Brick and Marble in the Middle Ages: Notes of Tours in the North of Italy
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Title: Brick and Marble in the Middle Ages: Notes of Tours in the North of Italy
Author: George Edmund Street
Release date: July 19, 2014 [eBook #46326]
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRICK AND MARBLE IN THE MIDDLE AGES: NOTES OF TOURS IN THE NORTH OF ITALY ***
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
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Archaic usages have been retained (i.e. shew, shews, divers, Friulan Alps, surprized.)
Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows the text.
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BRICK AND MARBLE
IN
THE MIDDLE AGES.
_Uniform with the present Volume._
THE GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE OF SPAIN: FROM PERSONAL OBSERVATIONS MADE
DURING SEVERAL JOURNEYS. By G. E. STREET, R.A. Second Edition, with
100 Illustrations. Medium 8vo, 30_s_
“Mr. Street has opened a new vein of architectural interest. Every
part of this work presents evidence of the labour and deep interest
with which he pursued his investigations, and the result is one of
the most curious and valuable architectural works which we have
received for some time.”--_Guardian._
“A valuable contribution to the history of Gothic architecture. It
will form a useful addition to the few books with which a traveller
may profitably equip himself for the Peninsula. With the exception
of the great work of Villa-Amil and Escosura, we have no
publication which throws so much light on the architectural
monuments of Spain--especially on those of the earlier Christian
period.”--_Edinburgh Review._
[Illustration: 1.--NORTH PORCH, STA. MARIA MAGGIORE, BERGAMO.
_Frontispiece._]
BRICK AND MARBLE
IN
THE MIDDLE AGES:
Notes of Tours in the North of Italy.
BY GEORGE EDMUND STREET, RA.,
MEMBER OF THE IMPERIAL AND ROYAL ACADEMY OF THE FINE ARTS, VIENNA,
ETC. ETC.
_SECOND EDITION._
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1874.
[_The right of Translation is reserved._]
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
To the Memory
OF
THE RIGHT REV. SAMUEL WILBERFORCE,
LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER,
ETC. ETC.,
IN TOKEN OF THE AUTHOR’S MOST SINCERE AFFECTION,
AND
IN GRATITUDE FOR NUMBERLESS BENEFITS RECEIVED FROM HIM,
THIS VOLUME,
ORIGINALLY DEDICATED TO HIM IN 1855,
IS NOW INSCRIBED.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
The First Edition of this volume has been so long out of print that I
had almost ceased to regard myself as responsible for all that it
contains. It was the rapid and fresh summary of a happy journey
undertaken in the early years of my artistic career. There were, I knew,
many details in which it could easily be improved, and many journeys
taken over the same ground might have enabled me to go far more into
detail than I was able to do when I published it. I find, however, on
reading again what I wrote so long ago, that age and greater knowledge
of the subject have generally confirmed my old ideas, and that, as far
as regards the principles of my book, I still believe them to be true
and just. In revising what I wrote, however, I have found myself obliged
to make many alterations and additions, sometimes in relation to towns
not visited on my first journey, sometimes in reference to buildings
either not described at all or at best insufficiently described before.
In doing this I have endeavoured not to increase too much the bulk of
the volume, and as far as possible not to interfere with the general
character or tone of its contents, though in the process of revision the
larger portion of the book has had to be re-written.
I hope, if other occupations admit of it, before long to add to this
volume a second, containing notes of tours in the centre and south of
Italy, undertaken with the same object of studying and describing the
too little appreciated art of Italy in the Middle Ages, which seems to
me to be almost equally full of interest in all parts of the Peninsula.
The materials which I have accumulated for this purpose are only too
considerable, and the very richness of the subject has made me shy of
approaching it; but the necessity of publishing another edition of this
volume has revived my resolution to complete as soon as possible the
work which I originally proposed to myself, and of which I have never
lost sight. But whether I accomplish this or not, the volume which I now
republish may, I hope, give a tolerably complete view of Italian Gothic
architecture north of the Apennines.
Those who wish for further archæological details as to the age and
history of buildings, will not find great difficulty in supplementing
what I have written. For myself I confess at once that I have not had
time or opportunity for examining the documentary history of the
buildings I have described, and that the dates where I have given them
are generally obtained at second-hand, though never given save where
they accord with the architectural character of the work. It was never
for merely archæological purposes that I made my many journeys in Italy.
Before I first travelled there I had made myself well acquainted with
all the best remains of the Middle Ages in England: I had travelled,
sketch-book in hand, through France and Germany, and I knew, therefore,
something of the art of our fathers in most districts north of the Alps.
But so far I had found no time or opportunity for the study of those
early Italian buildings which give the key to the history and style of
ours, or of those later works in which, with more or less distinctness,
the architects north of the Alps repaid the debt they had previously
incurred to the South.
I felt then, as I do now, that no study of architecture was complete
which did not proceed exhaustively with the study of all European
varieties, and above all of that of Italy. Moreover, there was something
in the practice and tendencies of our own day which gave special
interest and fascination to such a study. We had gone on in our old
paths, studying the works of our own country, which in some respects
were deficient in their teaching. We wished to combine the best
architecture, the best painting, and the best sculpture in our works.
The world seemed to respond to our aspirations, and it is south and not
north of the Alps that examples of such a combination have to be looked
for. So again it was desirable at any rate to meet the demand which was
naturally arising for colour in construction, and here again it was in
Italy only that numerous ancient examples of such a combination were to
be found. These were the special inducements to me in my earliest
journey to Italy, and their influence is as strong as ever upon me. I
feel, indeed, even more now than then, the importance of such study to
the English architect of to-day. The more men educate themselves by the
study of ancient examples, the more is their work likely to become
refined and scholarly, whilst at the same time there is no real risk of
its becoming less original.
It is quite possible, and one wishes above everything to see it usual,
for architects to design all their work without special reference to, or
really copying from, any old work. But before doing this they ought at
least to put themselves in the same position as to knowledge of what had
been done before as that in which their forefathers were. Unless they do
so, the desire for originality will only be satisfied by the production
of excesses and monstrosities, whose only claim is that they are
new--one which, in spite of those who demand a new style, I venture to
declare to be their sufficient condemnation.
It remains only to say, that since I first visited Italy two works have
been published which add infinitely to our knowledge of the sister arts
of painting and sculpture, and enable the artist to travel with a full
certainty that he will not lose anything by reason of the ignorance or
carelessness of his guide. I need hardly say that I refer to Messrs.
Crowe and Cavalcaselle’s ‘History of Painting in Northern Italy,’ and to
Mr. C. C. Perkins’s admirable volumes on ‘Italian’ and ‘Tuscan
Sculptors.’ To the latter, indeed, I owe I know not how many
acknowledgments for the information I have derived from him. He has done
that for the History of Mediæval and post-Mediæval sculpture in Italy
which had before hardly even so much as been attempted, and his facts
and conclusions are almost always so stated as to command the assent of
his readers.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
In these days of railways and rapid travelling there is scarcely any
excuse for ignorance of Continental art. The most busy man finds some
short holiday in the course of the year, and, if wise as well as busy,
spends it not in quiet sojourn at home, but in active search of the
picturesque, the beautiful, or the old, in nature or in art, either in
his own country or abroad.
And as the holidays of busy men are short, and therefore to be made as
much of as possible, I conceive that I shall be rendering some service,
and providing myself with a fair excuse for my presumption, if I venture
to shew, by a simple narrative of a tour undertaken in the course of the
year before last, how much it is possible to accomplish with pleasure,
and, when one has some definite object in view, with profit of no common
kind, even in a short holiday.
There are many classes of travellers, and each doubtless flatters itself
that its own is the very best of all modes of travelling; and sorry
should I be to attempt to disabuse any one of so pleasant a self-deceit.
But the more I think of it, the more certain it appears that the reasons
and objects which always take me away from home are precisely such as
make up the sum of happiness and pleasure to a traveller.
Indeed, without some definite object before him, beyond the mere desire
of relaxation and pleasure, few travellers know that thorough joy of
heart which an architect feels as he begins the journey which bears him
away from home on some ecclesiological or architectural ramble.
Such an one, hard-worked for more than five-sixths of the year, may, if
he will, press into the short remainder left to him for a holiday as
much both of profit and of pleasure as it is possible to conceive. He
goes, sketch-book in hand, with some ancient town or thrice noble
cathedral set before him as his goal; and, passing along smiling
valleys, or over noble mountains, drinks in all that he sees, not the
less gratefully or delightedly in that he views it as the preface only
to his more intense enjoyment in the study and pursuit of his own
well-beloved art.
If such be my case--and such it is--wonder not, gentle reader, that I
desire to shew how much enjoyment may be snatched from time in little
more than one short month, nor that I am anxious to put on paper the
thoughts that have been uppermost in my mind as I travelled, and looked
at and drew the old builders’ works in the north of Italy, the more as
they seem to bear with much force upon questions debated with more and
more eagerness and anxiety every day, by very many of those who take the
most lively interest in the progress of Christian art.
In past years I had travelled--rapidly, it is true, but not without
learning much, very much, of what was useful--by the noble cities of
Belgium, up the church-besprinkled banks of the fair Rhine, over the
plains of Bavaria, and through much that was most noble and interesting
in different parts of France and Germany; I had dreamt of old times and
old men in the antique streets of Bruges and Nuremberg, and under the
shade of the still more ancient walls of Regensburg, in the solemn naves
of Amiens, of Köln, of Freiburg, of Strasburg and Chartres, and of many
more most noble piles; I had paced the ruins of old abbeys, and
studied, so far as I could, in all of them the science and the art of my
forefathers; but so far all my time had been devoted to the study of
Northern art, and I had found no time and no opportunity for the study
of that modification of the pointed style which distinguishes the cities
and the churches of the north of Italy. No wonder then that, with a
prospect at last of a first sight of Italy and Italian architecture
before me, I looked forward long and anxiously for the end of summer,
for that happy autumn which brings ease and relaxation to so many a
wearied heart; and that when at last, at the latter end of August, I
found myself absolutely on my way, I was in no common degree disposed
for the thorough enjoyment of all that I met with.
It is well here to observe, by the way, that there is much in the
present position of architects and the world which may give to these few
remarks upon the pointed architecture of the north of Italy--slight and
sketchy though they may be--a degree of value beyond what they would
have had only a short time since.
It is impossible not to feel that the great and general interest in art,
created by the revival of true principles within the last few years, is
a subject of the greatest congratulation to all true artists. It is not
only in architecture, but happily in painting also, that first
principles are now studied with some determination by men who command
the respect of a world educated hitherto to admire and believe in the
falsest and weakest schools of art. It was, therefore, with the desire
to see how far these first principles were worked out by the architects
of the Middle Ages in Italy, how far moreover they were developed in
directions unattempted by their brethren in the North, and how far they
have succeeded in leaving us really noble works for our study and
admiration, that I undertook my journey.
Let me say, too, at the same time, that I started without either the
intention or the desire to examine at all carefully the works of the
Renaissance architects. For this there were many reasons--among others
my own unfitness by predilection and education for the task, the
shortness of my time, and the fact that, as it appears to me, their
works have already received as much both in the way of illustration and
of description as they deserve.
I should wish also, I must confess, in all my studies of foreign
architecture, to confine myself to those buildings in which there appear
to me to be the germs at least of an art true and beautiful in itself,
and of service to us in our attempts to improve our own work. It does
not appear to me that the works of the Italian Renaissance architects
really contain this. I see no reason whatever for doubting that if we
wish for a purer school of art we must either entirely forget their
works, or remember them so far only as to take warning by their faults
and failures. I see no reason for allowing that they have succeeded in
carrying out true principles, either of construction or ornamentation,
to any greater extent than their imitators in England. The same
falseness of construction, and heaviness, coarseness, and bad
grotesqueness of ornamentation, seem ever to attend their works,
together with the same contempt of simplicity, repose, and delicacy
which we are so accustomed to connect with them. In short, I see but
little reason to differ from the estimate which Mr. Ruskin has given of
their merits in the ‘Stones of Venice,’ and what he has so well said I
need not attempt to enlarge upon.
My own feeling is, that as in the pointed arch we have not only the most
beautiful, but at the same time incomparably the most convenient feature
in construction which has ever been, or which, I firmly believe, ever
can be invented, we should not be true artists if we neglected to use
it.
I hold firmly the doctrine that no architect can properly neglect to
avail himself of every improvement in construction which the growing
intelligence of this mechanical age can afford him; but this doctrine in
no way hinders the constant employment of the pointed arch; on the
contrary, it makes it necessary, because it is at once the most
beautiful and the most economical way of doing the work that has to be
done.
There are, I well know, advocates for the round arch, whose theory
appears to be that we ought to go back for some ages, to throw ourselves
as it were into the position of men who knew only the round arch, and
from this to attempt to develope in some new direction: this is Mr.
Petit’s theory, and it is, as appears to me, one which it is not
difficult to meet.
Its supporters assert that pointed architecture is so essentially the
effort of a particular age, and marked by certain peculiarities so
decided, as to be filled, even in its most noble works, with a kind of
spirit which in this age it is vain to attempt again to evoke. The old
Gothic spirit is, they say, dead; and, glorious as it was, its flight
was but meteor-like, and, having passed across the horizon of the world
in its rapid course, it has sunk beyond all possibility of revival.
It appears to me that those who so argue confound the accidents with the
elements of the true Gothic architecture of the Middle Ages, and mistake
altogether the object which, I trust, most architects would propose to
themselves in striving for its revival. The elements are the adoption of
the best principles of construction, and the ornamentation naturally and
properly, and without concealment, of the construction; the accidents
are, as it appears to me, the particular character which individual
minds may have given to their work, the savageness, or the grotesqueness
as it has been called, which is mainly to be discovered in the
elaboration of particular features by some particular sculptor or
architect, and which in the noblest works--and, indeed, I might say, in
most works--one sees no trace of. The true Gothic architects of the
Middle Ages had, in short, an intense love of nature grafted on an
equally intense love of reality and truth, and to this it is that we owe
the true nobility and abiding beauty of their works; nor need we in this
age despond, for if we be really earnest in our work, there is nothing
in this which we need fear to miss, nothing which we may not ourselves
possess if we will, and nothing therefore to prevent our working in the
same spirit, and with the same results, as our forefathers.
The mediæval architecture of Italy presents, however, one further
practical argument against this theory of the lovers of the round arch
which they cannot, I think, meet.
It will be found in the following pages that in Italy there did not
exist that distinction between the use of round and pointed arches which
did exist for three centuries north of the Alps. They were content there
to use whichever was most convenient, and whichever appeared to them to
be most effective in its intended position. We therefore find, in most
Italian mediæval buildings, round and pointed arches used in the same
work, the former generally for ornament, the latter for construction;
and the effect of this is in some degree to make us lessen the rigidity
with which a study of Northern art might otherwise affect our views on
this point. But I think no argument can be used by the lovers of the
round arch which would ever go farther than to leave us open to the
choice of both round and pointed arches, just as in these old Italian
buildings: they have no right to say, “You may not use the pointed arch
at all,” but they perhaps may be allowed to ask, “Why exclude for ever
the round arch?” and then I should refer them to Italy for a proof that
as a rule the mixture of the two is neither harmonious nor satisfactory;
whilst at the same time I should go on to shew them that, when they talk
of the virtues of Roman and Romanesque architecture, of the repose and
the simplicity which distinguish them, of their grandeur and their
general breadth and nobility of effect--in all these things they do but
sing the praises of the best Italian architecture of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries, and that in studying the style we may well be
guided by it in what we do, not to the forgetfulness of the glories of
our own land, but to the development in a forward direction of what we
inherit from our forefathers of that architecture which, after a lapse
of three centuries, we now see on all sides reviving with fresh vigour
from its temporary grave, and which requires only prudence and skill on
the part of its professors to make even more perfect than before.
My object therefore in the following pages will be mainly to shew the
peculiarities of the development of pointed architecture in Italy, and
specially to shew in what way the materials so commonly used
there--brick and marble--were introduced both in decoration and in
construction. All these points are of the very greatest importance to
us, for I am persuaded that not only will some reference to Italian
models do somewhat towards the improvement of our art, but that in no
matter is information more needed, and improvement more easy, than in
the use of brick in architecture; whilst working in marble has been as
yet so little practised among us, that we may almost regard it as at
present unattempted, though, as I hope to shew, there is no longer any
reason why this should be the case.
It is impossible to conclude this Preface without mention of the
obligations which not only all who travel in Italy, but all who are
interested in good architecture, owe to Mr. Ruskin. No man need or can
profess his acquiescence in every one of the opinions which he has
propounded, but as an architect I feel strongly that a great debt of
gratitude is owing to him for his brilliant advocacy of many laws and
truths in which every honest architect ought gladly to acquiesce. He may
be well content to bear the opposition which he has evoked, satisfied
that all that he has written is in the main most certainly for the
benefit and exaltation of art of all kinds.
Nor less is a debt of gratitude to be acknowledged by every traveller to
my friend Mr. Webb for his most excellent and trusty work on
‘Continental Ecclesiology:’ it is certainly the most absolutely correct
guide-book ever drawn up for ecclesiologists anywhere; and in travelling
over the same ground, as I have done in this tour, my excuse for giving
what I have in the way of descriptions of the same buildings is, that
what I have written has been all with a view, beyond that of merely
describing the churches, of shewing the principles upon which their
builders worked, and giving, so far as the limits of such a work will
allow, drawings of the buildings I have described.
It will depend on circumstances whether I am able at some future day to
continue my inquiries among the churches and domestic buildings of
Central Italy, a tract at least as rich as that over which the tour
described in the following pages took me.
It remains only to say that all the illustrations which I have given are
engraved from my own drawings on the wood from my sketches made on the
spot, and that I have endeavoured as much as possible to avoid giving
subjects which have been before published. It would have been easy to
add largely to them, especially from my sketches in Venice, but it
seemed to me that, as this could only be accomplished by adding also to
the cost of the book, it was much better to omit them. I have avoided
therefore giving drawings of any buildings already drawn by Mr. Gally
Knight, to whose work I must refer my readers for representations of
several of the buildings described, and for illustrations of Venice I
must refer to Mr. Ruskin’s engravings and to the photographs which have
rendered her features so well known to almost all students of
architecture.
In conclusion, I cannot speak too highly of the assistance afforded to
the architectural student by Murray’s Handbook of Northern Italy: it is
almost invariably correct, and gives just what one wants to know of
nearly all buildings of any interest or importance.
_Oxford, 1855._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
.....PAGE
Routes to Italy--Paris--Strasburg--Rouffach--Basel.....1
CHAPTER II.
Churches of Basel--Storks--Rheinfelden--Frick--Baden--Zürich:
the Cathedral--Fondness of the Swiss for bright colours--Lake of
Zürich--Rapperswyl--Linth Canal--A Wayside Inn--Wesen.....14
CHAPTER III.
Wallenstadt--Sargans--Gorge of the
Tamina--Ragatz--Chur--Ems--Reichenau--Thusis--Zillis--Andeer--Splügen--The
Splügen Pass--The Custom-house--Cascade of the Medessimo--Campo
Dolcino.....28
CHAPTER IV.
Chiavenna--Lake of Riva--Colico--Gravidona--Lake
of Como--Varenna--Stelvio Pass--Lecco--Bergamo:
Broletto--Churches--Castle of Malpaga.....44
CHAPTER V.
Palazzuolo--Coccaglio--Brescia: new and old
Cathedrals--Broletto--Churches--Donato--Desenzano--Lago di
Garda--Riva--Trent--Verona.....63
CHAPTER VI.
Verona: Campanile of the Palazzo dei Signori--Sta.
Anastasia--Monuments--Piazza dell’ Erbe--The Duomo--The
Baptistery--Sta. Maria l’Antica--Cemetery and Palace of the
Scaligers--Domestic Architecture--Piazza di Brà--The Austrians--Ponte
di Castel-Vecchio--San Zenone--San Fermo Maggiore--Chapel near the
Duomo--Romeo and Juliet--Dwarfs--Wells.....84
CHAPTER VII.
Neighbourhood of Verona--Vicenza: Cathedral--San Lorenzo--Santa
Corona--Palazzo della Ragione--Gothic Palaces--Palladio’s
Works--Teatro Olympico--Padua: Giotto’s Chapel--The
Eremitani--Sant’Antonio--The Duomo.....126
CHAPTER VIII.
