It is a pity that the passion, and means of building, had their chief influence at Florence, just as the Gothic taste began to disappear, and the Roman to take its place. The Florentines, themselves, perhaps do not think it a disadvantage, as it is owing to this coincidence that they are able to boast of having led the way in the restoration of architecture. But it is owing also to this, that so many of their buildings are unfinished; for since the old taste fell rapidly into extreme disrepute, they would not venture to erect the façade, (always apparently the part last completed) according to the original design, nor could they agree in any new design, always out of harmony with the edifice; and consequently it generally remains in rough brickwork or plaster. The church of Santa Maria Novella is however one of those which has a façade. The body of the building was begun in 1279, nineteen years before the cathedral, from the design of two Dominican monks, Fra Sisto, and Fra Ristoro; and was completed in 1350. The façade was finished in 1477; the lower part reminds one very much of the architecture of the baptistery, and probably was designed by the original architects. The pedestal above this and the second order may be of Leon Battista Alberti, to whom the whole is unjustly attributed, but the great side scrolls are perhaps posterior to him. There is a date of 1470 on the frieze. Internally, there are six Gothic arches, of which the larger are about equal to the width of the nave: each has a small circular window over it; thus you see, it belongs to that style for which I have so often wanted a name, but of which the church of Sta. Anastasia at Verona, is still my favourite example. The transept has no effect, because there is no additional height or light at the intersection, yet it is a very fine building. The high altar is a recent production, and though not very good in itself, and perhaps rather too large, is nevertheless a fine object, and fills its situation nobly. The side chapels are said, in the Description of Florence, to be of one order; but this is not correct. They are all of the same style, but of no order, and all in some degree different; they all agree however, in one particular, as each of them is surmounted with a broken angular pediment within an entire circular one.
Let us now pass to Brunelleschi’s architecture, as exemplified in the two magnificent churches of S. Lorenzo, and Santo Spirito; and first of San Lorenzo, which was founded in 1425. The front, as usual, is unfinished, nor does this militate against my theory of the cause of the unfinished state of the Florentine edifices; for although Brunelleschi completely drove out the old style, he did not bring in his own; and the style of ecclesiastical building, after his death, is extremely different from any thing which he performed. How he would have managed his fronts, I do not know, as it does not appear that any of them were ever executed. The inside is fine, and even sublime, in spite of all the faults which I am going to enumerate. It is 144 braccia (275 feet 5 inches) in length, and 36 (68 feet 10 inches) wide, inclusive of the side chapels; the length of the transept is 60 braccia (114 feet 9 inches). On entering the great doorway, you have a long and noble range of Corinthian columns on each side, supporting arches; above these is a continued entablature, over which is an upright wall, with narrow semicircularly headed windows, and a flat ceiling, divided into square compartments. The aisles are covered with groined arches, and beyond the aisles is a range of side chapels, which are very rudely finished. Over these side chapels, in the semicircular cross arches of the aisles, there were originally circular windows, but these are now filled up. This disposition, exhibiting two ranges of columns, which divide the building into three unequal parts, was that of the ancient basilicas, and of the early churches which were copied from them. In some of these, the columns were surmounted immediately by an entablature; in others, they supported arches. Brunelleschi seems to have particularly admired and studied the latter form, and has imitated it more than once. It has some advantages and some disadvantages inseparably connected with it; but this building has also many defects quite its own. The arches spring from an entablature which crowns the column, and faces four ways. Arches springing immediately from the capital, are thought objectionable, from an appearance of weakness and insufficiency, and yet, even this very appearance contributes to the lightness and elegance of the building; provided there is nothing to contradict it, by giving apparent weight above. Perhaps the best way is to put a strong block at the top of the capital, or to increase the thickness of the abacus. Instead of these an architrave only might be introduced; but this, retreating again to the size of the column, is not satisfactory. At any rate, the whole entablature has a very bad effect, as it looks like a second capital, larger indeed, but not at all stronger than the first; and besides, has the absurdity of suggesting the appearance of a roof, where it is evident no roof can possibly be. Passing along the building, you observe that the piers, which support the cupola at the intersection of the cross, are much too small; they are indeed larger than the others, but not by any means in proportion to the duty they have to perform. You will understand these remarks to apply to the effect to the eye only. I do not pretend to have calculated the weight each part has to sustain, or to know whether, in this point of view, they are justly proportioned. The design would be better without either