventy-seven, and
probably before the year 1300. I may add, that this church was not a
production of his old age. The doorway is ornamented with a series of
columns supporting arches; diminishing in width as they approach the
opening: a very common arrangement in the later Norman and early Gothic.
In this instance the arches are pointed. There is a small circular
window over the porch, and a range of simple arches, forming part of the
enrichment under the raking cornice. The inside forms a Greek cross,
except that an addition to the further tribune has taken place in modern
times, but as it has little to recommend it, I shall spare you the
description. All the arches are circular, except those of the doorway
already mentioned, and this exception does not include the porch, the
arch of which is a semicircle.
There is a curious little church or chapel at Ancona, dedicated to Santa
Maria della Piazza Collegiata. The front is covered with small
semicircular arches, each formed of one enriched moulding, and resting
on little columns, imitated from the Corinthian. All the ornaments
exhibit a good deal of Roman taste, but there is certainly nothing Roman
in the disposition. The gable, instead of being carried up to a point,
is cut off by a horizontal line. I do not know the date, but I should
attribute it to the eleventh century, or early in the twelfth.
There is little good in the civil or domestic architecture of Ancona,
nor is there much to excite the attention of the antiquary, though some
pointed arches and ornaments of the middle ages, may be observed among
the later productions.
I stayed through Monday in this city, because I could not persuade the
vetturino to depart: these gentlemen put me not a little in mind of
Fielding’s description of a stage-coachman in England, and I think it
would be very amusing to read on an Italian tour, the description of an
English journey a century ago; the points of resemblance would be very
numerous. On Tuesday morning we started, but not till seven o’clock: the
country is hilly, and the road continually ascending and descending: the
land all cultivated, and small pollard trees scattered about, are used
to support the vines. The most indulgent traveller could hardly call it
either romantic, picturesque, beautiful, rich, or pleasing; yet the
Itinerary speaks favourably of it.
Loreto is a miserable little town, with an unfinished Piazza, and a very
large church. This Piazza is of an oblong form, and was intended to have
a double range of arches on three sides, and the church on the fourth;
it would thus have formed an avenue with two stories of arcades, leading
to the church, a disposition I have already had occasion to praise: and
here, enough is done, to shew that it would have been very beautiful,
though the church itself is not praiseworthy. It is said on the spot to
have been designed by Michael Angelo, and executed by Bramante, but this
cannot be, since M. Angelo did not attend to architecture till some
years after Bramante’s death. The nave of the church internally may be
called a sort of Gothic. It has square piers, with a little shaft at
each angle; it has neither richness, lightness, nor the appearance of
solidity. Beyond the nave there is an octagonal space covered with a
dome, and there are three tribunes, forming the arms of the cross, but
even this part is not handsome. The Holy House, which is said to have
been the habitation of the Virgin, and miraculously transported by
angels to Loreto, is erected in the octagonal space. It appears to be
built of Apennine limestone, but is so polished by kisses, and blackened
by the smoke of the lamps, that it is difficult to tell what it is.
Instead of a roof, it is covered with a vault, which is confessedly
modern, the old timber-work having decayed. Externally, it is encrusted
with a coat of white marble, with Corinthian columns, and rich
ornaments; the architecture of Bramante, and good of its kind, but it is
of a kind which I do not greatly admire. Italian monumental
architecture, with some favourable exceptions, is composed of little
parts, and highly ornamented. It is more broken than that of their
larger edifices, often handsome, and with great beauty and delicacy in
the details, but without anything magnificent or impressive; hardly ever
with any character as monuments, except that as the eye becomes
accustomed to see them in this form, we obtain an habitual association;
and sentiments of death and eternity may be awakened in the mind; but
without such habits the style would rather seem accordant with scenes of
temporary gaiety. Yet in all countries, and in all ages, it has been
customary to decorate tombs highly, and even splendidly. The treasury is
a large and very handsome room, simple in its form, and not overloaded
with ornaments. The ceiling, as is usual in Italy, has a large cove,
leaving only a small flat space in the middle; and in these large and
lofty rooms, the arrangement produces a magnificent effect. It was
pillaged of course in the late revolutions, but they have again
collected a few good paintings, and some elegant gold cups, and other
things of that sort, enriched with pearls and precious stones; the gifts
of the kings and queens of modern times.
Attached to the religious institutions of Italy, there is frequently an
apothecary’s shop; and I believe generally speaking, these are the
places where the best drugs are sold. The Spezieria at Loreto, is not
however, so famous for its drugs, as for its jars of earthenware. They
are said to have been executed from designs by Raphael, but we do not
find in them any trace of his excellences, or of his peculiarities of
manner.