Padua and Venice Railway--Venice: Piazza and Church of
S. Mark--Torcello--The Lagoon--Murano--Sta. Maria dei
Frari--SS. Giovanni e Paolo--Sta. Maria dell’ Orto--Other
Churches--Domestic Architecture--Fondaco de’ Turchi--Other
Byzantine Palaces--The Ducal Palace--Foscari Palace--Ca’
d’Oro--Other Gothic Palaces--Balconies--Venetian Architecture--A
Festival--Paintings.....149
CHAPTER IX.
New Roads to Venice--The Pusterthal--Innichen--Dolomite
Mountains--Heiligenblut--Kötschach--Kirchbach--Gail
Thal--Hermagor--Ober Tarvis--Predil
Pass--Gorizia--Aquileja--Grado--Udine--Pordenone.....238
Chapter X.
Venice to Verona--Verona to Mantua--Villa
Franca--Mantua: its Churches and Palaces--The
Theatre--Montenara--Campitello--Casalmaggiore--Longadore--Cremona:
the Cathedral--Churches and Public Buildings--Lodi--Pavia: its
Churches--Castle of the Visconti--The Certosa--Drive to Milan.....253
CHAPTER XI.
Drive from Padua to Ferrara--Monselice--Rovigo--Ferrara:
Cathedral--Castle--Gallery--Road to Bologna--Altedo--Bologna:
Cathedral--San Petronio--San Domenico--San Giacomo--Sta. Maria
Maggiore--San Francesco--San Stefano--Leaning Towers--Casa dei
Mercanti--Domestic Remains--Academy--Modena: Cathedral--Parma:
Cathedral--Correggio--The Baptistery--Piacenza: The Palazzo
Publico--Cathedral--San Francesco--Sant’ Antonino--San Giovanni in
Canale--Asti: Cathedral--San Secondo--Campanili.....286
CHAPTER XII.
Milan: the Cathedral--Sant’Ambrogio--Sant’Eustorgio--Sta. Maria
delle Grazie--Certosa of Chiaravalle--Novara--Vercelli--Monza: the
Cathedral--The Broletto--Sta. Maria in Strada--Como: the Broletto--The
Cathedral.....315
CHAPTER XIII.
Departure from Como--Varese--Lake of Varese--Italian
Boatmen--Intra--Laveno--Lago Maggiore--Magadino--Road to
Hospenthal--The Dazio Grande--Airolo--Hospenthal--Ascent of the
Furca--Valley of the Reuss--Lake of Luzern--Luzern--The Unter
Hauenstein--Strasburg.....344
CHAPTER XIV.
Concluding Summary--Classic and Gothic Architecture--Italian
Gothic--Shafts--Cornices--Monuments--Cloisters--Windows--Brickwork--Colour
in Construction--Truth in Architectural Design and Construction.....361
APPENDIX.
Catalogue of the Subjects of the Sculptured Capitals in the Lower
Stage of the Doge’s Palace, Venice.....409
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
(THE FULL-PAGE ENGRAVINGS ARE NUMBERED IN ORDER.)
PAGE
1. _Frontispiece._ N. Porch, Sta.
Maria Maggiore, Bergamo.
Shop-window, Rheinfelden.....16
2. Cloister of Zürich Cathedral....._to face_19*
Church on the Lake of Zürich.....22
Wooden spire, Ragatz.....32
3. Interior of Cathedral, Chur....._to face_33
Gravidona, ground-plan of Baptistery.....48
4. Gravidona, the Baptistery ....._to face_.....48
5. The Broletto, Bergamo.....“.....54
Campanile, Bergamo.....59
6. Malpaga Castle....._to face_62
Window, Coccaglio.....64
7. House at Coccaglio....._to face_65
Detail of windows and corbelling
for chimneys, Coccaglio.....65
Wooden balcony, Coccaglio.....66
8. Broletto, Brescia....._to face_69
Cloister, Broletto, Brescia.....69
Detail of circular window, Broletto,
Brescia.....70
Doorway, Broletto, Brescia.....71
Brick cornice, Broletto, Brescia.....71
San Francesco, Brescia.....72
9. Details of brickwork in Broletto....._to face_72
Cloister of the Carmine, Brescia.....74
10. Duomo, Trent, Eastern doorway....._to face_81
11. Campanile of Scaliger Palace,
Verona....._to face_84
Plan of Sta. Anastasia, Verona.....87*
12. Pavements, Sta. Anastasia, Verona....._to face_89
Sta. Anastasia, Verona, aisle
window.....90
Door-frame, Sta. Anastasia.....92
Door-frame, San Pietro Martire.....94
Crest of metal railing, Verona.....102
Metal railing, Verona.....103
13. Courtyard of the Scaliger Palace,
Verona....._to face_104
Doorway, old house, Verona.....105
Windows, old house, Verona.....106
Brick battlement, Viccolo Cavaletto,
Verona.....106
14. Courtyard of old house, Verona_to face_106
15. Cloister of San Zenone, Verona....._to face_111
16. Interior of San Zenone.....112
17. San Fermo Maggiore, Verona,
west front....._to face_121
18. Italian brickwork.....122
Domestic window, Verona.....123
19. Porta di Castello, Vicenza ....._to face_128
20. Houses in the Contrada Porto,
Vicenza....._to face_131
Arena Chapel, Padua, west end.....137
Arena Chapel, side window.....139
Sant’Antonio, Padua, ground-plan.....145*
21. Sant’Antonio, view from the
east....._to face_147
S. Mark’s, Venice, ground-plan.....156*
22. Duomo, Torcello, ambon and
screen....._to face_168
Sta. Fosca, Torcello, east end.....171
23. Interior of Sta. Maria dei Frari,
Venice....._to face_177
24. Exterior of Sta. Maria dei Frari,
Venice....._to face_180
Window, San Stefano, Venice.....186
25. Campanile, San Giacomo del
Rialto....._to face_187
26. Byzantine well, Venice.....“ 193
27. Corte del Remer.....“ 196
28. View of Venice, from the Romance
of Alexander, Bodleian
Library....._to face_204
29. Archway, Ponte del Paradiso....._to face_210
30. Doorway on the Ponte San Tomà....._to face_212
Brick battlement, Venice.....214
31. Angle window....._to face_216
Balcony, Venice.....217
Capital of window-shaft, Venice.....220
32. Palazzo Segredo....._to face_221
33. Window, Ponte del Fornaro.....“.....222
34. Staircase, Casa Goldoni.....“.....223
Venetian chimneys.....224
Aquileja, Patriarch’s throne.....243
35. Aquileja, interior of Duomo ....._to face_244
36. Udine, Palazzo Publico.....“.....248
37. Udine, steps to Palazzo Publico....._to face_249
Udine Cathedral, aisle windows.....250
38. Udine, tower and cathedral doorways....._to face_250
39. Ducal Palace, Mantua.....“.....255
40. Windows in ditto.....“.....256
41. Castello di Corte, Mantua.....“.....257
Brick window, Sant’Andrea.....258
42. Gateway, Palazzo della Ragione....._to face_258
43. Campanile of Sant’Andrea....._to face_259
Brick window, Sant’Andrea.....259
Brick window, Campitello.....262
Brick window, near Casalmaggiore.....262
44. North transept, Duomo, Cremona....._to face_266
Brick window, Duomo, Cremona.....267
Rose window, ditto.....268
45. Palace of the Jurisconsults,
Cremona....._to face_269
Window-jamb, ditto.....269
Chimney and battlement, ditto.....270
46. San Michele, Pavia, interior....._to face_276
47. Castle of the Visconti, Pavia.....“.....277
48. Bay of courtyard of ditto.....“.....278
49. San Pantaleone, Pavia.....“.....279
50. West end of San Francesco, Pavia....._to face_281
51. Certosa of Pavia.....“.....284*
52. Ferrara, the Duomo....._to face_288
53. San Petronio, Bologna, south
aisle....._to face_291
San Petronio, Bologna, plan.....292*
San Petronio, Bologna, section.....293*
54. San Petronio, Bologna, interior....._to face_294
55. Monument near San Domenico,
Bologna....._to face_296
Cloister, San Stefano, Bologna.....298
Brick window, Palazzo Publico,
Bologna.....301
56. South front of Duomo, Modena....._to face_304
Baptistery, Parma, plan.....307*
Baptistery, Parma, section.....307*
57. Piacenza, view of Palazzo Publico....._to face_308
Brickwork, Palazzo Publico, Piacenza.....310
Sant’Antonino, Piacenza, plan.....312*
Sant’Antonino, Piacenza, section.....313*
Duomo, Milan, ground-plan.....317*
58. Sant’Ambrogio, Milan, baldachin....._to face_326
59. Piazza dei Mercanti, Milan.....“.....329
60. Certosa of Chiaravalle.....“.....330
61. Sant’Andrea, Vercelli, interior....._to face_332
Window in Duomo, Monza.....335
62. The Broletto, Monza....._to face_337
Window in Broletto.....337
63. The Broletto, Como....._to face_340
64. Sta. Maria, Como.....“.....342
Cornice, San Francesco, Brescia.....379
String-course, Palace of Jurisconsults,
Cremona.....391
Window in north transept, Cremona.....392
Detail of window-jamb, Cremona.....393
Brick archivolt, Vescovato, Mantua.....394
Arch-mould, Cremona.....394
Window, Verona.....396
Brick window, Sant’Andrea,
Mantua.....397
65. Key-plan of Capitals in Doge’s
Palace, Venice....._to face_409
⁂ The engravings marked * are taken from Mr. Fergusson’s ‘History
of Architecture.’
BRICK AND MARBLE
IN THE
MIDDLE AGES.
CHAPTER I.
“Yet waft me from the harbour-mouth,
Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,
And I will see before I die
The palms and temples of the South.”
_Tennyson._
Routes to Italy--Paris--Strasburg--Rouffach--Basel.
An architectural tour in Italy seems to afford about as much prospect of
pleasure and information combined as any which it is possible for an
English student to take. He may see, if time allows, so much on his
road, that whether one thinks of the journey or the end of it all is, at
any rate in the perspective, charming. And in these days when, what with
railways, through-tickets, and Cook’s and other guides for timid
tourists, the journey from one end of Europe to the other is made so
quickly and so cheaply as to be within most educated men’s reach, it is
no wonder if most of us in our turn make the venture.
Many are the ways by which one may reach the North of Italy, but one or
two only of them seem now to be commonly used, to the exclusion of all
others, and with great loss of pleasure to all travellers who make the
journey more than once. The natural, because the quickest, road is now
by the Mont Cenis tunnel to Turin, and for the country described in
these pages nothing can be more convenient. But when my first journey
was made, it was more easy to take one of the passes leading to Milan,
and so I went by the Splügen. Since those days I have found my way to
and from Italy by other roads which I recommend strongly to others. I
pass by such a well-known road as that by railway over the Brenner, in
order to suggest three other roads, either of which brings the traveller
down upon Venetia in the happiest possible frame of mind if he is at all
capable of being moved to pleasure by the sight of exquisite scenery,
pleasant and religious people, and roads and country not too much
crowded with tourists.
The first of these is by the Lake of Constance, the Vorarlberg, and the
Vintschgau to Botzen; the next by the Brenner pass as far as
Franzensfeste, and thence by the Ampezzo pass through Cortina and
Cadore--Titian’s country--to Conegliano, and so by railway to Venice, a
road lighted up by the wild beauty of the Dolomite mountains and now
unaccountably neglected by English tourists; the third, and perhaps the
most charming, though somewhat indirect, and requiring more time, again
by the Brenner as far as Franzensfeste, thence by railway to
Lienz--stopping to see the fine church and Dolomite mountains at
Innichen on the way--and then by country carriages from the Pusterthal
into the Gailthal where there is the most charming combination I know of
pastoral and picturesque scenery, seasoned by interesting old churches;
and thence to Ober Tarvis and by the stern and magnificent Predil pass
to the head of the Adriatic at Gorizia, whence--after seeing Aquileja
and Grado--the traveller may, with halts at Udine and Pordenone, reach
his goal at Venice by railway.
But in this my first journey to Italy, I was sufficiently happy in
finding the Splügen prescribed for me as on the whole the most
convenient mode of reaching in succession all the spots which had most
special interest for me. My scheme was to make myself fairly well
acquainted with some of the most interesting Italian cities north of the
Apennines, and for this purpose to descend from the Splügen on Bergamo,
and from thence to go on to Venice, halting as often as necessary by the
way, and then to return by Mantua, Cremona, and Pavia, or by Ferrara,
Bologna, Parma, and Piacenza to Milan, and so home. And railways, if
they have made the journey somewhat more easy than it was, and have
deprived it now and then of the charm which always attends the
recollection of impediments and difficulties on the road, have not in
any way altered the advantages of such a route for those whose tastes
are at all akin to those which I carried abroad with me in those days,
and carry still with undiminished strength. Whether, however, one enters
Italy by one pass or another, the first part of one’s journey is by the
well-worn road to Paris, which, by reason, I suppose, of its being the
prelude to nearly every holiday tour that I make, never seems to be
stale, old, or too well-known.
There is something very novel, and it strikes me more every time it is
seen, in the aspect of everything directly you have crossed the Channel;
indeed, there is no country in Europe so much as France, and no city,
perhaps, so much as Paris, which strikes an Englishman as being foreign
in its aspect, and new in all its customs and proceedings. The dress of
every one, the arrangements of the railways, the harnessing and
character of the horses, the mode of life in hotels, and the ordinary
habits and pleasant traits of the middle classes are all quite fresh to
the English eye. Nor is the aspect of the country less so: fields cut up
into small strips of a dozen kinds of crops; unprosperous-looking cows,
each feeding discontentedly and drearily, tethered to a man or woman on
a small patch of grass; corn cut and then stacked in small cocks for a
month or two of exposure to the pleasant changes of the atmosphere; and
the entire absence of hedge-rows and other trees than poplars, all go to
make up a thoroughly un-English picture.
After skirting the coast and its dreary expanse of sandhills, reminding
one very much of those singular sands on the north coast of Cornwall,
which are so often shifting about, covering up new churches, or
uncovering the old oratory of some early British saint, we reach the
banks of the Somme, and then travel along a poor peaty tract of country
until the famous west front and short but lofty nave of Abbeville come
in view. Thence by a valley (rather more rich than is common in good
churches) we continue our race for Amiens. Among these churches I may
instance the hipped saddle-back roofed steeples of Picquigny, Hangest,
and Pont Rémy, as very valuable examples of their order; that of
Picquigny, indeed, surmounting a central steeple, and finished at the
top with some delicate open ironwork, is about as graceful a specimen as
I know.
At Longpré is another church with a steeple of some pretension, but not
satisfactory. It has a perforated spire of stone much too small for the
size of the tower, and ungraceful in the extreme.
At Amiens one always longs to stop again and again to feast one’s eyes
upon its glorious cathedral, perhaps after Chartres and the Parthenon
the noblest and most masculine piece of architecture in the world. But
with us this was impossible; our destiny was--come what might--to
endeavour at any rate to discharge ourselves in Paris within the
shortest possible number of hours from London; and the dusk of the early
autumn evening prevented our having more than the very slightest glimpse
of the Minster.
The refreshment-room at Amiens is one of the best I have ever been
in--reasonable, clean, and good--and placed just at that happy distance
from the sea at which the poor wretches who have been in the depths of
woe on the passage begin to recover their presence of mind, and with it,
of course--as good Englishmen--their appetites; what wonder then if the
Buffet at Amiens prospers!
The rest of our journey to Paris was all performed in the dark, relieved
only by the sight of the then long-expected comet, and it was almost
midnight ere we found ourselves settled at our hotel.
I am never sorry to have a day in Paris. In spite of alterations and
reconstructions which have converted an interesting old city into the
most spick-and-span place in the world, there are even to the present
day parts which are untouched by the improver, and full of a pleasant
national character which seems to be little to the liking of the rulers
of the French. There is, too, in spite of the changes which a great and
rich city must always undergo, a great deal which is interesting to the
architect. We may look at old engravings, and wish ourselves back in
those old times when the walls surrounded the city where now the
Boulevards run round its heart, when the Temple and a number of other
important buildings, now wholly destroyed, adorned the country just
outside the walls; but the city which has still, among other
architectural treasures, such churches as Notre Dame, S. Germain des
Près, the Sainte Chapelle, S. Martin des Champs, and a host of lesser
lights, and the Chapel of Vincennes, and S. Denis within a short drive,
is in quite a different category from such a city as London, and is
indeed hardly second to any other in Europe in architectural interest.
To come to much later times and very different work, it is always
pleasant to be able to walk down the Boulevard des Italiens to the
Madeleine, and for a few minutes to gaze at a church which certainly
presents one very grand idea--that of space--clothed in very gorgeous
dress. One always feels a certain sympathy for a church in which so many
people are ever praying; and I have never yet been into this church
without being able to count them by scores. The last time I was at Paris
I remember being struck by seeing for the first time a peripteral
building made really useful. The walls within the columns were hung with
rich draperies, and a long procession coming out marched round the
circuit of the church between the columns and the walls, and in again at
the west door; the effect was, as may be imagined, very striking.
From the Madeleine we found our way to the new church of S. Clothilde, a
large cruciform church, and the last erected in Paris in the Gothic
style. Its design is intended to be of early character, but in reality
is quite late in its effect; nor do I know when I have seen anything
much less successful than the two western steeples rising but a short
distance above the nave roof, and looking mean and weak to a degree. In
plan the church is not badly arranged; there is just such a choir as
might easily be properly used, and a large space for congregational
purposes.
How much we want churches, in this respect at least, somewhat like S.
Clothilde, in our large cities in England!
There are here a great many windows filled with stained glass, executed,
I believe, by Mons. Marischal. His windows are illustrations of a truth
which men are very slow to receive and act upon, viz. that in decorating
a transparent material, one whose transparency moreover is the sole
cause of its use, we have no right to shade it with dark colours so far
as to destroy its brilliancy. These windows were elaborately shaded,
and, as a necessary consequence, were heavy and dismal in their effect;
besides which, most unpleasant mixtures of green, yellow, and ruby, and
of ruby and blue--very glaring and very bad--abounded.
The carving of the capitals is, as is usually the case in recent foreign
works, all derived from natural types of foliage, and is fairly well
done: but the carving of rather elaborate sculptures of the “Stations”
did not please me, having none of the severity of ancient examples. When
shall we see a school of sculptors rise able really to satisfy the
requirements of the times? I confess I despair more on this point than
on any other; for I have as yet seen no fair attempt made to recover the
style, or work upon the principles, of the best mediæval sculptors. The
work of our modern sculptors is nearly all foreign and unreal, and
almost always involves the assumption that they are representing the
proceedings of the Greeks or Romans, and not of the English: it is
impossible therefore that such a school can be healthy, strong, or
successful. We lack men who will give us (clothed with as much
anatomical correctness as they like, so that they do not leave them
lifeless and academical) representations of subjects from English
history and national life, illustrations of the Scriptures which we
still believe, of the faith which we still profess, conceived in
something of the architectonic and yet really dramatic and romantic
spirit which marks the best sculpture of the middle ages. The strange
thing is that with works near at hand which few living men could rival,
they absolutely refuse to study them at all, and I believe if we were to
summon all the most eminent sculptors to a conclave and put them to the
question, not one in four of them would confess to having ever been to
Chartres or Bourges, and four out of five would assert that it would
have done them no good if they had. If they would give us anything at
all comparable to the great works of the best Greeks the case would be
altogether different, but to be served with a réchauffé of the antique
when one is crying out for something suitable to the present, is cause
enough for the apathy of the English public about sculptors’ work. We
ask for English history or Bible story, and are treated to nymphs
combing their hair; and for figures of our Lord and St. Peter, and get
nothing but Musidoras and Clyties. No sculptor would lose much by the
study of the best mediæval examples of drapery--and there are among the
gothic statues which deck the doors and porches of the churches I have
named, some of the most admirable description, such as warrant any one,
who is at all troubled with feeling for his art, in using strong
language about those who neglect them. In Italy we shall find the same
careful shutting of men’s eyes to what is good, simply because it
belongs to the thirteenth or fourteenth centuries. Orvieto is left on
one side in order to spend time over work not possessed of a tithe of
the beauty of that on its cathedral façade; and, indeed, just as the
French examples, they appear only too often never even to have been so
much as heard of!