transept or cupola. Or if these were essential, the termination of the nave should be strongly marked as the completion of one part, and the commencement of another. All the details of the mouldings, capitals, &c. are bad. The columns and pilasters are of the dun macigno, and the archivolts and architraves are of the same; but the friezes are mostly whitewashed, and so are all the upright faces of wall; and the effect of this dull, heavy, gray, on the glaring white ground, is as bad as you can imagine. There is a much greater extent of this plain surface, and consequently of whitewash, in the tribune, (i. e. that part of the cross beyond the transept,) than in the rest of the church; and thus, the parts about the high altar, which ought in some degree to partake of its splendour and high finish, instead of being the richest, are the poorest in the whole building. On one of my visits here I found workmen employed in hanging it with drapery of scarlet and silver tissue. The Roman catholic clergy are probably right in preferring these temporary ornaments, to those which are of a more permanent nature, and connected with the architecture; what is always visible loses its effect. From the church we pass into the Sagrestia Nuova, or Capella de’ Depositi, of the architecture of Michael Angelo Buonarotti, with tombs designed by him, and sculpture of his execution. How much were my expectations raised! I had seen indeed, here and there, some unfinished piece of his sculpture, and some architecture doubtfully attributed to him; but here it seemed as if I were going to be personally introduced to this wonderful man. How was I disappointed! The mixture of the usual dark, dun stone and whitewash would to be sure spoil any architecture, and the beauty of a small room like this depends much more on such accessories, than that of a spacious church; but here is really nothing to spoil. Simplicity I did not expect, but this has neither grace nor boldness, lightness nor magnificence. The tombs please me as little as the building, and shall I venture to tell you, (but it must be in a whisper) that the four great figures of Day and Night, Dawn and Twilight, are overcharged in their limbs and muscles, and awkward and uneasy in their attitudes. There is also a Madonna and Child by the same artist. The Infant Christ is a young Hercules, and the Madonna evidently uncomfortable. I could not get it out of my head that she was seeking her pocket-handkerchief.
Here is another sacristy as it is called, which was begun in 1604, from the designs of Don Giovanni de’ Medici, but it has never been finished. This likewise was intended for the burying place of the Medici family, but was also to have had a much more glorious relic. Ferdinand I., grand duke of Tuscany, conceived the idea of obtaining, and depositing in it, the Holy Sepulchre itself; and is said to have made some progress towards obtaining it, when the Turks discovered and broke off the negotiation. The building was to have all the beauty that materials could give; and the walls are resplendent with granites, jaspers, and the most costly marbles. The form is octagonal, 48 braccia, or 91 feet 3 inches in diameter; and a large and lofty room, of a simple form, always has some beauty of effect; beyond this, praise must not go, for the design is very bad, and with all this profusion of fine stones, the effect is nothing in point of richness, to that of the church of the Scalzi at Venice. I believe I did not mention this building to you in my letter from that city, but it is well worth attention on this account, though in other respects little can be said in its praise.
We will now proceed to the Church of the Holy Ghost, also built by Brunelleschi. This is 304 feet long;[[41]] the nave is 102 feet wide, including the side aisles, and the length of the transept is 186 feet; the front, as usual, is unfinished. The internal arrangement, as I have already mentioned, is pretended to have been borrowed from that of the Santi Apostoli. It very much resembles S. Lorenzo, but with somewhat greater magnificence, since the columns and arches which form the aisles of the nave, are here continued round the transept and choir; and it is liable to the same objections; the detached entablatures forming so many secondary capitals; the high plain frieze of the continued entablature above the arches; the weakness at the intersection; the dull, heavy-coloured stone, which has here however, taken a tint rather browner and better than usual; and the whitewash, which is rather less obtrusive in this church than in that of S. Lorenzo, from the continuance of the columns and arches behind the choir; and this number of columns produces a movement at every step of the spectator which is enchanting. The part above the cornice is too low. If the cornice were placed its whole height lower down, this division, and the frieze, would both be in good proportion, and the effect greatly improved. The ceiling is not so well disposed as that of San Lorenzo; and under the cupola is another (the third) entablature, of enormous size. The side-chapels are merely niches, surrounded by a magnificent moulding, and the altars are all very bad; yet with all its faults, no one can enter it without feeling it to be a noble building. The atrium of the sacristy is a gallery, with a range of Corinthian columns on each side. These support an architrave, on which rises a semicircular vault; the effect is beautiful, and it came upon me just when I was speculating on the best mode of employing together columns and a vault. The eye finds no sort of deficiency in the absence of a cornice. The sacristy itself is a handsome octagonal room, without any thing very remarkable.