The study of ancient sculpture in England is not quite so easy, because
our old buildings are not so rich in it as are the French; but if one is
told--as one is too often--that the art of sculpture in the middle ages
was unknown or rude in comparison with its state now, one may fairly
refer to some of the modern attempts at its imitation for a proof that
this was not the case, as e.g. to the recumbent effigy of Archbishop
Howley at Canterbury, or to another, of some more humble individual, in
the south transept of Chichester Cathedral; a glance only at which, and
a comparison with some of the noble mediæval effigies lying in all the
stateliness of their repose by their sides, will at once show any one
that it is not merely necessary to put an effigy upon its back with its
hands in prayer in order to vie with the effigies of the thirteenth and
fourteenth centuries. The position is something, but not all, and
requires very much more skill in its treatment than of late years we
have had to bestow.
From S. Clothilde we went first to the pleasant gardens of the
Luxembourg--gardens which always make one envious for London--and thence
to Notre Dame. Here I always feel no slight pride in the success which
its architect has achieved. Six hundred years have passed over Paris,
one effort after another has been made, vast sums of money have been
spent, and still this great work stands supreme and separated by a vast
distance from all competition, and greatest beyond comparison of all
Parisian buildings, not only in its general scheme, but equally in the
admirable design and execution of every detail. There is much to be seen
and learnt here in every way. The west doors are superb. The planning
and construction are very fine, and the series of sculptures behind the
stalls full of interest and well worthy of study.
From Notre Dame one goes, of course, to the Sainte Chapelle. When this
journey was undertaken everything about this chef-d’œuvre was
gradually growing to perfection: the flèche was being put up on the
roof, the painting on the walls was nearly finished, and the altar was
in progress. Since then it has escaped, as it were by a special
providence (and why not?), from the incendiary fire which destroyed
almost the whole of the surrounding Palais de Justice, and it still
rises uninjured among the ruins. Of all the chapels of the same kind it
is certainly the most beautiful--and whether one names our own St.
Stephen’s, or thinks of others, such as the Chapel at S. Germer and the
other at Riom, the Paris chapel is certainly by far the finest--being in
truth a real work of inspired genius.
Altogether, I cannot help thinking that the effect upon the mind of what
one sees in Paris is very unsatisfactory; the revival of Christian art
seems, as it were, to be only skin-deep; there seems to be no enthusiasm
for it. What is done is done in the same way as other public works, as
the business of the state, not by the will of the people. The
scaffolding, which was just being removed from the avenue leading from
the Tuileries to the Barrière de l’Etoile, after having assisted at the
fête of Napoleon, was an illustration sufficiently apt of the work which
seems to engage too many of the artists of Paris; Parisian fête
composers and decorators really appear to be the architects of the day,
and of course this fact must mitigate very much against real art in
every branch, as its tendency is to make people accustomed to temporary
exhibitions, the shortcomings of which are pardoned on the score of
their temporary character, and so the artist is lowered in his tone by
assisting in the production of works which are not intended--as all
great works ought to be intended--to last for ages.
A day in Paris is generally a long and tiring one; and so we found it;
but nevertheless we pushed on without delay, and leaving our hotel
before the table-d’hôte was much more than half over, we drove to the
station of the Strasburg Railway, and in a few minutes we were _en
route_. If any one doubts the possibility of really resting one’s body
in a railway carriage, let him take the same precaution that we took,
and he need not despair: a day of sight-seeing in Paris is certainly the
best possible recipe for sound sleep in a railway carriage, and I
believe that when we arrived at Strasburg, at about eight the next
morning, we were very fairly rested. I confess, however, that I did feel
a twinge of horror when I found that the train by which we were anxious
to reach Basel left again in about half an hour--too long to wait, but
not long enough for either breakfast or dressing. There seemed, however,
to be no alternative, and so on we went, comforting ourselves as best we
might with some sour grapes and bad dry bread--the sole edibles
procurable at the Strasburg buffet!
The Railway from Strasburg to Basel is much more enjoyable than
iron-ways generally are. There is scarce a cutting during the whole
extent of the journey, and the views of the chain of the Vosges
are--before one has gazed on real mountains in Switzerland--very
delightful.
The railway runs up the broad valley of the Rhine, and within a few
miles of Strasburg approaches very near to the mountainous district. The
outlines of the hills are bold, picturesque, and well varied; and, as
they rise rather precipitously from the valley, are often crowned with
ruined castles, and have on their lower slopes large and
populous-looking villages, they are at any rate very pleasing neighbours
for a railway journey.
A few architectural notes of such churches as are passed on this route
(which I travelled not for the first time) will not be out of place,
though, with one exception, there is not anything of great value.
At Schlestadt there is a large tower of late date to the principal
church, which is rather fine in its effect. It has its two upper stages
nearly similar, which is rarer at home than abroad. Another church has
an early spire; and there is a smaller church with a good open turret.
Opposite Schlestadt the chain of the Vosges is very striking, and some
of the picturesque outlines of hills capped with ruined castles remind
one of the more famous banks of the lower portion of the Rhine. Beyond
Schlestadt we reach Colmar, the cathedral of which is large, and has a
late tower capped with an ugly bulbous roof. Another church in Colmar
has a good open-work and very light turret rising from the middle of the
length of its roof. The effect of this kind of turret, of which we in
England have no examples, is always very satisfactory.
But the best church in the whole extent of this journey is that of
Rouffach, one on whose merits ‘Murray’--whose services all travellers
must gratefully acknowledge--is silent. It is of early date, cruciform
in its plan, and the crossing surmounted by a good early tower and spire
of octangular form. Each side of the tower has a good window, above
which a string-course forms the base to a gable on each side. The angles
of the spire spring from the bases of these eight gables, and the whole
design reminded me somewhat of the only example of the same type in
England--the beautiful steeple of Lostwithiel. Rouffach has a good choir
terminating in an apse, and a south-western steeple, surmounted by a
slender spire too small for the tower. Altogether, the general effect of
the church is very fine. Beyond this point there are no features of
interest; the Vosges retreat into the distance, and nothing is to be
seen but a dead flat of field and wood, relieved occasionally by a
village or town, remarkable mainly for the ugliness of its church. The
busy manufacturing town of Mulhausen is passed, the number of stations
is carefully reckoned, and long before you catch the first view of Basel
you are heartily sick of the slow pace at which the Strasburg and Basel
Railway Company always arrange to carry their passengers.
Those who know the Hotel of the Three Kings at Basel will understand how
grateful was the information given to us, as we mounted its steps, that
the table-d’hôte was to be ready in half an hour. Refreshing enough at
any time, such an announcement was doubly so to travellers just arrived
from a journey from Paris without a stoppage; and in no bad spirit did
we enter the salle à manger, whose windows, opening into balconies which
absolutely overhang the great and glorious Rhine, flowing strong and
quick for ever in the same unceasing current, make it about the
pleasantest room of the kind that I know.
There are few things in the world so fine as a mighty river, few rivers
so fine as the Rhine, and few spots so favourable for its contemplation
as the balcony at Basel. As you look at the deep colour of the water,
you think of all the wonders which on its way it has seen. You remember
your own exploits and pleasant walks in past times along the lovely
valley of the Aar, and over the barren and stony waste of the Grimsel,
to the source of this beautiful feeder of the Rhine; or you think of
Lake Constance and Schaffhausen, and of the beautiful valley of the
Upper Rhine, and of the lakes of Wallenstadt, Lucerne, Brienz, and
Thun--every one of which seems to the mind’s eye to be represented and
brought near by each wave that dashes madly along before your gaze. And
then, whither do they all so swiftly wend their way? Down by minsters
and by castles, along broad plains, through narrow water-worn chasms,
and again through great, dreary, but many-peopled flats, into the sea,
there to mix themselves and all their recollections in the great,
glorious, but tradition-despising depth of Old Ocean.
CHAPTER II.
“For pallid autumn once again
Hath swell’d each torrent of the hill;
Her clouds collect, her shadows sail,
And watery winds that sweep the vale
Grow loud and louder still.”
_Campbell._
Churches of Basel--Storks--Rheinfelden--Frick--Baden--Zurich: the
Cathedral--Fondness of the Swiss for Bright Colours--Lake of
Zurich--Rapperswyl--Linth Canal--A Wayside Inn--Wesen.
At Basel we engaged a voiturier to take us to Baden, whence the only
Swiss railway was to have the privilege of conveying us to Zurich. Our
scheme for reaching Italy was to pass by the lakes of Zurich and
Wallenstadt, and then, following the valley of the Rhine, to cross over
the pass of the Splügen to Chiavenna, and so to reach Lake Como.
We left Basel at two o’clock in the afternoon, hoping to reach Baden by
about nine; the weather looked threatening, but we took a cheerful view
of this, as of everything else, as all good travellers should, and
comforted ourselves with the thought that at any rate we could better
afford to have a wet day between Basel and Baden than between Zurich and
the Splügen.
The view of the city as you leave it is certainly very striking; the
cathedral spires are picturesque in their outline, and the number of
churches with turrets and steep roofs combine with them to produce a
most ecclesiastical-looking town. Nor need any one interested in
architecture despair of finding much pleasure in a more careful
inspection of its buildings. They are full of interest, though generally
passed too rapidly by people in a hurry to get on to enjoy the pleasures
which await them beyond.
The roofing of the cathedral is worthy of notice as being composed of
variously coloured tiles, arranged in diamond patterns over the surface
of the roof, and giving a degree of richness to the colouring of this
generally heavy part of the building which is very admirable.
In another fine church of the early part of the fourteenth century here,
I remember being amused to see how quietly the storks possess themselves
of all kinds of places for their nests, and think even the ridge of the
steep roof of a church a proper place for their abode. The good people
at Basel build their chimneys with flat tops for the express benefit of
their long-legged friends; who, from their elevated and well-warmed
abodes, look down sedately, and with a well-satisfied air upon their
unfledged brethren below.
Why the people here love storks, the people of Venice pigeons, and the
people of Berne bears, I leave to more industrious inquirers to decide,
satisfied only to notice the fact that it is so, as each of these
fancies adds one to the list of local peculiarities so valuable in the
recollections of a journey.
The road from Basel to Baden is for the first half of the way very
pretty; we came in, unfortunately, for rather drenching rain, and so
lost all beyond the suggestion of some striking views. The towns through
which we passed were not of much interest, though there were many
picturesque and pleasant-looking subjects for the pencil. The most
striking place on the road was Rheinfelden, a largish village (or
perhaps I ought to say small town, as it rejoices in a Rath-haus of
some pretension), surrounded by very high walls, and entered by tall
stone gate-towers, pierced with pointed arches, and surmounted by upper
stages of timber, with tiled roofs of quaint and effective character;
and here and at Stein and Baden I noticed that almost all the houses
were old and very little altered. I observed particularly the old
shop-windows of very simple design, closed with folding shutters, and
taking one back to old times most decidedly in their design.
[Illustration: SHOP-WINDOW, RHEINFELDEN.]
Beyond Rheinfelden the road, which so far has skirted the Rhine rather
closely, leaves it again for a few miles until it touches it for the
last time at the small town of Stein.
From Stein we saw an imposing-looking church on the other side of the
river at Sekingen. It has a great western front with two bulbous-topped
steeples, and is of very considerable length. The division between choir
and nave is marked by a delicate turret, and the whole church, as far as
one can judge by a distant view, looks as though it would well repay a
visit. There are six bays in the nave, five and an apse in the choir.
The former has very simple windows, whilst in the latter they are rather
elaborate. There is no aisle to the choir and no transept.
The rain continued incessantly until we reached the long straggling
village of Frick, a quaint and antique-looking place, where our
voiturier stopped for an hour to bait his horses, who, however, at
Rheinfelden had enjoyed a treat in the shape of a loaf of very brown
bread, a kind of food second only, in the estimation of foreign steeds,
to the precious _morceaux_ of lump sugar with which Swiss voituriers are
so fond of encouraging and petting them.
We were nothing loth to stretch our legs; and finding that the church
was worthless--one of those unhappy bulbous-spired and bulbous-roofed
erections so common in some parts of the Continent, and the roof of even
the eastern apse of which was twisted into a most ingenious and ugly
compound curve--we took up our quarters in the respectable hostelry and
“Bierbrauerei” of the Angel, and devoted ourselves to the consumption of
coffee and beer of no bad quality. Our host wished sadly to see us
located under his roof for the night, but we were resolute in our
determination to reach Baden that night, and so persisted in going,
though to our subsequent regret.
It was soon dark, and the new moon, which shone cheerfully upon us, gave
us just a glimpse occasionally of the scenery, which about Brugg, where
we crossed the Aar, and again at Königsfelden, seemed to be remarkably
good.
At last, at about half-past ten o’clock, we reached what we fondly hoped
was to be our resting-place. But Baden chose not to take us in, and to
our horror, as we drove up to the chief and only available inn, we were
met with the dismal announcement from the mouth of the civil landlord,
that all the rooms were full.
However, we dismounted, and found that there was no other inn in Baden
proper, but that at the Baths there were several; at them our landlord
assured us that he knew we should find no room, and so we thought it
useless to return and try. Our only course seemed to be to feed our
horses again and then go on to Zurich; and as Swiss drivers and Swiss
horses never seem to tire of trotting on slowly and drowsily along the
road, there was no difficulty in at once coming to an arrangement with
our coachman.
Accordingly, at midnight we started again, hoping at some early hour in
the morning to reach Zurich. It was sufficiently provoking to be toiling
on slowly and sleepily for nearly four hours almost alongside of a
railroad which would have taken us early the next morning in
three-quarters of an hour; but there was no help for it, and so we did
the best we could, by sleeping whenever we were able, to pass the weary
hours away.
At last, just as the day began to dawn, we came in sight of Zurich and
its lake, and last, not least, we reached the great hotel. Here we
pulled up, knocked desperately, awoke the slumbering porter--but, alas!
only to hear again the unwelcome sounds which had greeted our ears at
Baden! He suggested, however, that at the Hôtel Belle Vue we should
probably find beds, and so on we drove, rather in despair at our
prospects, though, happily, unnecessarily so, for the Belle Vue gladly
opened its arms for our reception, and ere long we were, oblivious of
all our toil, comfortably ensconced in bed. From our windows we had a
pleasant view of our quarters; it was broad daylight, and the prospect
was--as from such a position, looking up a lake, it always is--very fair
and charming.
We were up again soon after eight, and were glad to find the morning
fine, though the clouds were low, and we saw, consequently, nothing of
the distant view of mountains which lends its greatest charms to Zurich.
The town is, however, pretty and striking. The picturesque houses, with
wooded hills on all sides beyond them, and very charming views of the
lake, if they do not make its attractions first-rate, at any rate make
them very considerable.
The main feature of interest for me was the cathedral, a fine Romanesque
church, very fairly perfect, but mutilated in its interior arrangements
by the Calvinists, in whose hands it now is. In plan, it has a nave with
aisles of six bays, a
[Illustration: 2.--CLOISTER, ZURICH CATHEDRAL. Page 19]
short choir, and east of this a square-ended sanctuary, the aisles
having apses, roofed with semi-domes. In the nave two of the
aisle-arches make one groining bay. The transverse groining-ribs are of
a simple square section, the diagonal ribs having in addition a large
round member. The triforium is very large and fine, and is made use of
for congregational purposes, being fitted up with seats, which,
curiously enough, are all made to turn up as misereres. There are no
transepts. The sanctuary arch is loftier than the choir arch, and seems
to have been intended to be very distinctly marked. In the clerestory
there are two simple round-headed lights in each bay; the choir is
arcaded all round internally, and for frigidity of effect cannot be
surpassed; the internal fittings comprise an immense pulpit, but, so far
as I could see, not even an apology for an altar.
The exterior has two western steeples,[1] and a north doorway, each jamb
of which has three detached shafts, standing considerably in advance of
the wall, which is entirely covered with diapers. The arch itself is
semi-circular, and very simple in its moulding; but this simplicity
rather adds to than detracts from its general grandeur of effect. The
whole is inserted in an additional thickness of wall, set on, as it
were, against the original wall, and the extreme width of the doorway
itself is no less than eighteen feet nine inches. The cloisters were
remarkable, and very good of their kind; the arches rested on detached
shafts, the capitals of which were elaborately carved in a very peculiar
manner, but very effectively. The whole design was unlike any Northern
Romanesque, and bore much more similarity to the best Lombard work.
Unfortunately, the whole of this cloister was rebuilt in 1851, the
carving having been re-worked, or renewed throughout in imitation of the
original. It will be seen, however, that, in spite of alterations, this
is a very fine church, of a very early type, and peculiarly valuable in
a country which, like Switzerland, has comparatively little left that is
really good in the way of architectural examples.
There are other churches in Zurich, but I believe not old, and at any
rate I had no time to examine them. One of them is appropriated to the
use of the Roman Catholics; and there is one desecrated, rising from the
edge of the lake, and forming a prominent object in the general view of
the town as you leave by the steamer; this is of good outline, but has
no details remaining of any value. The point chiefly to be noticed in
the churches of Zurich appears to be the way in which their spires are
all painted red, looking in the full sunshine very bright and
picturesque.
The Swiss have a great feeling for bright colour, and on our way from
Basel to Baden we noticed one of the many instances of this in several
turrets covered with brightly-coloured glazed tiles. A light green seems
to be the favourite colour, and is commonly used without mixture with
any other. They look best with their lower side rounded, and when of
small size; and are constantly used in turrets rising out of roofs which
are entirely covered with plain tiles. I remember, two years before,
noticing with extreme pleasure the beauty of some dark green tiles used
at Schaffhausen; and I have already had occasion to mention those on the
cathedral at Basel with equal commendation. Unhappily, we have to lament
that English people, in their insane hatred of bright colours, if they
saw such tiles used in England, would be horrified at such a violation
of the correct simplicity and uniformity of colour to which the
cheapness of slate has made them accustomed. Some modern attempts,
however, at introducing coloured tiles have not been so successful as
could be wished; and of all, perhaps the least so is the roof of the new
Maria Hilf church at Munich, on which tiles of light blue colour are
used in such large masses, that at first sight it seems that half the
roof is stripped, and that the pale blue sky is seen instead of roof.
At ten o’clock we left our hotel by the steamer for Schmerikon at the
head of the Lake of Zurich. The weather still looked doubtful, though
much better than on the previous day, and our host of the Belle Vue,
taking a good view of this, as is a landlord’s duty, conducted us to the
boat with smiling anticipations of fine days to come.
The shores of the lake are, for the greater part of its length,
literally fringed with houses all painted white, and contrasting
violently with the trees, vineyards, and green hills by which they are
backed. On the north the shore is low and gradually shelving down to the
water; on the south it is rather more precipitous, but after all not
very striking. At the head of the lake heavy dark round clouds hung upon
the hills, and left us in pleasant doubt as to whether or no we had fine
mountains to discover when they cleared away; a doubt, as it happened,
not settled, as far as we were concerned, save by certain lively and not
too trustworthy representations which we afterwards met with, in the
shape of advertisements of the Zurich hotels, and which showed a line of
snow mountains as the ordinary horizon of their visitors.
The churches on the lake are very numerous and very similar. The
steeples are almost always gabled, and from these gables rise spires
painted red, and very thin and taper in their form. The gabled sides of
the towers are generally made useful rather than ornamental by the
introduction of enormous clock-dials. The only decidedly mediæval church
which I saw between Zurich and Rapperswyl was at one of the villages on
the north shore of the lake, I think at Meilen, but I am rather
uncertain as to the name. Its design is both novel and very good; the
pinnacles on the gable being unusual in saddle-backed steeples, and
giving considerable picturesqueness of outline. The accompanying woodcut
will show the general character of the design, and it will be seen that
the tower is on the north side of the choir. The steeple roof is covered
with greyish-red tiles, with a pattern marked on them with yellow tiles.
[Illustration: CHURCH ON THE LAKE OF ZURICH.]
The steamers on this, as on most Swiss lakes, are somewhat tedious in
their journeys, as they take a most zigzag course, first calling on one
side of the lake and then on the other, until one doubts whether one
will ever reach the journey’s end. At Horgen of course we discharged a
large proportion of our English passengers, who were all bound for the
Rigi, but their places were soon occupied by the umbrella-loving
natives, who flocked in and out of the boat in great numbers at every
station, and by the time we reached Rapperswyl we had no more
fellow-countrymen in the boat, and perhaps, like many Englishmen, to say
the truth, we then first thoroughly realised that we were abroad. Much
as one loves one’s country, certainly one source of pleasure when abroad
is the not hearing too much English spoken or seeing too many English
faces.
At Rapperswyl, famous for having the longest bridge in the world, there
is a most conspicuous group of buildings on rising ground above the
lake, very picturesquely thrown together; it consists of a church and a
castle; the latter has several towers capped with pyramidal and
saddle-backed roofs, and the former has two towers in the position of
transepts, with saddle-back roofs gabled north and south, the southern
tower being considerably the larger of the two. Altogether, the group is
one of uncommon variety and picturesqueness of outline. Below, in the
town, is a small church, with a most happily-conceived though very
simple bell-turret rising out of the roof, square in its plan, but
capped with an octagonal spirelet. This is a not uncommon plan in this
part of Switzerland, and is always most agreeable in its effect. The
views from the terrace by the side of this castle are of singular
beauty. It is high enough above the lake to command a good view of its
whole expanse, and to secure a not too distant view of some of the
mountain peaks of Glarus. Rapperswyl is a good point to stop at, for the
sake of a visit to the famous pilgrimage church at Einsiedeln, certainly
one of the spots in Switzerland most curious and interesting, though its
buildings have no claims to our regard on the score of architectural
beauty.
Passing under, or rather through, the bridge, we found that it was very
narrow and had no side railing of any kind, so that it appears to be far
from a pleasant contrivance for crossing the mile or two of shallow
water which here scarce serves to keep up the appearance even of a lake;
and perhaps it is upon the score of the absence of real danger of
drowning if one fell over that they dispense with any protection. At
Schmerikon, which we reached in four hours from Zurich, we left our
steamer, and immediately embarked on a barge in order to go by the Linth
canal to Wesen; but we found that, however expeditious this might be in
descending, it was a kind of conveyance not to be recommended highly to
any one wishing to ascend the canal, inasmuch as--unlike ordinary
canals--this is neither more nor less than the glacier-torrent of the
Linth bringing down the melting snow from the Glärnitsch and Todi
glaciers, and rushing along at a really tremendous pace; to those,
however, who have time, it may be commended as affording magnificent
views of the mountains of Glarus and of those which rise so grandly
above the Lake of Wallenstadt.
As we entered the canal from the lake we were amused by the unsuccessful
attempts of our crew to secure some wild-fowl, two of which they
succeeded in shooting, and then, without any kind of regard for the
feelings of passengers panting to arrive at Wesen in the promised two
hours and a half, they deliberately proceeded--of course in vain--to
chase the unhappy birds, which, though wounded, were quite able to dive
much deeper than their enemies could reach, and so the only consequence
of the chase was a hearty laugh at the expense of the baffled sportsmen,
half an hour’s delay, and much lost ground to be made up.
The entrance to the canal was very striking; a low hill covered with
larch and birch rose from the water’s edge, and above this, the
mountains, gradually shelving upwards, were terminated in a line of
rocky ridges of very grand and rugged character. Whilst we were admiring
the view a slight shower passed over us, and the sun suddenly breaking
out, produced one of those lovely effects of colour so peculiar to
mountain scenery; a rainbow seemed exactly to fill up one of the great
basins formed by the undulations of the mountains, and, after bathing a
great sweep of mountain-side in the richest and most distinctly marked
colours, gradually died away.
The canal, which at first looks more like a river, soon takes a bend to
the S.W., and then, passing under a quaint wooden bridge, over which
passes the road to Uznach, we found ourselves in what certainly looked
sufficiently canal-like. The stream is so rapid that the walls built up
on either side are preserved from being washed away by stone groins
running out into the stream, and acting as so many breakwaters to keep
the water in the centre. Slowly and steadily our horses pulled us up,
whilst we, mounted on the top of the cabin, were able to see over the
walled sides of the canal, and to enjoy the glorious prospect before us.
Before long our captain blandly informed us that he was going to stop
for dinner at a wayside house, so we, anxious to make the same good use
of our time, attempted to follow his example. Unfortunately the
landlord, though very jolly-looking, had a very badly stocked larder,
and we had to satisfy ourselves with bread, honey, and wine. It is true,
indeed, that our host did produce some cold meat--portion, as I
imagined, of a goat dressed some ten days back--but this was not
eatable, and was valuable only as furnishing an opportunity to him of
showing his perfect power of making the best of a bad thing. To season
the goat he brought in vinegar and oil, and, putting them upon the
table, exclaimed with some _empressement_, “Voilà, monsieur; mais le
vinaigre n’est pas bon!” just as if this was the strongest
recommendation he could give us! We laughed heartily, avoided the
vinegar, and parted good friends with our host, thanking him from our
hearts for having saved us the painful operation of making the discovery
about its quality for ourselves!
Our not very satisfying repast finished, we embarked again upon our
barge, and in the occasional intervals, when sudden and heavy storms of
rain obliged us to seek shelter in the cabin, we were much amused in
watching the proceedings of some men belonging to the boat, who spent
the whole of the five hours consumed in the journey in an unceasing game
of cards; I must do them the justice to say that they played very
good-humouredly, and laughed without ceasing. Under no circumstances
could we have seen the scenery more gloriously; occasional bright gleams
of sunshine broke in upon and followed clouds of the most inky hue, and
then came pelting down heavy showers, accompanied by howling wind and
darkness; and as we reached the opening of the valley, looking up beyond
Glarus to the great mountains which close in its upper end, I think the
effect was really more grand and terrific than anything I have ever
seen. The mountains are of very fine outline, and of great height, as we
saw by the more than occasional glimpses which we had of snow about
their summits. By the time we reached Wesen the wind was so violent that
we found it difficult to keep our places upon the top of the cabin; and
we disembarked just before dark, in time to see the fine mountains on
each side of the Lake of Wallenstadt here and there through the
storm-clouds, and its waters beaten by the wind into not insignificant
waves. We had to walk through the entire length of the village--a
picturesque, quaint little place, sheltered under the almost overhanging
rocks at the side of the water--and arrived at last at the capital and
thoroughly Swiss inn, the Hôtel de l’Epée, where we were to sleep.
Travellers now speed very differently along this country, and, I fear,
see less than they ought of its beauties. Steamboats no longer attempt
to pass beyond Rapperswyl, and the railway hurries one along by the
beautiful Lake of Wallenstadt to the valley of the Rhine, only earning
one’s gratitude when one is in violent haste, and because by a branch
line it makes a détour to Glarus and Stachelberg much more possible than
it was when first I made the journey. On the whole I fear, where
railways pass through beautiful scenery, the tourist loses more than he
can possibly gain, not only in the views of the country, but equally in
the incidents of travel, which are becoming only too monotonous and
similar everywhere.
CHAPTER III.
“Where the mountains
Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and luminous summits.”
_Evangeline._
Wallenstadt--Sargans--Gorge of the
Tamina--Ragatz--Chur--Ems--Reichenau--Thusis--Zillis--Andeer--Splügen--The
Splügen Pass--The Custom-house--Cascade of the Medessimo--Campo
Dolcino.
The storm of the evening gave no kind augury of sunshine on the morrow,
and with rather anxious thoughts we listened as it roared among the
mountains which overhung our hostelry. But it seemed that we had
suffered enough, and when we woke we found that, though the clouds had
not yet cleared off from the sides of the mountains, there was
nevertheless every prospect of a fine day.
We were obliged to leave by an inexorably early steamer at half-past
five for Wallenstadt, and so lost all but the suggestion only of the
magnificence of the mountains which tower up so grandly over the north
shore of the lake. Like Goethe on his way into Italy, we might exclaim,
“What do we not pass over, both on the right hand and on the left, in
order to carry out the one thought which has become almost too old for
the soul!” But our time was limited, and our chief anxiety to spend as
much of our short holiday as we could in Italy; and so, sad though we
were to miss what was doubtless so well worthy of being seen, on we were
bound to go without delay.
Before we started I had secured a voiturier whose carriage was at
Wallenstadt to take us on to Chur, so that on this score I had no
trouble before me. Our voyage was only too soon made. Unlike the Lake of
Zurich, where the traveller rather hopes that each place at which he
stops may be the last, on this lake, as the tiny steamer ploughs its way
rapidly over its surface, with its goal always in view, and with not a
place to stop at on its road, he ceases not to long that his pleasure
may be prolonged!
By seven o’clock we were in our carriage, and _en route_. The sun began
to shine, and every minute the clouds rose higher and higher; so that,
before we finally lost--by turning into the valley of the Rhine--the
last view of the valley of the lake, we could see the peaks of the
mountains which we so wished to have seen before, the Sieben-Churfürsten,
which tower so grandly over the lake.
Wallenstadt is but a poor place, its situation being unwholesome, and
its inns not much to be commended. It has a church of modern character,
with an old-looking tower in the position of a transept, with a
saddle-back roof, gabled north and south. On the lower part of the south
side of this tower are paintings of the Crucifixion and some other
subjects, apparently of some antiquity. Just above the town, on the
right, we passed the ruins of an old castle; and at a slight rise in the
road had a beautiful view of the calm waters of the lake, looking blue,
but very much smaller than it really is. This, no doubt, is owing to the
great height of the precipitous rocks on its north side, which we now
saw for the first time, the clouds having at last risen and disclosed
some of the beauties which they had been concealing from us.
The valley from Wallenstadt to Sargans, just beyond which our route,
after crossing the very low watershed, joined the valley of the Rhine,
was strikingly beautiful. Its ecclesiological features were not,
however, remarkable, if I except the constant repetition of what I have
often noticed in the Catholic cantons of Switzerland and in Tyrol--the
occurrence, namely, of grated openings on either side of the western
door-way, commanding the interior and protected by an open porch,
through which passers-by, though not able to enter, might still see the
altar. On our journey from Basel to Zurich we passed a church the altar
of which was lighted up, and the doors behind these gratings left open
very late at night. It was in a lonely place, and when I passed there
was no one in or near the church. I never see this arrangement without
wishing to introduce it in England. There are so many of our Churches
which cannot conveniently be left always open, and where such a
provision might suggest to passers-by, as it does here, the propriety of
using a church at other times than those of public service.
The cultivation of this valley is not so uninteresting as its
ecclesiology. Here we first found the vines trained about in the
horizontal Italian fashion, whilst under them great gourds and pumpkins
developed themselves to a prodigious size.
Sargans is a very picturesque old town, and has some capital examples of
good Swiss carpentry in its houses; in addition to which there is a
picturesque and antique-looking castle, rising high above the houses on
a rock, guarding the eastern entrance to the town, and commanding the
junction of our road with that of the valley of the Rhine leading to the
Lake of Constance.
Our coachman was under a bond to travel as fast as a diligence which
lumbered on slowly in advance of us, and as far as Ragatz was quite true
to his word; there, however, we determined to pause for a few hours, not
willing to pass anything so famous as the baths of Pfeffers without a
visit. Leaving our carriage, we mounted a light car, and were soon
ascending the beautiful gorge of the Tamina to the baths. The road is
capitally made, and follows the windings of the mountain torrent so
closely as to require some nerve in those who drive rapidly along on
their road to or from the baths. The ascent is steep, but in rather less
than an hour we found ourselves at the baths. The rocks rise nearly
perpendicularly behind the ledge of rock on which they stand, and the
only mode of access to the upper and more wonderful part of the chasm
was by passing through the long corridors, which betokened the once
religious object of the building. These passed, and in charge of a
guide, we crossed the torrent by a rude bridge, and then by a rather
precarious path made our way, as it seemed, almost into the bowels of
the mountain. The gorge is so very narrow that in many parts the light
of the sky is no longer visible, the rocks overhanging each other above
the head. All the while the torrent is roaring by our sides, and we feel
that we are indeed enjoying an excursion into the very heart of the
rocky earth. At last we reach the end of the path, are compelled by our
guide to ensconce ourselves, one by one, in a small kind of box formed
round the source of the spring--to pronounce it very hot and very nasty
(its two most eminent qualities)--and then, still admiring the matchless
grandeur of the rocky way, we regain our car, and are soon again whirled
down the hill to Ragatz.
Our driver is a cheerful, pleasant fellow, talks German much better than
the man we brought from Wesen, is communicative, moreover, and seems to
enjoy a laugh and a joke uncommonly. Of course we become friends, and
with no trouble on our parts, though with some little on his, it is
arranged that our old driver shall remain where he is, and that our new
friend, proud in the possession of the then very necessary Austrian
passport, shall take us on as far at any rate as Chiavenna. A hurried
Swiss luncheon--wine, honey, bread and butter--is soon despatched, and
again we are on our way under the auspices of our new voiturier.
But we must not leave Ragatz without noticing its church, remarkable for
its exceedingly good octagonal wooden spire springing in an unusual
manner out of a square wooden belfry stage, and another church at (I
think) Vilters, close to Ragatz, which has a lofty tower finished on
each side with a sharp gable, and a thin octagonal spire rising from the
intersection of the cross-gabled roof; both these steeples are in a
position which for some reason is very popular in this district--the
south side of the chancel.
[Illustration: WOODEN SPIRE--RAGATZ.]
From Ragatz to Chur the churches are all very similar; they have tall
towers generally in the same position as those near Ragatz, and capped
with bulbous roofs, or sharp spires covered with metal. The road is not
quite the most agreeable we have travelled; some of the views, it is
true, are most lovely, and the mountains--among which towers pre-eminent
the grand outline of the Falkniss--are very noble; but, despite all
this, the valley is too wide, and the Rhine, by periodical inundations,
manages to secure so nearly its whole extent to itself, that there is a
waste, desolate, and pestilential look in the foreground which is not
prepossessing. We arrived at Chur at about half-past
[Illustration: 3.--CATHEDRAL. CHUR. Page 33.]
one, and, not sorry that our horses required rest, betook ourselves to
the inspection of this very curious town.
It is entered by old gateways, and many of the streets are still full of
ancient houses. The curious feature of the place is however its complete
division into two quarters--the Protestant and the Catholic--the latter
walled off, and entered by its own gates.[2] It occupies the upper part
of the town, and contains in the cathedral church of S. Lucius an
attraction for architects which has unusual merit and interest. Its plan
consists of a nave of three bays, a choir of one bay raised by twelve
steps above the nave, and a sanctuary much narrower than the nave and
choir, and also of one bay. The steps from the nave to the choir are
narrow and on each side, and between them is a very flat wide arch,
under which access is obtained to the crypt, the floor of which is a few
steps below the nave, and extends under the choir and sanctuary. The
plan is, it will be seen, not unlike that of the Cathedral at Zurich,
save that here there are no apsidal terminations at all.
A sketch of the interior of so singular a church cannot be
uninteresting, and it will be seen from this that the whole is of the
very earliest pointed work, and good of its kind; the crypt is supported
in the centre by a column resting upon a grotesque animal. Two of the
altars have fine shrines of metal of the thirteenth century, and two
other altars have ancient pricket candlesticks, and there are some fine
brass standard candlesticks also; the choir stalls are old, and there is
a late triptych behind the high altar, and a very fine Sakramentshaus
with metal doors just below the northern flight of steps to the choir,
which reminded me of the very fine example in a similar position in the
cathedral at Ulm. The altar is of stone of the thirteenth century, with
five detached shafts in front, supporting the slab or mensa. The whole
church is groined. It is worthy of notice that the choir makes a great
bend out of the straight line towards the north--so much, indeed, that
it is impossible to avoid noticing it as one enters the church. The
steps from the nave to the choir lack dignity. But it is true that if
they had been in the centre, and the entrances to the crypt on each
side, the crypt would not have been seen, as it now is, from the nave,
and a striking effect would have been lost. The west end has a fine
round-arched doorway with several shafts in each jamb, above this a
large window of the same character, and in the gable a small
middle-pointed window. About ten feet in advance of the west doorway is
a curious remnant of a gateway with piers and shafts resting upon
monsters, looking, however, very much as though it had been removed from
elsewhere.
Service commenced just as I was obliged to think of leaving the church;
the priests wore red cassocks and tippets, and very short surplices
edged with lace, and looked unclean and untidy; there was no one in the
body of the church, and the sacristan, after the service had commenced,
walked backwards and forwards about the choir, down the steps into the
nave, and then--after a little attention bestowed on some matter
there--out of the church. On a subsequent visit to this church (in 1872)
I found repairs in progress, which bade fair to destroy some of its
great archæological interest.
Descending from the melancholy and squalid-looking Catholic quarter, we
soon came upon the Protestant church, dedicated in honour of S. Martin,
which is now somewhat remarkable. It is old, but it has been plastered,
whitewashed, and then painted by some original artist over its whole
exterior, in an extraordinary imitation of all kinds of inconsistent
architectural devices; pilasters, cornices, mouldings, tracery, and the
like, are all boldly represented with black paint, and in such style
that we all stopped the moment we saw it, struck by the conviction that
it must be a scene from some play, so utterly absurd, flat, and out of
all perspective did the whole look.
The situation of Chur is very lovely, placed as it is just at the point
where the Schalfiker Thal joins the valley of the Rhine, and upon the
steep and rugged bottom slope of the mountains.
The weather was every moment becoming more glorious, and just as we left
Chur, along the road which leads to Reichenau, we had one of the most
lovely views we had enjoyed. It is not always the case, however
beautiful may be the scenery, or however lovely the weather, that one
finds everything group together perfectly; here, however, it did, and I
commend the subject to the pencils of those who follow me on this route.
We soon reached Ems, whose church, situated upon a green knoll above the
village, has the peculiarity of a small apsidal building east of the
chancel apse. The key was not to be found, so that I could not go in to
examine what this building was. This church had an octangular steeple,
whilst another church in the same village had one of the bulbous
coverings of which I have before complained. At Reichenau it is proper
to go to see the house in which Louis Philippe acted in 1793 as
schoolmaster under a Monsieur Jost, and I fear we fell rather in the
good opinion of our driver when we neglected so proper and regular a
custom; but so it was. The garden of the inn is charming, and from its
edge you obtain the best view of the junction of the Vorder and Hinter
Rhine, and having enjoyed this thoroughly, we passed rapidly through
Reichenau, across its two quaint covered wooden bridges, and by the
beautiful meeting of the waters, until we found ourselves following the
course of the Hinter Rhine and fairly on the Splügen road.
We only wished to reach Thusis by sunset, and so our time was ample for
enjoyment; we walked much of the way, detecting eagerly every here and
there patches of snow on the mountains in the distance, each of which is
hailed as a discovery by every fresh traveller, who feels himself
transported with delight by the distant view of the pure white against
the sky.
Castles are here as numerous as ever upon the Rhine, and at least a
dozen, I should think, might be reckoned perched on every favourable
spot between Reichenau and Thusis. As the road advances the valley
widens out into a kind of basin, into which flow two streams, the one
through the as yet unperceived gorge of the Via Mala rather to the
right, the other through an opening in the mountains directly in front
of us, which allows us a charming view of the snowy heights above the
Julier Pass, drinking in the last red rays of the setting sun, long
since passed away from the ground on which we stand; then there is a
long ascent, and, passing peasants coming in from hay-making, merrily
laughing and singing, we drive up the straight ugly street of Thusis to
the Via Mala Hotel. But the evening is too glorious to lose, and in five
minutes we are out again on foot to explore the commencement of the
black defile; and until we are absolutely turning into it, so narrow is
the gorge that it is not seen, but when seen, and by such a light, how
grand and beautiful it is! We ascended some distance and then stood and
admired. Above us tremendous rocks towered high into the air, riven in
two for the narrow chasm in which we stood, at whose bottom we heard the
distant roar of the Rhine, and down below and beyond, framed as it were
between the grand outline of rocky crag and pine-covered mountain, lay
the valley of Domleschg, still retaining, by contrast with the gloom
around us, some light upon its fields, and castles, and villages. Rest
was well earned after such a pleasant and actively spent day, and, if we
were late in starting in the morning, it was as much the fault of our
coachman as of ourselves. However, though not so early as we intended,
we left soon after six, and in a few minutes were again in the Via Mala.
And now by daylight I doubt whether we were not all disappointed; there
is so much in a name that one expects something _very_ terrific from
such a name, and this it scarcely is. It is seldom fair to compare one
piece of scenery with another, but still I feel that this was certainly
not the most savage I had ever seen, and therefore not justly _my_ Via
Mala. But beautiful in the extreme it was, and I believe we all
regretted that we so soon found ourselves again in the more open valley
on the road to Zillis. Here we found a church with a lofty tower, in the
same position, and with a spire of the same design, as that at Ragatz;
the nave low and ugly, the chancel lofty, with a steep pitched roof and
apse; the windows pointed but modernized; the belfry windows of the
steeple of three lights, with circular arches, and divided by shafts,
which were continued on in blank panels on each side of the windows, so
as to form an arcade of five arches on each side. And this I believe was
the last noticeable church we saw before we reached Chiavenna, and in
its arcaded belfry I fancied that I saw something of an Italian
influence at work, which might well have been the fact.
We soon reached Andeer, where we waited but a short time, and then
commenced a steep ascent. The lovely scenery, the mountains closing in
round us, and the roar of the falls of the Rofla making music in our
ears, made our way very enjoyable. There was but little chance, however,
of rapid progress, as from Andeer to Splügen the road is almost always
on the ascent, sometimes gradually, at others in steep zigzags up the
shoulder of some obstructive hill, and constantly overhanging or
crossing the rapid, white, foaming mountain-stream, sole representative
here of the noble river whose broad waters have been admired at Basel.
The air of desolation becomes more decided as one reaches Splügen. Trees
and shrubs more scarce, and often blasted by the fierce rush of the
wintry wind, or the keen sharp blow of the fallen rock, or the swift
sweep of the avalanche, aid in making up the desolate picture.
Vegetation has well-nigh ceased, and the eye, though deceived at first
by the intensely red colour perceived every here and there on the
hill-sides and on the rocks, discovers presently that not to flowers or
plants, but to lichen or other such desolate vegetation, is it owing.
By the time we caught the first sight of Splügen the sky was
overclouded, the wind rose, and a sudden heavy storm of rain gave us a
lesson in the customs of the weather in these regions, to which our
driver’s quiet assurance that we should probably have a snowstorm on the
pass added the few remaining drops required to make up the draught which
we saw ourselves doomed to swallow.
Splügen, however, was reputed to have an inn which would give us
enviable shelter for a couple of hours, and we entered at once, hoping,
if we waited, again to see the blue sky before we crossed the boundary
between the North and the South--between Switzerland and Italy.
The table-d’hôte was just about to commence, and in came a diligence
from Milan, and out came the passengers: another carriage, which had
pursued us relentlessly all the way from Andeer, came in at the same
moment, and down we sat, about fifteen English people, not one of whom
had been in the house ten minutes before, not one of them stopping for
more than their own and their horses’ dinners, and all proceeding in
different directions, either on their way home satiated with travel, or
just about to dive like ourselves in full quest of pleasure and
excitement, into a new country. These meetings are always curious,
generally amusing, and to the quiet and attentive observer of character
not a little edifying. On this occasion there was subject-matter enough,
and we found an old gentleman, travelling sorely against his will, under
the care of an active and thoroughly vulgar wife, some literary old
maids of another party, and the enthusiastic damsel of a third, each in
their way amusing, and not the less so in that it was necessary to
inspect them and part with them so rapidly.
Splügen, in a soaking rain, is not a pleasant place; and as I employed
myself in sketching from the inn window the very picturesque old bridge,
which gives[3] all its architectural character to the village, I
conceive that I accomplished all that was necessary; and when we got
into our carriage again, and, crossing by the bridge, left the Bernardin
road to the right, and finally plunged really into the Splügen route, it
seemed like a reward for my industry to find the rain cease and the sun
again occasionally shine out.
The ascent begins with a series of zigzags, which rapidly carry the road
high above the valley of the Rhine, and then, passing through one of the
long covered galleries for which this route is famous, it emerges in an
upland valley or dip between two mountains, up which it takes a steady
course along a road macadamized, by-the-by, mainly with the white marble
which abounds here, until, just below the summit, it comes again upon a
steep mountain-side, to be surmounted only by a patient unravelling as
it were of the intricacies of an endless zigzaging, which at last brings
us to the Swiss guard-house and the entrance to the great gallery. The
clouds are low and gathering; but still as we see below us white patches
of snow every here and there, and above us the blue edge of a great
glacier marked with lines of crevasses and fringed with a white edge of
snow, we feel that we have really at last achieved the summit. Noisily
we trot through the arched gallery, and then, after another slight
ascent for a few minutes, we stop and put on the drag, and then down we
go rapidly and cheerily, backwards and forwards, occasionally giving a
merry tap to some corner post at the turns of the road, in order to let
it be known that we, our driver, and our horses, are all of us heartily
glad that we are at last on the south side of the pass--no longer the
German Splüg_en_, but, as we learn from divers notices along the road,
the Italian Splug_a_. A short drive takes us to the custom-house--not
looked forward to cheerfully by those who have met, as we had at
Splügen, a man turned back by mistake, and after two days’ delay again
retracing his steps--but happily, in our case, passed easily enough, and
with an exhibition of the greatest courtesy and civility from the
Austrian officer, the mention of whom reminds me of the great change
which has taken place in the political status of this country since
first I made acquaintance with it. It is a change of no little
importance to the traveller, who now goes without let or hindrance
almost everywhere, instead of being worried out of his life by troubles
about passports which even Austrian courtesy could not make tolerable.
We are soon off again across a drear and peaty-looking plain, with no
view of the neighbouring mountains, and accompanied along the road by a
troop of wild smuggler-like fellows, in broad-brimmed steeple-crowned
hats, loose jackets, knee breeches, and coarse stockings, riding wildly
along on rough horses, without saddles or bridles, but every one of them
handsome grand-looking fellows, showing, as they smiled, teeth of the
purest white, and more nearly coming up to one’s idea of real Italians
than any with whom, later in our journey and more in Italy, we happened
to meet. Before long, however, we again commenced the descent, and then,
after passing through two or three galleries of prodigious length, at
last came out upon one of those spots, the view from which, as much
perhaps by reason of its associations as for its intrinsic beauty, rests
on the mind for ever after, as one of the most lovely ever seen. On our
right a steep mountain track slopes rapidly and almost perpendicularly
down to a narrow valley, whose opposite and no less precipitous side we
are about to descend; below us, far down, we see the village roofs of
Isola, with its church and Italian campanile; beyond--and this is indeed
the great charm of the prospect--down the valley, where the atmosphere
seems redolent of the South, we see a grandly formed mountain, and again
to its right another but more distant; between these two dim and distant
shades lies the lake of Como--beyond them the broad rich plain of
Lombardy; the sun shines forth, and we dream henceforward of that
valley, looked down upon from the gallery on the Splügen, as one of the
brightest prospects of our lives!
We had not gone far beyond the last gallery before our voiturier made
good a boast which he had often repeated, of showing us a real waterfall
on a grand scale before we parted company, and, pulling up his horses,
made us--not unwilling--dismount to look _down_ the cascade of the
Medessimo. A passage has been formed from the road to a point which just
overhangs the fall, and here, securely parapeted round, you look down
over a grand sheer fall of some eight hundred feet, in the course of
which the torrent which goes to feed the threadlike Lira down below us
in the valley, and just now roaring in bold volume underneath our road,
loses itself in soft, delicate, and fairy-like spray, and ere it reaches
the rock below, seems like some delicate mist falling from the sky for
ever in endless and exquisite change of form. Just beyond the cascade
the most wonderful part of the descent in an engineering point of view
commences, and the road seems really to descend the perpendicular face
of the rock, surpassing in boldness most other roads that I know, and
affording very fine and varied views of the cascade on the descent. We
soon reached Campo Dolcino, a miserable and most dirty-looking village;
and were, sorely against our will, obliged to wait for our horses to
bait; and then on we went, the sun some time set, and the night dark and
cloudy. Presently a storm arose; and without lights, and travelling
along a road turning sharp angles every minute, and never losing the
music in our ears of the roaring Lira, our lot seemed more wild than
enviable; at last we came to a house and tried unsuccessfully to borrow
a light, but presently at another house we succeeded, and then guided by
a lantern we pursued our way safely enough. I have seldom been out in so
grand a storm; the lightning was vivid beyond all that I could conceive;
and as at one minute it played about on the foaming water beneath us,
and at another lighted up the whole mountain-side beyond with pale and
intensely lovely light, flickering, playing, and dancing about in the
wildest fashion, I believe we felt half sad when house after house
appeared, and at last we entered the long, narrow, and thoroughly
Italian streets of Chiavenna.
Another journey took me to Chiavenna at the same time in the evening, on
my way north from Como. It was the night of the 8th September, the
Nativity of the Blessed Virgin, and every peasant in his solitary châlet
on the mountain-side was burning a bonfire in her honour. There seemed
to me to be something very touching in this flaming burst of distant
greeting from mountain to mountain, and few circumstances have ever
brought home more vividly to me the isolation of these mountaineers,
than the compensating power of a sympathetic faith which made them thus
bid each other welcome by their flaring fires.
CHAPTER IV.
“But now ‘tis pass’d,
That turbulent chaos; and the promised land
Lies at my feet in all its loveliness!
To him who starts up from a terrible dream,
And lo, the sun is shining and the lark
Singing aloud for joy, to him is not
Such sudden ravishment as now I feel,
At the first glimpses of fair Italy.”
_Rogers._
Chiavenna--Lake of Riva--Colico--Gravidona--Lake of
Como--Varenna--Stelvio Pass--Lecco--Bergamo:
Broletto--Churches--Castle of Malpaga.
The situation of Chiavenna is eminently beautiful: in a deep valley
surrounded on all sides by mountains whose slopes are covered with soft
and luxuriant foliage of oak and chestnut, and where every available
open space is devoted to trellised vineyards, it contrasts strongly with
the pine-covered hills so lately passed on the northern slopes of the
Alps; placed, too, at the confluence of two streams--the Meira and the
Lira--it rejoices in the constant rushing sound of many waters.
It was only necessary to move out of the shade of our hotel into the
melancholy piazza in which it stands, to discover that an Italian sun
lighted up the deep blue sky; and a walk to the principal church,
dedicated in honour of S. Lawrence, a stroll through the narrow streets,
and a rather toilsome ascent through a vineyard formed upon a rock
which towers up behind a kind of ruined castle, and from which a capital
view is obtained of the singular and beautiful cul-de-sac in which the
town is planted, sufficiently convinced us of its power.
The church of S. Lawrence is entered from a large oblong cloister, in
one angle of the space enclosed by which rises a tall campanile, its
simple form, and its arcaded belfry full of musical bells, contrasting
well with the outline of the hills which overhang and hem it in. On the
east side of the cloister are the church, an octagonal baptistery, and a
bone-house, all ranged side by side and opening into it, and the latter
curious as an example of the extent to which the people of Chiavenna
amuse themselves by arranging sculls and arm-bones into all kinds of
religious and heraldic devices, and with labels to mark the names of
their former owners. The _tout ensemble_ is picturesque in its effect,
and the cool pleasant shade of the cloister, with the view of the church
and its tall campanile, and irregularly grouped buildings looking
brilliantly white in the clear sunshine, was very pleasing.[4]
Italian beggars, persevering, and, at any rate in appearance, very
devout, did their best to annoy us here and everywhere when we ventured
to stop to examine or admire anything; and Italian beggars are certainly
both in pertinacity and in filth about the most unpleasant of their
class.
My voiturier gave me a lesson worth learning, and not perhaps unworthy
of note for other unsuspicious travellers. We had a written contract to
Chiavenna, and thence to Colico he had agreed verbally to take us for a
certain sum; before we started I found, however, that he intended to
charge us three times as much as we had agreed upon, and, as very
luckily we found a diligence on the point of starting, we secured places
in the cabriolet at its back, from which we had the best possible
position for seeing the views, and so left him in the lurch, with divers
admonitions to behave himself more honestly for the future.
At ten we left, and had a very enjoyable ride to Colico. The valley,
however, bore sad traces of the havoc made by the inundations of the
Meira, and of the storm of the previous night. We soon reached the
shores of the little Lake of Riva, along whose banks our road took us
sometimes in tunnels, sometimes on causeways built out into the water,
until at last we reached the valley up which runs the Stelvio road, and
then, after passing along the whole length of a straight road lined on
each side with a wearisome and endless row of poplars, we were at
Colico. Here we prudently availed ourselves of the opportunity of an
hour’s delay in the departure of the boat for an early dinner, and, then
embarking, waited patiently the pleasure of our captain.
The scenery of Lake Como has been so often extravagantly praised that I
was quite prepared to be disappointed; but for the whole distance from
Colico to Lecco it is certainly on the whole more striking than any lake
scenery I have seen. The mountains at its head are extremely irregular
and picturesque, and throughout its whole length there is great change
and variety. In this respect it contrasts favourably with most other
lakes, and I certainly think that not even in the Lake of Lucerne is
there any one view so grand as that which one has looking up from within
a short distance of the head of Como over the Lake of Riva to the
mountains closing in the Stelvio, and rising nobly above the sources of
the Meira and the Lira.
Somewhat, too, may be said of the innumerable villages and white villas
with which the banks of the lake are studded; they give a sunny,
inhabited, and cheerful feeling to the whole scene; and, reflected in
the deep blue lake in those long-drawn lines of flakey white which are
seen in no other water to such perfection, add certainly some beauty to
the general view.
One of these villages--Gravidona--within half an hour’s sail of Colico,
ought not to be left unvisited by any one who cares about architecture.
Close to its little harbour stand two churches side by side, one an
oblong basilica, the other a baptistery of, as it seems to me, such
great interest that I give illustrations both of its plan and of its
exterior. It will be seen that the dimensions are small, the total
internal width being less than forty feet, whilst the design of the east
end is most ingeniously contrived so as to give no less than five
eastern apsidal recesses. There are two stair-turrets in the wall on
each side of the western tower which lead up to a sort of
triforium-passage which is formed behind an arcade in the side wall of
the church, and one of them leads also to the first floor of the tower.
The triforium consists of an arcade of seven arches in each side wall.
The three small apses at the east have each their own semi-dome, and the
chancel as well as all the other apsidal recesses are similarly roofed.
All the walls retain more or less traces of old paintings, the
Coronation of the Blessed Virgin occupying the principal apse, and the
Last Judgment the west wall. The whole church is built in white marble
and black lime-stone used in courses, or stripes, with extremely good
effect.
The roof of this Baptistery is of wood. The exterior is best explained
by reference to my drawing of the west front. It stands on a charming
site with a background of lake and mountain, such as one seldom enjoys.
There is a contrast here, which strikes one very much, between the
ingenious skill of the planning of such a building as this and the
rudeness of the execution of the details. I know nothing as to the
history of Gravidona; but it looks as though the plan came from the
hands of men who knew something of the Church of San Vitale at Ravenna,
whilst its execution was left to the rustic skill of the masons of the
country.
[Illustration: PLAN--BAPTISTERY, GRAVIDONA.]
[Illustration: 4. BAPTISTERY. GRAVIDONA. p. 48.]
The Baptistery is dedicated to S. John the Baptist. Close to it, as I
have said, stands the Church of San Vincenzo, which though Romanesque in
its foundation has been much modernized, and is now mainly interesting
on account of the exquisite examples of late fifteenth century
silversmiths’ work which still enrich its sacristy. Conspicuous among
these is a silver processional cross. This cross is nearly two feet
across the arms by three feet in height from the top of the staff. There
is a crucifix on one side and a sitting figure of Our Lord on the other;
figures of SS. George, Vincent, Sebastian, Christopher, and Victor, and
Our Lord on the base or knop; and half-figures of the Evangelists on the
arms of the cross. The ornaments consist of crockets bent and twisted,
of blue enamels, filigree-work, nielli, and turquoises set in the centre
of dark-blue enamels. It is, in short, a piece of metal work which might
well make a modern silversmith run down swiftly into the lake and drown
himself in despair at the apparent impossibility in these days of
rivalling such a piece of artistic and cunning workmanship, in spite of
all our boasted progress!
Not much less splendid is a chalice of about the same age. It is ten and
three-quarter inches high, has a plain bowl, but knop, stem, and foot
all most richly wrought with figures, niches and canopies, and the flat
surfaces filled in with fine blue and white Limoges enamels. The paten
belonging to this chalice is very large--nearly ten inches across, and
quite plain.
Half the passengers on the steamboat were, of course, Austrian soldiers
and officers, the other half English or Americans, either resident at or
going to Como. We, however, stopped on the way, and, leaving the
steamboat in the middle of the lake, after a row of about twenty minutes
found ourselves at Varenna, a village exquisitely placed just where the
three arms of the lake--the Como, the Lecco, and the Colico
branches--separate, affording, whether seen from here, from Bellagio, or
from Cadenabbia, the most lovely lake views it has ever been my good
fortune to see.
Here we had what seemed likely to be an endless discussion upon the
relative merits of a four-oared boat and a carriage as a means of
conveyance to Lecco. We inclined to the latter; but, leaving the matter
in the hands of an active waiter, we busied ourselves with eating
delicious fruit, admiring the tall cypresses growing everywhere about
the shores of the lake, and watching the exquisite beauty of the
reflections of Bellagio and the opposite mountains on the smooth bosom
of the water.
We were soon off again, and well satisfied to find ourselves trotting
rapidly along the well kept Stelvio Road, instead of dragging heavily
and slowly along as one always does with a Swiss voiturier; soon,
however, we were to find that our driver was an exception to the Italian
rule, and that he who wishes to travel fast must not expect to do so
with vetturini.
The churches which we passed were in no way remarkable; they all had
campanili, with the bells hung in the Italian fashion in the belfry
windows, with their wheels projecting far beyond the line of the wall;
but they all seemed alike uninteresting in their architecture, so that
we were in no way sorry to pass them rapidly on our way to Lecco. This
eastern arm of the lake, though of course much less travelled than the
rest of its course, is very beautiful, and its uninhabited and less
cultivated looking shores, with bold cliffs here and there rising
precipitously from the water, were seen to great advantage, with the
calm unrippled surface of the lake below, and the sky just tinged with
the bright light of the sun before it set above.
Lecco contains nothing to interest a traveller; we had an hour to spend
there before we could get fresh horses to take us on to Bergamo, and
wandered about the quaint-looking streets, which were full of
people--some idly enjoying themselves, others selling luscious-looking
fruit. We went into a large church not yet quite completed; it was
Renaissance in style, almost of course, and on the old plan, with
aisles, but very ugly notwithstanding. In the nave was a coffin covered
with a pall of black and gold; six large candles stood by it, three on
either side, and two larger than the others on each side of a crucifix
at the west end. The whole church revelled in compo inside and out and
there was external access to a wretched bone-house in a crypt.
Leaving Lecco, we had a long drive in the dark to Bergamo; the night was
very dark, but the air was absolutely teeming with life and sounds of
life; myriads of _cicale_ seemed to surround us, each giving vent to its
pleasure in its own particular note and voice with the greatest possible
determination; and had I not heard them, I could scarcely have believed
it possible that such sounds could be made by insects, however numerous
they might be. We changed horses at a village on the road, and went on
rapidly. The old town of Ponte San Pietro was passed, having been taken
at first to be Bergamo, and remembered by the sound of a troop of men
singing well together as they passed us in the dark in one of its narrow
streets, awakening with their voices all the echoes of the place, which
till then had seemed to us to be supernaturally silent. It was eleven
o’clock before we reached Bergamo, and tired with our long day’s work,
we were soon in bed.
A prodigious noise in the streets before five o’clock the next morning
gave us the first warning that the great fair of Bergamo was in full
swing; sleep was impossible, and so we were soon out, enjoying the busy
throng which crowded the streets of the Borgo, in a before-breakfast
walk; the crowd of women selling fruit, the bright colours of their
dresses, the rich tints of stuff hung out for sale, the display of
hair-pins and other ornaments in the innumerable silversmiths’ shops,
and the noisy, laughing, talking people who animated the whole scene,
made the narrow arcaded streets of the busy place most amusing.
After breakfast we started at once for the Città, as the old city of
Bergamo is called. It stands on a lofty hill overlooking the Borgo San
Leonardo, within whose precincts we had slept, quite distinct from it
and enclosed within its own walls. The ascent was both steep and hot,
but the view at the entrance gateway of the Città over the flat Lombard
country was very striking, and well repaid the labour of the ascent.
This vast plain of bluish-green colour, intersected in all directions by
rows of mulberry-trees and poplars, diversified only by the tall white
lines of the campanili which mark every village in this part of
Lombardy, and stretching away in the same endless level as far as the
eye could reach, was grand if only on account of its simplicity, and had
for us all the charm of novelty.
Through narrow and rather dirty streets, which do little credit to the
cleanly habits of the Bergamask nobility, to whom it seems that the
Città is sacred, and whose palaces are, many of them, large and
important buildings, we reached at last the Piazza Vecchia, around which
is gathered almost all that in my eyes gives interest to Bergamo.
Across the upper end of the Piazza stretches the Broletto, or town-hall,
supported on open arches, through which pleasant glimpses are obtained
of the cathedral and church of Sta. Maria Maggiore, which last is the
great architectural feature of the city.
But we must examine the Broletto before we go farther. And first of all,
its very position teaches a lesson. Forming on one side the boundary of
a spacious Piazza, on the other it faces, within a few feet only, the
church of Sta. Maria Maggiore, and abuts at one end upon the west front
of the Duomo. It is to this singularly close--even huddled--grouping
that much of the exquisite beauty of the whole is owing. No doubt Sta.
Maria and the original cathedral were built first, and then the
architect of the Broletto, not fearing--as one would fear now--to damage
what has been done before, boldly throws his work across in front of
them, but upon lofty open arches, through which glimpses just obtained
of the beauties in store beyond make the gazer even more delighted with
the churches when he reaches them, than he would have been had they been
all seen from the first. It is, in fact, a notable example of the
difference between ancient grouping and modern, and one instance only
out of hundreds that might be adduced from our own country and from the
Continent of the principle upon which old architects worked; and yet
people, ignorant of real principles in art, talk as though somewhat
would be gained if we could pull down S. Margaret’s in order to let
Westminster Abbey be seen; whereas, in truth, the certain result would
be, in the first place, a great loss of scale in the Abbey seen without
another building to compare it with and measure it by; and in the next,
the loss of that kind of intricacy and mystery which is one of the chief
evidences of the Gothic spirit. Let us learn from such examples as this
at Bergamo that buildings do not always require a large open space in
front of them, so that they may be all seen and taken in at one view, in
order to give them real dignity.
The whole design of the Broletto is so very simple as to be almost
chargeable with rudeness of character. The ground on which it stands is
divided by columns and piers, the spaces between them being all arched
and groined. Towards the Piazza three of these arches, springing from
rather wide piers, support the main building, and another supports an
additional building to the west of it. Above the three main arches are
three windows, of which that in the centre, though very much altered,
still retains a partially old balcony in front, and was evidently the
Ringhiera, from which the people standing in the Piazza were wont to be
addressed by their magistrates. The windows on either side are very
similar in their design and detail; their tracery is of fair
middle-pointed character; and the main points in which they strike one
as being different from English work are the marble shafts with square
capitals in place of monials, a certain degree of squareness and
flatness in the mouldings, and the very pronounced effect of the sills,
which have a course of foliage and moulding, and below this of trefoiled
arcaded ornament, which in one shape or another is to meet the traveller
everywhere in Northern Italy; either, as here, hanging on under the
sills of windows, or else running up the sides of gables, forming
string-courses and cornices, but always unsatisfactory, because
unmeaning and unconstructional. The origin of this sort of detail is to
be found in the numerous brick buildings not far distant, where the
facility of repeating the patterns of moulded bricks led (as it did in
other countries also) to this rather unsatisfactory kind of enrichment.
The detail of the arcades supporting the upper part of the building is
throughout bold and simple, and I should say of the thirteenth century;
the bases are quite northern in their section, the caps rather less deep
in their cutting, but still in their general design, and in the grouping
of tufts of drooping foliage regularly one above the other, reminding
one much of Early French work, though they are certainly not nearly so
good as that generally is. There is a flatness about the carving, too,
which gives the impression of a
[Illustration: 5.--BROLETTO, BERGAMO. Page 54.]
struggle, in the hand of the carver, between the Classic and Gothic
principles, in which the latter never quite asserted the mastery. The
lesson to be learnt from such a building as this Broletto appears to me
to be the excessive value of simplicity and regularity of parts
carefully and constructionally treated; for there are no breaks or
buttresses in the design, and all its elements are most simple, yet
nevertheless the result is beautiful.
To the west of the Broletto is a good open staircase (much like that in
the Piazza dei Signori at Verona),[5] forming a portion of one side of
the Piazza, and leading to the upper part of the buildings, and, I
think, to the great clock-tower, which, gaunt and severe in its outline,
undecorated and apparently uncared for, rears its great height of rough
stone wall boldly against the sky, and groups picturesquely with the
irregular buildings around it. I have omitted to notice that the whole
of the Broletto, with the exception of the window-shafts, is executed in
stone, and without any introduction of coloured material, so that it in
no way competes with the exquisite piece of coloured construction which
we have next to examine, immediately behind it.
A few steps will take us under the open-arched and cool space beneath
the Broletto, to the face of the north porch and baptistery of Sta.
Maria Maggiore. This is a very fine early Romanesque[6] church, but with
many additions and alterations on the outside, and so much modernized
inside as to be quite uninteresting to any one who thinks good forms and
good details necessary to good effect. The plan is cruciform, with apses
to the choir, on the east and west sides of the south transept, on the
east of the north transept, and at the west end of an additional north
aisle; in all no less than five apsidal ends. The nave is of three bays
with aisles, and to each transept have been added, in the fourteenth
century, porches, thoroughly Italian in their whole idea, and novel to a
degree in their effect upon an English eye.
A domed chapel, erected as a sepulchral chapel by Bartolomeo Colleoni in
the Renaissance style, on the north side of the nave, is most
elaborately constructed of coloured marbles. The effect is too bizarre
to be good; there is an entire absence of any true style in its design,
and there is nothing which makes it necessary to criticize it with much
minuteness.
The best and most striking feature in the whole church is the north
porch,[7] a most elaborate structure of red, grey, and white marble, to
which a drawing without colour can hardly do justice. It is supported
upon detached marble shafts, whose bases rest upon the backs of rather
grand-looking lions, curiously grouped with children and cubs. Above the
arches which rest upon these shafts, and which, though circular, are
elaborately cusped, is another stage divided by columns and trefoiled
arches into three spaces, the centre of which is occupied by a noble
figure of a certain Duke Lupus on horseback, with a saint on either side
in the other divisions. All the shafts except those in the upper
division are of red marble; the highest stage of all is entirely of grey
marble; in the middle stage all the moulded parts are of red, and the
trefoiled arches and their spandrels of grey marble; the space at the
back of the open divisions and the wall over the main arches of the
porch are built in courses of red and white marble. All the groining is
divided into diamond-shaped panels, composed alternately of black, red,
and white marble, all carved in the same kind of pattern. In the great
arch of the porch the outer moulding is of red marble, and all the
cusping of grey. The construction of the whole is obviously very weak,
and depends altogether for its stability upon iron ties in every
direction.
The approach to the porch, by seven steps formed alternately of black
and white marble, increases the impressiveness of the grand doorway, in
front of which it is built, the whole of which is of white marble, whose
carved surfaces and richly moulded and traceried work have obtained a
soft yellow colour by their exposure to the changing atmosphere, and are
relieved by one--the central--shaft being executed in the purest red
marble. There are three shafts in each jamb, carved, twisted, or moulded
very beautifully. These shafts are set in square recesses, ornamented,
not with mouldings, but with elaborate flat carvings, in one place of
saints, in another of animals, and with foliage very flat in its
character, and mainly founded on the acanthus.
To an English eye these columns in the doorways are some of the most
charming features of Italian architecture; but they must be always
looked at as simply ornamental, and not as constructional features; and
perhaps in all doorways the shafts, being really incapable of supporting
any considerable weight, would be better if, by their twisting and
moulding, it were clearly shown that their architect meant them to be
simply ornamental. In the Bergamo doorway the spaces between the shafts
are so strong in their effect, though carved all over their surface,
that any lightness in the columns themselves is amply atoned for. Such a
work as this northern porch at Bergamo is indeed a great treat to an
English architect, teeming as it does with fresh and new ideas, and in a
small compass showing so many of the radical points of difference
between northern and southern Gothic, and at the same time offering so
beautiful a study of constructional colouring, that it is impossible to
tire of gazing at it.
The porch to the south transept is of a simpler but somewhat similar
design. Both are placed against the western half of the gable against
which they are built, with a pleasant ignorance of those new-fangled
views of regularity of plan which are the curse of modern architects.
This southern porch is round-arched, and fitted exactly to the doorway
which it shields. Its outer arch is carried on detached shafts resting
on the backs of monsters, and it is mainly constructed of black and
white marble. It is of only one stage in height, and has a deep cornice
enriched with a series of niches with figures. An inscription below the
cornice gives the date as 1360.[8] Above the porch, but independent of
it, is a lofty monumental pinnacle corbelled out from the wall, and
richly sculptured with crocketed pinnacles and gablets. When the church
is entered, the reason for the apparently eccentric position of the
porches is seen. They were so placed to give more space for the altars
to the east of the transepts, and their successful effect is good
evidence that no artist need ever distress himself about a want of
regularity, if it is the result of a little common sense attention to
convenience in the arrangement of his plan.
The southern side of the church gives a very fair idea of what the
general character of the original building of 1134 was. The windows were
very plain, the walls lofty, the roof flat, and ornamented with
corbel-tables up the gables and under the eaves, and pilasters were used
at intervals instead of buttresses. There is a central octagonal
lantern which may be old, but which is entirely modernized. The most
interesting remains are the various apses already mentioned. They are of
two divisions in height, the lower adorned with very lofty,
boldly-moulded arcades, above which is an elaborate cornice, and above
this again a low arcade on detached shafts, behind which the walls are
considerably recessed to form galleries which produce a very deep
shadow. The capitals are elaborately carved, and the upper cornice is
again very rich. Altogether, little as remains unaltered of the old
fabric, it is enough to give an idea of a very noble and interesting
phase of art. Near a doorway into the north chancel-aisle the external
walls have traces, faint and rapidly decaying, of some very exquisite
frescoes or, more probably, tempera paintings.
[Illustration: CAMPANILE--BERGAMO.]
The steeple is in a most unusual position--east, namely, of the south
transept--not less, I believe, than some three hundred feet in height,
of good and very simple pointed character, without any approach to
buttressing, and remarkable as having an elaborately arcaded
string-course a few feet below the belfry windows, which have
geometrical traceries enclosed within semi-circular arches, affording,
like the south transept porch, a curious illustration of the
indifference of Italian architects to the use of the pointed arch where
strength was not of consequence.
Italian campanili have quite a character of their own, so distinct from
and utterly unlike the steeples of Northern Europe, that this, the first
Gothic example I had seen, interested me exceedingly. Perhaps its detail
was almost too little peculiar, if I may venture to say so; for
certainly it has left no such impression of individuality on my mind as
has the beautiful campanile to whose grace so much of the charm of
Verona is due.
The cathedral at Bergamo, which is close to the Broletto and Sta. Maria,
may be dismissed in a word. It has been rebuilt within the last two
hundred years, and appeared to be in no way deserving of notice. In a
courtyard on its north side is a small detached polygonal baptistery,
founded in 1275, which must have been very interesting. It is all built
of marble, and richly adorned with shafts; but so far as I could see
every portion of it has been renewed within a few years. Beside Sta.
Maria Maggiore and the Broletto we found little to see. Two
churches--one in the Città, and another, desecrated, in the Borgo--have
very good simple pointed doorways, with square-headed openings and
carved tympana; but beyond these we saw scarcely any trace of pointed
work. We had a luxuriously hot day in Bergamo, and, as we sat and
sketched the Broletto, a crowd, thoroughly Italian in its composition
and proceedings, gathered round us and gave us a first lesson in the
penance which all sketchers must be content to undergo in Italy. Before
long I found that my only plan was to start an umbrella as a defence
both against the sun and the crowd, and this, though not entirely
successful, still effected a great improvement.
The walk down the hill to the Borgo was more pleasant than the climb up,
and we were soon at our inn again; and then, after a most delicious
luncheon of exquisite fruit and coolest lemonade, concluded by a very
necessary dispute with our landlord about the amount of his bill,
ending, as such disputes generally do in Italy, with a considerable
reduction in the charge and the strongest expressions of regard and good
wishes for our welfare on our way, we mounted our carriage, and were
soon on the road towards Brescia.
Not far from this road and within about eight miles of Bergamo lies one
of the most interesting of the many castles of which one so frequently
sees remains in the North of Italy. This is the Castle of Malpaga, which
was inhabited by the famous Condottiere Bartolomeo Colleoni, of whom we
have already heard at Bergamo, and of whom we shall see something again
at Venice. It belongs now to a nobleman who lives in the Città of
Bergamo, and leaves this old and stately pile to the keeping of his
hinds, who tend his silk-worms, gather his grapes, make his wines, look
after his corn and cattle, and do as much as in them lies to gather the
fruits which mother earth yields in these parts with such ungrudging
profusion, but trouble themselves little about the preservation of the
old castle or its belongings, seeing that they seem to give scant
pleasure to their lord.
The castle as originally built was a square building enclosing a
courtyard built of brick externally, and adorned with a forked
battlement, which is common everywhere in old buildings between this and
Vicenza, and with four square corner towers, of which one larger than
the others has a very bold and fine overhanging machicolated parapet. In
the centre of the south front the drawbridge still remains in use, and
was lowered for our exit from the castle. Outside the square castle was
a space, and then a low wall again furnished with the forked battlement.
This must have been a very picturesque arrangement; but unfortunately
its real character is now only intelligible to the skilled eye. For the
great Colleoni, finding himself in possession of a castle which gave him
insufficient space for his magnificence, built up walls on the top of
the old battlemented outer wall, and created his state rooms in the
space between this new wall and the old external wall of the castle.[9]
These rooms of his have much damaged the effect of the outside of the
castle; but internally they are still interesting, owing to the
sumptuous character of the painted decorations with which he had them
adorned. These were executed at about the time of the visit of Christian
II. of Denmark to Colleoni, and are interesting if not great works of
art. The old courtyard though small is very fine in its effect. The
upper walls are carried on pointed arches and are covered with fresco or
distemper paintings, said to have been executed by Giovanni Cariani of
Bergamo, or by Girolamo Romanino of Brescia, extremely striking and
attractive in their general style of colour and drawing. The most
picturesque incidents are illustrations of Colleoni’s career--the Doge
of Venice giving Colleoni his bâton in the presence of the Pope, and a
fine battle subject.
A squalid area for rubbish, children, pigs, cats, and what not, is left
all round the moat, and beyond this are all the farm buildings and
labourers’ residences, which go to make up the _tout ensemble_ of a
great Lombard farmyard. The surroundings are not clean nor very
picturesque, but the castle itself has so great an interest, that no one
who visits Bergamo should pass it by unseen.
[Illustration: 6. CASTLE OF MALPAGA. p. 62.]
CHAPTER V.
“Am I in Italy? Is this the Mincius?
Are those the distant turrets of Verona?
And shall I sup where Juliet at the masque
Saw her loved Montague, and now sleeps by him?”
_Rogers._
Palazzuolo--Coccaglio--Brescia: new and old Cathedrals,
Broletto--Churches--Donato--Desenzano--Lago di
Garda--Riva--Trent--Verona.
Our drive from Bergamo to Brescia was strikingly unlike what we had
hitherto been so much enjoying. Mile after mile of straight roads,
between fields so closely planted with fruit-trees that one never sees
more than the merest glimpse of anything beyond them, are certainly not
pleasant; and the hot sun above us, and the thirsty and dry beds of
rivers which we crossed on our way, made us feel glad when evening drew
on, and we found ourselves rapidly nearing Brescia.
I made notes at two or three places on the way. At Palazzuolo is a great
circular belfry, ornamented with a large figure at the top and divers
others about its base, built of brick rusticated to look like stone, and
altogether about as base a piece of architecture as could well be found,
but pardoned here because of the pure blue of the sky I saw behind it,
and partly on account of the view which it commands, reaching, it is
said, as far as Milan, and including the great plain out of which, upon
a slight hill, it rises. Palazzuolo is nicely situated, and upon the
first of the many rivers which we had passed from Bergamo which had any
water in its bed. The houses, too, were almost all supported on arcades,
giving pleasant shelter from the sun.
Beyond this we came to Coccaglio, a small village with a wretchedly bad
modern church, glorying in a glaringly sham front, and faced on the
opposite side of the street by the remains of a mediæval church--whose
place it has taken--and which is now shut up and rapidly going to ruin.
The new church is built north and south--the old one orientating
properly; but then the west front was the great feature of the new
church, and therefore it was necessary, of course, to place it towards
the road!
[Illustration: WINDOW--COCCAGLIO.]
Coccaglio still has, however, some very valuable remains of mediæval
domestic work in its houses, of which I was able
[Illustration: 7.--HOUSE AT COCCAGLIO. Page 65.]
to obtain some sketches. They were entirely executed in brick and
terra-cotta, except, of course, the capitals and shafts of the windows,
and appeared to be of the fourteenth century.
[Illustration: DETAIL OF WINDOWS AND CORBELLING FOR
CHIMNEYS--COCCAGLIO.]
The upper portion of the house of which I give a sketch remains very
fairly perfect, though its lower story has been entirely modernized. It
will be seen that it is very uniform in its design, the large and small
windows alternating regularly; and that semi-circular arches are used in
the windows in connection with ogee trefoils. This is one of the
apparent inconsistencies which occur in almost all Italian Gothic work;
and might seem to give us ancient authority for any amount of licence in
our combination of the elements of what we ordinarily consider to be
thoroughly different styles. The windows are marked by the same
elaboration of their sills which we noticed in the Broletto at Bergamo,
and the detail of these, as also of the corbelling out from the wall of
several chimney-breasts, is exceedingly good.
In a back street in the village I found a house the balconies around
which were corbelled forward on finely moulded beams, which, judging by
the moulding, could hardly be of later date than the commencement of the
fourteenth century.
[Illustration: WOODEN BALCONY--COCCAGLIO.]
Wooden mouldings of this kind are much rarer in Italy than they are in
the North, and I particularly notice this little relic, therefore, which
still remains to show how well the science of moulding was sometimes
understood even there.
Such a village as Coccaglio is, as I found afterwards, a place to be
made much of; for generally, except in public or important buildings in
large towns, one sees very little trace of any mediæval domestic work
beyond the perpetually recurring arcading under the houses which is so
general a feature in all the towns in the North of Italy.
There is nothing further of any interest on the road, and just after
sunset we reached Brescia, too late to see anything of the general
effect of the city.
Brescia is mainly famous, I believe, first for its connection with a
story of the generosity of Bayard, the “chevalier sans peur et sans
reproche,” and next for the large discoveries of Roman remains which
have from time to time been made there. It is one of those towns,
moreover, of which guide-books, with an immense list of churches and the
pictures they contain, give perhaps too grand an idea before they have
been seen. It is, however, undoubtedly a place of much interest, not
only for the antiquary, but also for the student of mediæval art, since,
though its churches are generally uninteresting, it has in the Broletto,
sadly mutilated and modernized as it is, the remains of one of the most
extensive and grand of these buildings, and to a considerable extent
executed in very excellent brickwork.
Our first visit in the morning was to the Piazza, in which stand the two
cathedrals--the old and the new--side by side, and just beyond them the
front of the Broletto, stretching its great length up a slight hill and
along a narrow lane beyond the Piazza, whilst at its angle, towering up
between it and the cathedrals, stands a tall and rugged stone campanile,
without break or window until at the top, where, just as in the
corresponding tower at Bergamo, great rudely-arched openings are left,
through which appear the wheels and works of the bells.
The new cathedral, approached by a flight of steps from the Piazza, has
a great sham front. It has, moreover, a large dome, said to be inferior
only in size to those of S. Peter’s and the cathedral at Florence, but
not prepossessing in its effect; nor did the church seem to contain any
pictures of value. By a descent of some twenty steps from the south
transept the old cathedral is reached. This is of very early date, and
constructed partly in stone and partly in brick. The most remarkable
feature is the nave, which is circular in plan, with an aisle round it;
the central portion, divided by eight arches from the aisles, being
carried up into a dome. The choir and transepts are projected on the
east side of the dome, and the former is groined and has a five-sided
apse. The walls retain some fair mediæval monuments, and beneath the
church is a large crypt. The old stone altar in the choir is a fine
example of the thirteenth century. The mensa is, as so often is the
case, carried on shafts, no less than sixteen in front and six at the
ends, with carved capitals. The stalls are in the apse, and a fine
lectern stands behind the altar.
The whole air of the Duomo Vecchio is chill and dismal to a degree; it
is neglected and dirty, and apparently shut up except for occasional
services, and left no pleasant impressions on our minds of our first
Lombard cathedral; and yet undoubtedly there is both here and at
Aachen--where the plan of the cathedral is so very similar--much to
admire in the idea of the plan, and I can quite imagine that a very
noble and useful church might in any age have been founded upon this old
Lombard type.[10]
Those who know anything of Spanish churches will be reminded here of the
two cathedrals at Salamanca, the relative positions of which are just
the same, a steep flight of steps in either case, leading down from the
south aisle of the new cathedral into the old and deserted one.
From the cathedral we went at once to the Broletto, which
[Illustration: 8.--BROLETTO. BRESCIA. Page 69.]
stands in the same Piazza. The main portion of this immense building
appears to have been built rather early in the thirteenth century. The
arches throughout are both round and pointed, used indifferently; but
this mixture does not betoken any diversity of date, as it would in
England.
[Illustration: CLOISTER--BROLETTO, BRESCIA.]
A large quadrangle is formed by the buildings, which has a cloister on
two sides, and traces of another cloister on a third side now built up.
The cloister still remaining on the cast side is ancient and on a large
scale; it opens to the quadrangle with simple pointed arches resting
upon heavy piers, and a row of piers running down the centre divides it
into two portions, so that it may be judged that its size is very
considerable. The groining has transverse and diagonal ribs, the former
being very remarkable, and, as not unfrequently seen in good Italian
work, slightly ogeed; not, that is to say, regular ogee arches, but
ordinary arches with the slightest suggestion only of an ogee curve in
the centre. Of the external portion of the building the west front is
the most perfect, and must always have been the finest; it consists of a
building containing in the upper story five windows, the centre being
the largest, and possibly once the Ringhiera, to the south of which
rises the great belfry of rough stone, and beyond that a wide building
with traces--but no more--of many of the original windows; north of the
building with the five windows is a very beautiful composition executed
almost entirely in finely-moulded bricks; it has an exquisite door with
some traces of fresco in its tympanum, executed mainly in stone, of
which I give a drawing, and a magnificent brick rose window, above which
is a brick cornice, which continues over the remainder of the west front
and along the whole of the north side.
[Illustration: DETAIL OF CIRCULAR WINDOW--BROLETTO, BRESCIA.]
[Illustration: DOORWAY--BROLETTO, BRESCIA.]
[Illustration: BRICK CORNICE--BROLETTO, BRESCIA.]
The size of the building is prodigious, and certainly the detail of all
the parts (excepting perhaps the cornice, which is of the common arcaded
kind) is most beautiful and valuable. The brickwork is so good and
characteristic that I have given several sketches of it. All the arches
have occasional voussoirs of stone, and the centre of the arch is always
marked by a key-stone, and these are sometimes slightly carved to
distinguish them from the other stone voussoirs. The abaci are of brick,
moulded and very varied. The doorway given in the woodcut on the
preceding page has stone jambs, caps and bases, lintel and outer arch,
the label and cusps being of terra-cotta; above this the whole of this
portion of the front is of brick, and very admirably built.
[Illustration: SAN FRANCESCO--BRESCIA.]
Of the churches of Brescia there seem to be but few of any interest;
that of San Francesco, of whose west front I give a sketch, is the best,
and, though not of uncommon design, is worth notice; the mixture of
white and black
[Illustration: 9. BROLETTO--BRESCIA.
Details of Archivolts]
marble and brick is very judicious; but I must protest once more against
the arcaded eaves-cornices, which are very elaborate and heavy; nor can
I bring myself to like the great flat gable, covering both nave and
aisles, and divided only by pilaster strips, which characterizes so many
mediæval Italian churches. In this west front of San Francesco the
cornices and the mouldings of the small circular windows are all of
brick, and the rest of the front of stone, the rose window having
voussoirs of black and white marble. The only other part of the church
which appeared to be of any interest was a campanile on the south side
of the choir: this had stone belfry windows, well treated with simple
plate tracery, and there is a singular and lofty lantern over one of the
chapels on the north side of the church, all of rich brickwork dating
from about 1480.
The sun was at its hottest as we wandered about the streets of Brescia;
but there was so much pleasure in the examination of the busy people who
thronged its narrow tortuous streets, that we enjoyed it very much. In
Italian towns, too, there is not much difficulty in finding the way; we
ask the road to some church, and forthwith, in place of a long and not
very intelligible direction, in which we are sure entirely to confuse
our right hand with our left, the person we ask turns round with us,
walks by our side, shews us our object, and, politely taking off his hat
and bowing, takes leave of us. It was by such aid as this that we found
the church of the Carmine, which is another very late Gothic church. The
west front is most fantastic and unpleasing, and the pinnacles composed
of round bricks, disposed alternately over each other, and common in
most Italian brick buildings, are very ugly; there is, however, a good
simple cloister attached to the church on the north; it is of the same
design as almost all in this part of the world, having simple round
shafts with carved caps and circular arches. An inner
[Illustration: CLOISTER OF THE CARMINE CONVENT--BRESCIA.]
cloister which I remember of old as occupied by the ever present
Austrian soldiers, is now (1872) open to all the world, and neither
cared for nor used. Here the south side of the cloister is of two
stories in height, the lower similar to the our just mentioned, the
upper having two arches to one arch of that below, and the arches
picturesquely shaped, being cinquefoils, with the central division of
ogee form, and with moulded terminations to the cusps. There is a fair
campanile here, with brick traceries and strings, but with a modern
belfry-stage.
A little bit of cloister, or gallery, on the north side of Sta. Afra,
has arcading of similar character in its upper gallery, but the arches
are trefoiled.
In the Contrada della Pace there remains a very bold fragment of a
castle tower. It is built of very roughly-jointed stone, and is
perfectly plain till near the top, where it has a bold machicolation
with tall square angle-turrets, the whole battlemented with a forked
battlement. Out of the centre of the tower a tall thin tower rises to
some height above the battlements.
One of the most picturesque spots in the city is the Piazza, at the end
of which stands the Palazzo della Loggia; the effect on coming into it
from the narrow streets in which we had been wandering was very
pleasant, the large open space being surrounded with rather elaborate
Renaissance work with rich coloured sun-blinds projecting from the
windows over the sunny pavement, which in its turn was thronged with
people in picturesque attire selling fruit and vegetables. The streets
are all arcaded, and some of them have very considerable remains of
frescoes on the exterior, giving much interest to the otherwise ugly
walls; they have, however, suffered very greatly from exposure, and are
only in places intelligible; still they give traces of brilliant
external colour, and are therefore much valued in my recollections of
Brescia.
Compared with Bergamo, Brescia has the air of a smart and busy place;
its streets are wider and better paved, and the smells which still
greeted us were not quite so bad as there. The staple manufacture of the
city seems to be that of copper vessels; shop after shop, indeed street
after street, is full of coppersmiths’ shops; the men all sitting at
work, and keeping up a ceaseless din of hammering, in open shops, so
that all the world may see them. Nor is the coppersmiths’ the only trade
that loves publicity, for here as elsewhere the barbers’ shops are very
amusing, quite open in front, with perhaps a yellow curtain hanging down
half way, affecting only to conceal the inviting interior, which however
is always sufficiently visible, occupied in the centre by a chair, on
which sits the customer gravely holding a soapdish to his chin whilst
the barber operates; and this going on all day makes one think that
shaving is, after all, one of the great works of an Italian’s time!
When we left Brescia the heat was intense; the road, too, was deep in
dust to an extent not to be understood in England. There had been a
drought of some weeks’ duration, and the much-travelled road from Milan
to Verona, along which our way now lay, plainly told the tale which the
dry, parched, cracked-looking earth on each side of our way, and the sad
faces of every one as they talked about the failure of the vintage,
amply confirmed. Unluckily for ourselves we had not taken the advice of
our driver to have a close vehicle, but had insisted upon having an open
carriage, the consequence of which piece of self-will was that we had
hard work, even with the aid of umbrellas, to protect ourselves from
_coups de soleil_. We now learnt that in hot weather in Italy it is not
always the best plan to have as much of the sun as one can get. In
England it always is, but he who acts on his English experience in Italy
will surely repent his mistake.
We managed, however, to exist through the clouds of dust, relieved
perhaps by the sight of a regiment of swarthy and unpleasant looking
Austrian soldiers marching through the sun and dust, many of them with
their knapsacks and arms, but all with great-coats on to preserve their
white uniforms. When we saw them we could not help contrasting our
relative lots, and then, feeling how much worse off they were than
ourselves, we went on a little more contentedly than before. The road,
too, became slightly more interesting; instead of miles upon miles of
straight lines, we had a more winding way, and after a time occasional
beautiful glimpses of the mountains which marked to us the situation of
the Lago di Garda.
We drove without stopping through Donato, a place of no interest
apparently save for the huge dome of its church, and then passing under
a very fine viaduct resting upon a long range of pointed arches, (which
carries the railway which soon after our return was opened, and now
whisks only too many travellers from Milan to Venice and back without a
halt on the way,) we commenced the descent towards the town of
Desenzano, beyond and above whose roofs stretched the beautiful expanse
of fair Lago di Garda, with its great calm surface, and fine group of
distant mountains hemming in with picturesque and irregular outline, its
upper end.
We soon reached the poor and desolate streets of the town, and diving
into the dark court of the not over-clean looking hotel, gave ourselves
up for a time to the contemplation of the quiet loveliness of the scene.
The contrast between the flat shores of the lower part of the lake and
the mountains which crowd around its head is very striking, and to this
it is that Desenzano owes all that it has of interest. We strolled out
for a short time, looked at washerwomen kneeling in small tubs on the
edge of the lake, and washing their linen upon the smooth face of the
stones which pave its shore, and then went on, as in duty bound, to look
into the church. This we found to be neither very old nor very
interesting, but curious as illustrating the extent to which, in Italy,
the practice is sometimes carried of putting altars in every direction
without reference to their orientation. Here the high altar and some
others faced due south, whilst most of the remainder faced east, and I
think scarcely one turned to the west.
The remains of an old castle rise picturesquely above the little
harbour, from which steamboats sail for the tour of the lake, and
bidding farewell for a time to dusty roads, let us embark on one of
these for Riva at the head of the lake on our way to Trent, which is,
artistically speaking, the northernmost really national city and
cathedral in Italy.
Our steamboat kept to the west side of the lake, touching at a few
villages and towns, and for the most part ploughing its way along
beneath some of the highest and most precipitous rocks that I know. We
took a band on board on the way, and discharged them into a big barge
under a cliff, on the top of which was being held a village festa, at
which they were to perform; and we all looked with no little compassion
upon the heavily weighted performers as we saw the people who had
preceded them climbing the steep mountain sides above us.
The Lago di Garda seems to me to be in its upper reach one of the most
beautiful of Italian lakes. But it should always be taken in the way we
went, for the contrast between the sublimity of the upper end and the
tameness of the lower end is so great that nothing but disappointment
would be felt by those who saw the head of the lake first.
One or two of the towns on the western shore have churches of some
interest. At Salo there is a Gothic church with windows which have a
wide external splay and an enriched brick moulding or label all round
them. The windows are of one light, and have ogee-cusped heads. Another
church, at (I think) Gargnano, is of much more importance. It is
cruciform, with a domical lantern at the crossing. The nave has a simple
clerestory and aisles, and the west end, built in black and white
courses, has one great arch which encloses the doorway, above this a
lancet window, and above this again a circular window without tracery.
From Riva--one of the most pleasant resting-places on the Italian
lakes--a good road through fine scenery leads to Trent, a journey of
some six or eight hours. The descent upon Trent is very fine. The town
standing by itself well away from the fine mountains which form the
background to the view, the old walls and towers around it, and the
interest of the cathedral and other buildings behind them, combine to
give a sense of the importance and grandeur of the city which the facts
of the case hardly justify. Perhaps, too, there is something in the
historical importance of the place which, without one’s knowledge, sways
the judgment.
There is in fact only one building of great architectural
importance--the cathedral; but, as I shall shew, it has the greatest
interest, not only on account of its real merit, but also because it is
a startling example of the way in which, in the thirteenth century,[11]
the Lombard architects adhered to their old lessons and habits in spite
of all the developments which were then universally accepted on the
northern side of the Alps.
The church is a round-arched building throughout, but the mouldings and
details everywhere show a knowledge of thirteenth-century work, and have
none of the character of true Romanesque or Lombard art. Yet at the same
time there is in many respects a most close imitation of Lombard
features. There are arcades under the cornices of the aisles, arcades
under the eaves of the apses, open porches supported on shafts whose
bases rest on monsters, and other features which, looked at apart from
the sections of mouldings and details of sculpture, might well warrant a
much earlier date being fixed on for the execution of the work than I
have named. An inscription which fixes the date of some works here in
1212[12] may fairly, I think, be assumed to give the date of the greater
part of the fabric, though some portions, as e.g. the western wheel
window and the northern porch, are probably not so early by at least a
hundred years. But I am not concerned to deal with the question only
from an archæological point of view, and will at once therefore go on to
give some description of the building.
The ground-plan is in the shape of a Latin cross--with an eastern apse,
two small apses to the east of the transepts, and a nave and aisles of
seven bays. There is an octagonal lantern over the crossing, and the
whole church is groined. The doors are, two in the east walls of the
transepts, one at the west end (of marble), and one with a projecting
open porch over it near the east end of the north aisle. Two western
towers were intended to be built, and the staircases to them are carried
up in the western and southern aisle walls in a very unusual and
picturesque fashion. They commence in the third bay east of the towers,
and are carried up in a continuous rise, opening to the church with a
series of arches stepping up to suit the level of the staircases. The
western bay to which these stairs lead is groined at a lower level, as
well as at the nave level, so as to form a very lofty gallery open to
the church.
The clerestory consists of very small windows, and there is no
triforium; the main portion of the columns goes up to
[Illustration: 10. DUOMO. TRENT. p. 81.]
and carries the groining, and though the main arches are all
semi-circular, there is nevertheless an evident attempt--and it is
successful--to give an impression of height to the interior. The
continuous arcades under the eaves are carried also across the front of
the transepts, and give a great effect of richness to the external
architecture. Of the two towers only one is complete, and this was built
in the sixteenth century. The northern porch is the only place in which
the pointed arch appears, and it seemed to me to be of the fourteenth
century, though the doorway is of Lombard character, with very quaint
but poor carving in its tympanum, of Our Lord with the four Evangelists.
The whole church is built of stone, and has a Classical want of life and
vigour which one notices only too often in the best Lombard work. Were
it not for the building attached to its north-east angle, I suspect the
general impression would be much less agreeable than it is. This is a
lofty erection with two square turrets and a small apse at the east,
parts of which seem to be earlier than the date I have given to the
cathedral. It is connected with the north-east angle, but its axis is
not parallel with that of the cathedral, and there is consequently a
good deal of picturesqueness in the perspective, besides which it
prevents the otherwise insipid outline of the whole building being
perceived.
The porch on the east side of the south transept, of which I give an
illustration, is one of the most interesting portions of detail in the
building. Its front is supported on two shafts, one of which is an
octagon, resting on the back of a lion, the other four shafts cut out of
a single block and ingeniously knotted together in the centre, and
resting on the shoulders of four sitting figures--altogether about as
strong an illustration of mediæval love of change and variety as could
be found. It must have been the work of a sculptor who was just a little
savage with the somewhat tame uniformity of the whole of the
architectural scheme of the cathedral.
I found little else to see in Trent. Sta. Maria Maggiore has a
Romanesque steeple, quite plain below, but with its two upper stages
arcaded, the arcades resting in the lower stage on shafts coupled one
behind the other, and in the upper tripled in the same way. I do not
remember before to have seen this last arrangement. A tower in the walls
between this church and the cathedral is a rhomboid in plan, and was, I
suppose, built of this strange shape to suit some necessity arising out
of the position of streets and walls. Considerable portions of the walls
remain; they are of stone, finished on the top with the forked Italian
battlement, and having square projecting towers at short intervals.
Trent Cathedral and the fine church at Innichen in the Pusterthal, are
quoted frequently as the two finest churches in Tyrol. That at Innichen
has not the same entirely Italian character which marks that at Trent.
In the latter I always feel that climate, people, and town are all in
concert to make one suppose oneself in Italy, which certainly is not the
case at Innichen. North of Trent the architecture of the Tyrol (as at
Botzen and Meran) is entirely German, whilst in Trent itself, were it
not for a steep roof here and there covered with bright glazed tiles,
and a few such slight indications, no one would suspect the presence of
any German influence whatever.
I have travelled so frequently from Trent to Verona by the railway that
I always regard it as one of the most natural and obvious roads of
approach to Italy for Englishmen. It takes its course through so fine a
country that one does not easily tire of the journey, and finally, it
sets travellers down in the city which, perhaps more than any other in
northern Italy, charms the cultivated traveller by the beauty, interest,
and grandeur of its buildings. Who that has taken this way to Verona
does not remember with pleasure the last quarter of an hour of his
journey, as the railway, making a circuit round two-thirds of the city,
reveals first a mixed group of lofty steeples, presently the great
church of San Zenone, then Sta. Anastasia, anon San Fermo, then crosses
the swift-flowing Adige, and at last lands one at the station, full of
anxiety to make the nearer acquaintance of the buildings of “Verona la
degna,” which from afar look so wondrous brave and fine?
CHAPTER VI.
“Come, go with me. Go, sirrah, trudge about
Through fair Verona.”
_Romeo and Juliet_, act i. scene 2.
Verona: Campanile of the Palazzo dei Signori--Sta.
Anastasia--Monuments--Piazza dell’ Erbe--The Duomo--The
Baptistery--Sta. Maria l’Antica--Cemetery and Palace of the
Scaligers--Domestic Architecture--Piazza di Brà--The
Austrians--Ponte di Castel-Vecchio--San Zenone--San Fermo
Maggiore--Chapel near the Duomo--Romeo and Juliet--Dwarfs--Wells.
We reached Verona in the evening, and were up early on the next morning,
anxious to get a general idea of the city. But I was no sooner out of my
bed than I saw from my window, over the roofs of the opposite buildings,
the campanile of the Palazzo dei Signori, a lofty, simple, and almost
unbroken piece of brickwork, rising, I suppose, at least three hundred
feet into the air, and pierced with innumerable scaffold-holes, in and
out of which, as I looked, flew countless beautiful doves, whose choice
of a home in the walls of this tall Veronese tower will make me think
kindly of putlog-holes for the future. Certainly, if the Italian and
English principles of tower-building are to be compared with one
another, the Italian need give no fairer example of its power than this
simple and grand erection.
It rises, as we found afterwards, out of a large pile of buildings, and
for a short distance above their roofs is built in alternate courses of
brick and a very warm-coloured stone,
[Illustration: 11.--CAMPANILE, PALAZZO SCALIGERI, VERONA. Page 84.]
and then entirely with brick, pierced with only one or two small
openings, and terminating with a simple belfry-stage; the belfry
windows, with their arches formed without mouldings, and with the sharp
edges only of brick and stone used alternately, are divided into three
lights by shafts of shining marble; the shafts, being coupled one behind
the other, give strength with great lightness, and are very striking in
their effect. These windows have, too, remarkably large balconies, but
without balustrading of any kind. The upper and octangular stage of the
campanile is comparatively modern, but rather improves the whole effect
than otherwise.
I could hardly tear myself away from this noble work; but much more was
to be seen, so I dallied not long before I set forth on a journey of
discovery, giving myself up gladly to sketching and ecclesiology.
The hotels in Verona are both of them near Sta. Anastasia, and at the
eastern end of the long and at first narrow and picturesque Corso. The
Adige separates the city from its eastern suburb, and from the hills
crowned by the Castel San Felice and the picturesquely stepped city
walls. Its yellow waves wash with an angry rush the foundations of the
houses which overhang it all along its course, but the only views of it
are to be obtained from the bridges, and from the open space near the
Castel Vecchio. At the extreme north-western angle of the town stands
the church of San Zenone. One soon finds one’s self constantly on the
Corso, and to the north of this lie the cathedral, Sta. Eufemia, the
Castel Vecchio, and San Zenone, whilst to the south of it are the tombs
of the Scaligers, San Fermo Maggiore, the Roman Amphitheatre, and the
Palazzo Publico. Without further attempt to describe the map let us
visit the buildings, of which the list I have given, though by no means
exhaustive, includes the finest.
The Veronese architects in the Middle Ages were certainly some of the
best in Italy. San Zenone is by very much the finest church of its kind
that I know; Sta. Anastasia is on the whole one of the best churches of
a later date; and San Fermo Maggiore affords some of the best detail of
brickwork, and the tombs of the Scaligers the best examples of monuments
in all Italy.
The first thing seen on turning out of the hotel is the west front of
the church of Sta. Anastasia, looking so beautiful at the end of the
narrow street, whose dark shade contrasts with the bright sunshine which
plays upon its lofty arched marble doorway and frescoed tympanum, and
lights up by some kind of magic the rough brickwork with which the
unfinished church has been left so brightly, that, as you gaze, thoughts
pass across your mind of portions of some lovely painting or some
sweeter dream; you feel as though Fra Angelico might have painted such a
door in a Paradise, and as though it were too fair to be real. There,
however, it is, rich and delicate in colour, shining with all the
delicate tints of the marbles of Verona, pure and simple in its
softly-shadowed mouldings, beautiful in its proportions, and on a nearer
approach revealing through the dark shade of its opening, and over and
beyond the people who early and late throng in and out, the vague and
misty forms of the solemn interior.
Sta. Anastasia is one of the most complete and representative pointed
churches in the North of Italy, and deserves, therefore, a rather
detailed description. Its date is about 1260 to 1290. The ground-plan is
very simple--a nave of six bays, then one which is the crossing of the
transepts, a very short choir of one bay finished with an apse and two
chapels on the east side of each transept. The nave aisles fire narrow,
and the whole design is characterized by intense simplicity of detail
and arrangement. The width of the nave, and the height of the columns
and arches, give, on entering, an idea of vast space and size. The
columns are very simple, cylindrical in section, and support arches
built of brick, and only chamfered at the edge; from the caps of the
columns flat pilasters run up to the commencement of the groining, and
above the nave arcades there are two small circular openings, one in the
place of a triforium, opening into the roof of the aisle, the other
above it and larger, filled in with plate tracery in stone, and forming
the clerestory.
[Illustration: STA. ANASTASIA--VERONA.]
The arrangement of the plan is in several respects unlike that of
northern Gothic buildings, and as most complete Gothic churches in Italy
are very much of the same type, it is as well here to point out the
peculiarity. The most marked features are first the shortness of the
choir, and next, the fact that whereas in northern Europe it is usually
the aisle vaulting bay which is square, whilst the nave bay is oblong
from north to south, here the nave groining bay is square, and the bays
of the aisle oblong in the direction of east and west. The difference of
effect is great, simple as the statement seems. In these Italian
churches there is much greater space between the columns of the nave
arcades, the groining is consequently divided into much larger bays, and
the whole interior has a largeness of treatment which is not common in
the North. On the other hand there is much less of the complexity and
intricacy which are so charming in our interiors, and you see at a
glance the whole of the church.
In Sta. Anastasia the apses on each side of the choir have an even
number of sides, as has also the sacristy, which is a room on a
magnificent scale, to the north of the church. This is a peculiar
feature, producing as it does an angle in the centre of the apse, which
we shall see again at Venice and Vicenza, and which is seldom seen out
of Italy.[13]
The whole is so simple in design and construction that it depends for
its rich effect on the painting which covers almost every part of it,
and which harmonizes well with the architectural lines. The decorations
appear to have been done, or at any rate commenced, within a short
period of the completion of the church, and are therefore very valuable.
The ground of the painting is white, many of the patterns of borders
being very elaborate compositions of flowers and foliage. The main
arches are painted to represent voussoirs of red brick and stone, but I
am inclined to think that they are really entirely of brick; their
soffeits, which are very broad and flat, are all painted with large
scroll patterns of foliage. In the groining the diagonal ribs are
painted at the intersection with stripes of colour alternating with
white, and on each side of all the ribs a wide border of foliage is
painted, whilst in the centre of each groining-cell some large device is
painted in a medallion, some of these being merely ornamental, others
having figures. The detail of much of the painting is cinquecento in its
character, and not valuable as an example to be literally copied,[14]
but its general effect is certainly very beautiful, and it is worthy of
all praise in respect of the strictness with which it is kept
subservient to the architecture, and in some respects, indeed,
[Illustration: 12. SANTA ANASTASIA. VERONA.
Pavements. Page 89.]
even serves to atone for its deficiencies, as, e.g., in the broad
painted horizontal borders, which take the place, very successfully, of
brick or stone string-courses, which in the construction are entirely
omitted.
It surprised me, I confess, very much, to find a church painted
throughout without any use of gold, and yet with good result; so it is,
however; the effect is most solemn and religious, and there is a very
rich effect of colour; the fact is, that the white ground answers the
same purpose in a degree, though of course not to the full extent, that
gold would.
But if the walls are beautiful in their colour, not less so is the
pavement, which, from one end of the church to the other, remains to
this day to all appearance just as it was on the day that the church was
finished. The nave and transepts are all in one pattern; the spaces
between the columns in a variety of beautiful designs, and divided from
the nave and aisle pavements by a strip of white marble on each side;
and the aisles again are on the same scheme throughout. The colours of
the marble used are white, red, and bluish grey, and the patterns very
simple and generally geometrical in outline, and there is a quiet
richness of effect in their arrangement which is exceedingly beautiful.
Such a pavement must unhappily be for ever Italian, and we in England
can scarce hope ever to attain to anything so exquisite; but we do not
well to forget that by the mixture of a small quantity only of marble
with our encaustic tiles we should attain to much greater beauty of
effect than we can by the use of tiles alone, and there are many
towns--as, e.g., Plymouth--the very pavement of whose streets is of a
material which might most advantageously be introduced, more often than
it has yet been, inside the walls of our sanctuaries, as well as under
the feet of every passer along the streets.
There are some monuments and paintings here quite worth looking at. The
Pellegrini Chapel, next to the choir, has two fine trefoil-headed
monuments in red marble with the background painted with subjects of
about the same age (circa 1392); and in the Cavalli Chapel there is an
admirably painted wall, against which has been put a monument which,
though somewhat rude and coarse in its sculpture, nevertheless produces
a very fine effect of colour and architecture combined.[15]
[Illustration: AISLE WINDOW--STA. ANASTASIA, VERONA.]
The window tracery of Sta. Anastasia is rather singular plate tracery,
consisting of mere piercings through the stone with very little
moulding; most of the windows are of two very lofty trefoiled lights
with circles and trefoils pierced above, very simple and severe, and
remarkable for the quaint way in which the cusping is arranged, not with
some reference to vertical lines, as is ordinarily the case with us, but
just as fancy or chance seems to have dictated. The clerestory windows
are circular openings cusped.
There is a curious but not very happily treated arrangement inside--a
step all round the inside walls, projecting some three or four feet from
them, and panelled all round against the riser with a small trefoil
arcading--the whole in red marble.
Externally the church is almost entirely built in red brick with rich
cornices and rather ungainly buttresses and pinnacles of brick; the
windows have brick jambs with stone tracery, and on the north side of
the choir is a fine lofty campanile, finished at the top with a low,
very plain, and octangular capping, and unpierced with openings, except
in the belfry-stage. Of the west front only the doorway has been
completed; this is in courses of red, grey, and white marble, and most
effective; the rest of the front is left in brick, finished exceedingly
roughly, with a view to leaving a key for the marbles with which, no
doubt, it was intended to veneer the entire front. The wooden framework
of this door, of which I give a detail, is very curious; it is of deal,
coëval with the doorway, and the framework is external, not internal.
The west front of the church stands in a small piazza, on the north side
of which is the little church of San Pietro Martire, between the east
end of which and Sta. Anastasia is a wall dividing a small burial-ground
from the Piazzetta; on the top of this wall, and supported upon corbels,
is one of those monuments peculiarly associated with Verona, because so
numerous there, though they are often met with elsewhere in Italy; they
are either large pyramidal
[Illustration: DOOR-FRAME--STA. ANASTASIA.]
canopies supported upon trefoiled arches resting on four marble shafts,
with a kind of sarcophagus or an effigy beneath; or else, when attached
to a wall, they have two detached shafts supporting the same kind of
trefoiled arch and surmounted by a flattish pediment. Their effect is
almost invariably beautiful in the extreme, and their only defect is,
that they all require to be held together by rods of iron connecting the
capitals of the columns. This, however, is soon forgotten when one feels
that there is no pretence ever or anywhere at its concealment; and
notwithstanding this slight defect, one cannot help loving and admiring
them; for there is a grace and beauty about the form and proportion of
the Veronese trefoiled arch, such as is never seen, I think, elsewhere,
and the very flatness of the carving and the absence of deep moulding
seem all adopted in order that nothing may interfere with the simple
beauty of the outline of the arch. In this case the monument is
supported on a large slab of stone corbelled forward and balanced upon
the top of a thin wall over the archway which leads into the churchyard
of San Pietro. Four shafts with sculptured capitals, resting on the
angles of this slab, support four trefoiled arches, (those at the ends
narrower than the others), which are almost destitute of moulding save
that the outer line of the arch has a broad band of delicate sculpture
all round it. The arch terminates in a small cross, and above on each
side is a very flat pediment, moulded and finished on the under side
with one of the favourite Italian arcaded corbel-tables; the finish is a
heavy pyramidal mass of stone rising from behind the pediments. The four
bearing-shafts are of white marble, all the rest of the monument of red.
Within the four supporting shafts stands a sarcophagus, supported on the
backs of couchant lions, very plain, but ornamented at the angles in
very Classic fashion, and bearing a recumbent effigy.
The church of San Pietro has three or four smaller monuments enclosed
within its small courtyard; two of them are on the ground and have round
arches on detached shafts with an Agnus Dei carved in the centre. The
third is corbelled out from the wall, and the face of the monument is
covered with sculpture, that of the figures being very inferior in style
to that of the foliage enrichments. This little group of monuments,
varying in date from 1283 to 1392, is well worth study, and I found it
more than usually interesting owing to its entire unlikeness to any
English work. The church against which these monuments are built is
small but deserves notice; it is of brick with a stone canopy on shafts
corbelled out above the west door; the buttresses are mere pilasters,
and run up without any weathering till they finish in an arcaded
corbel-table at the eaves; the windows have wide brick splays outside,
and trefoil heads of stone without any chamfer or moulding; on the south
side, the church--in point of size a mere chapel--is divided into four
bays, one of which has a monument corbelled out by the side of the
window. It is built entirely of red brick, not relieved in any way,
except that the window arches are in alternate voussoirs of brick and
stone. The wooden framework of the west door deserves notice as being
very unlike the English mode of door-framing, and very good in its
effect. The accompanying sketch will best explain it: and it must be
understood that, instead of being internal, as such framing would
usually be in England, in this example it is external, just as in the
somewhat similar door of Sta. Anastasia, of which I have already made
mention.
[Illustration: DOOR-FRAME--SAN PIETRO MARTIRE.]
Turning back from the Piazzetta of Sta. Anastasia, and traversing again
the narrow and gratefully shady street by which we reached it, we soon
found ourselves at the end of the Piazza dell’ Erbe, the most
picturesque square in the city, and at an early hour in the morning
quite a sight to be seen. The whole open space was as full as it could
be of dealers in vegetables and fruits, all of them protecting
themselves and their stores from the intense glare of the sun under the
shade of prodigious umbrellas, at least five times as large as any of
ordinary size, and certainly five times as bright in their colours, the
prevailing colour being a very bright red. Altogether it was a
thoroughly foreign scene. The houses, some ancient, but all picturesque
and irregular, surrounding the irregularly-shaped Piazza, the
magnificent campanile of the Scaligeri Palace rising proudly behind the
houses on the left, the fountain in the centre, and the great column of
red Veronese marble rising close to us, which at one time bore the
winged lion--mark of the dominion of the Venetians--all combined to
produce a very striking picture. An hour or two later in the day when we
passed, the people, the umbrellas, and the fruit were all gone, and
somewhat of the charm of the place was gone with them.
From the Piazza dell’ Erbe we went to the cathedral, anxious to see and
hear somewhat of a service which we found was to take place. There was a
great throng of people, and we had some difficulty in finding even
standing room among them; we were not at all sorry, however, to have
gone, for we came in for a sermon most energetically preached, and
enforcing in very powerful language the necessity of repentance. The
pulpit was very large, and as the preacher delivered his sermon he
walked from side to side, and often repeated again to those on his left
the substance of what he had already said to those on his right. The
people, who crowded every available place within hearing, were
exceedingly silent and attentive; and at intervals the preacher stopped
for a minute to cough and use his handkerchief, which was a signal for
an immediate general blowing of noses and coughing all over the church.
The “_Ebben infelici!_” with which he commenced his sermon, was a good
index to its whole tone, and makes me remember with pleasure the vast
crowd listening to Christian doctrine in the grand nave of the Duomo.
Would that we could see any prospect of the day when in England our
larger churches may be used in this way, when, with pews and all their
concomitant evils swept away, we may see a vast crowd standing and
sitting, leaving no passage-way and no waste room, anxious only that
they may, by pressing near, join in the services at the altar, and hear
every word of warning and of advice! The nave of Westminster, so
thronged, would soon show how great has been our mistake in leaving our
large churches so long unused.[16]
The Duomo is a really fine church, Romanesque in its shell, but altered
completely internally in the fourteenth century. It has only five bays
in length, but the dimensions are so large that the nave and aisles
alone measure about 225 feet × 97 feet inside. There are slightly
recessed Romanesque apses in the side walls, and a great tomb or shrine
of S. Agatha, which is worth looking at. The columns in the interior are
very lofty, of red marble, and, instead of being plain and cylindrical,
as at Sta. Anastasia, are moulded with very good effect. Their capitals
are, however, heavy, and the carving of the foliage on them not at all
satisfactory. The whole interior is very solemn, and specially beautiful
on this bright September day, with almost all the light excluded by
thick curtains--here and there a stray gleam of the most intensely
bright light finding its way through some chink, lighting up with sudden
brilliancy the deep cool shade, and--reflected from the bright surface
of some great marble shaft--suggesting the grandeur which can hardly
really be seen.
The choir is divided from the nave by a screen of marble, consisting of
detached columns with Ionic capitals and a continuous cornice, the whole
screen semi-circular in plan, and coming forward into the nave. This,
the work of Sanmichele, is certainly about the most effective work of
this kind and age that I have seen.
The west front of the Duomo is still in the main in its original state.
It has a rich porch supported on shafts (whose bases rest on the backs
of lions), and of two stages in height, a flat pediment surmounting the
upper stage. Another flat pedimental cornice is carried over the whole
front at the same level; but out of this a wall rises above the central
portion the width of the nave and height of the clerestory, which is
again surmounted by a third flat pediment--a confused and not very
graceful arrangement, which found an imitator in Palladio, when he built
that ugliest of fronts, the west end of San Giorgio Maggiore at Venice.
The windows at the ends of the aisles are very Italian in their
character. They are insertions in the wall of two narrow lights within
an enclosing arch, which is again surrounded by a square line of
moulding. The effect of this not uncommon Italian arrangement is
exceedingly unsatisfactory, as it appears to make the window with its
arch and tracery quite independent, constructively, of the wall in which
it is placed; it appears in fact to be merely veneered on to the face of
the wall.
On the north side of the cathedral is a cloister of good detail, which
was originally of two stages in height, but is now considerably altered
in parts. It is exceedingly similar to the cloister of San Zenone, which
we shall see presently, consisting of a long arcade of pointed arches
carried on marble shafts; it is now in a very ruinous condition.
The Baptistery--San Giovanni in Fonte--is a detached church near the
east end of the cathedral, which does not look as if it had been at
first intended for its present use. It is a building of the twelfth
century, with nave and aisles ending in three apses, lighted by a small
clerestory, and with some columns which are probably Roman. The font,
which stands in the centre, is of enormous size, and is sculptured with
eight subjects beginning with the Annunciation and finishing with the
Baptism of Our Lord. These sculptures are very rude. The bason of the
font is almost seven feet in diameter, and in its centre is another
smaller bason of graceful shape. I do not happen to have seen an
explanation of these inner basons in the fonts in Italian baptisteries.
They look as if they were meant for the priest to stand in whilst he
immersed the catechumens around him.
And now that we have visited two of the great churches, we must no
longer delay our visit to the church of Sta. Maria l’Antica, whose small
burial-ground is fenced from the busy thoroughfares, which on two sides
bound it, by an iron railing of most exquisite design, divided at
intervals by piers of stone on whose summits stand gazing upward as in
prayer, or downwards as in warning to those who pass below, a beautiful
series of saintly figures. Within, a glorious assemblage of monuments
meets the eye--one over the entrance doorway, the others either towering
up in picturesque confusion above the railing which has been their
guardian from all damage for so many centuries, or meekly hiding their
humility behind the larger masses of their companions.
The monuments are all to the members of one family--the Scaligeri--who
rose to power in the thirteenth century, and held sway in Verona until
almost the end of the fourteenth. In this space of time it was,
therefore, that these monuments were erected, and they are consequently
of singular interest, not only for the excessive beauty of the group of
marble and stone which, in the busiest highway of the city, among tall
houses and crowds of people, has made this churchyard, for some five
hundred years, the central point of architectural interest, but because
they give us dated examples of the best pointed work during nearly the
whole time of its prevalence in Verona. In the monument of the first
Duke we see the elements of that beauty which, after ascending to
perfection in that of another, again descends surely and certainly in
the monument of Can Signorio, the largest and most elaborate of all,
and, therefore, I am afraid, the most commonly admired, but the one
which shows most evidence of the rise of the Renaissance spirit, and the
fall of true art. Nor is it, I think, to be forgotten, as an evidence of
the kind of moral turpitude which so often precedes or accompanies the
fall of art, that this Can Signorio first murdered his own brother
Cangrande II. that he might obtain his inheritance, and then, before he
died, erected his own monument, and adorned it with effigies of SS.
Quirinus, Valentine, Martin, George, Sigismund, and Louis, together with
allegorical figures of the Virtues with whom he of all men had least
right to associate himself in death, when in life he had ever despised
them. The inscription, which records the name of the architect on this
monument, does but record the vanity of him who was content thus to
pander to the wretched Can Signorio’s desire to excuse the memory of his
atrocious life by the sight of an immense cenotaph.[17]
The tomb of Cangrande I. forms the portal of the church as well as the
monument of the first and greatest of the family. It is perhaps
altogether the finest of all; the shafts which bear the pyramidal canopy
are supported on corbels; between them is a simple sarcophagus
sculptured with a bas-relief, and upon it lies Cangrande with his arms
crossed in token of his resignation and faith. At the top of the
pyramidal covering is the figure of the brave knight riding forth to war
on his gaily caparisoned steed.
Next to this monument in date, as in merit, is that of Mastino II.,
wanting perhaps in some of the severe simplicity of the other, but even
more striking, as it stands at the angle of the cemetery. It is a
thoroughly grand and noble erection of two stages in height, the lower
unimportant, and only serving as a means of raising the monument
sufficiently high to be well seen from the exterior; upon this stand
four shafts, between which, and supported upon four much smaller shafts,
is the sarcophagus on which lies the recumbent effigy, at whose head
stand angels with expanded wings[18] guarding the deceased. The
sarcophagus is adorned with bas-reliefs--that on the west side being the
Crucifixion--and has engaged angle-shafts. The four main bearing-shafts
at the angles of the monument have finely carved caps with square abaci
from which rise simple trefoiled arches with steep pediments on each
side filled with sculpture in relief, and between these are exquisitely
simple niches, each a miniature reproduction of the entire monument, and
containing between their delicate detached shafts figures of saints. The
whole is finished with a heavy pyramidal capping, crocketed at the
angles with crockets so abominable in their shape and carving that they
go far to spoil the entire work, and surmounted by the figure of the
Capitano del Popolo, spear in hand, riding on his war-horse; the horse
and horseman riding with the
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