The Church of the Annunziata is said to have been built about 1250, but it has been modernized. In front is a court surrounded by arches, on ten columns resembling Corinthian. The walls of this cloister have been painted in fresco, partly by Andrea di Sarto, who has left here some of his most beautiful productions in this way. His famous Madonna del Sacco is in another cloister, attached to this church. In 1252 the edifice must have been far advanced, for the good fathers employed at that time an artist of the name of Bartolommeo, to paint the Annunciation, in fresco, on the wall. This painter having completed the angel, stood hesitatingly, not knowing how to satisfy himself in the divine countenance of the virgin, and in this state was overtaken by sleep; when he awoke, he beheld to his great astonishment the painting of the head of the virgin completed, of the most exquisite beauty, and the most heavenly expression. Quite transported, he began calling out, a miracle! a miracle! and attracted such crowds that the church was soon filled; “and, in order,” continues my author, “that nobody might be able to doubt the fact, God performed by means of this image numerous miracles, and continues still to do so.”
Internally, the church consists of a nave and side-chapels. It abounds with defects, and is over gilt and ornamented, yet on the whole it is a very handsome room. Beyond this, the tribune is a large circular domed room of purer architecture, which was designed by L. B. Alberti; but even this, though very fine, is far from correct, and when I say so, I would not leave you to suppose that he has “snatched a grace beyond the reach of art,” but that his building would really have been much more beautiful had he deviated less from the approved standards. The dome is entirely painted, and though this is common at Florence, and when well executed often looks very well, yet I cannot entirely approve of it. The architecture below requires solid ribs, or something else, corresponding with it in the upper part: the covering, as well as the sides of the room, should be architecture, and not a painted brass pan.
The Church of the Madonna del Carmine was once famous for its paintings; but these were destroyed by fire, with the ancient edifice, in 1771. A new church was immediately built; the plan of which consists of a long room without side-aisles, leading to a dome; and three recesses, which with the nave form a Latin cross. The nave has Corinthian pilasters, spaced alternately at larger and smaller intervals, with an elliptical recess for the altars in each of the larger spaces: in every smaller space is a door, or the semblance of one, and over the doors are niches, in each of which is a figure, painted on a piece of pasteboard, corresponding to its size and form, to supply the place of statues. The ceiling is waggon-headed, rising from a small dado above the cornice. The line of the nave is slightly interrupted at the intersection of the cross; and instead of the dark stone and whitewash, the pilasters are painted white on a pale blue ground; both these circumstances are greatly in favour of the building, and the simplicity of design, and justness of the general proportions produce a pleasing effect.
The church of St. Mark is principally famous for the paintings of Fra Bartolommeo di San Marco, who, if you except Michael Angelo, stands quite at the head of the Florentine school of painting. The outside is neat, and does not pretend to be any thing more. The inside is very ugly, but I principally mention it to you as an exemplification of the modern Italian taste. It is usual on feast days to adorn the columns and pilasters of the churches with drapery, which is often of crimson damask; but here the tapestry was particularly abundant, striped of the most brilliant red, and yellow, and very much admired. There is also an admirable statue of St. John the Baptist, by John of Bologna, who was the architect of the church, and a particularly fine figure, painted in fresco by Passignano. These and some others were pointed out to me as cose stupende, an expression of praise very common, and which at first I thought applied to things which did not deserve so high an encomium: but at one of the inns where I stopped lately, on inquiring what I could have to eat, they told me that nothing was ready at the moment, but that in about half an hour, I could have some boiled beef, which would be cosa stupenda, and I have been reconciled to the term ever since.
From ecclesiastical, we will turn our attention to civil and domestic architecture, which in Florence has a character quite its own. The continued dissensions within the city, and especially the bitter and lengthened contests between the nobles and the people, obliged the former to prepare even their city-houses for a siege, and the fashion continued, when, after the victory of the trading classes over the nobles, or landed proprietors, a new nobility sprang up among the principal merchants. Machiavelli paints in strong colours, the arbitrary, oppressive, and tyrannical conduct of the old nobility, which obliged the citizens to arm in their own defence; and the haughty contempt of all law and justice, which at length terminated in their downfall. Yet he continues, “This overthrow of the nobles was so complete, and their party so entirely crushed, that they never more ventured to take arms against the people, but became continually more tame and abject; and thence it arose, that Florence was not only deprived of native defenders, but of all generosity of sentiment and conduct.” In these contests each party seems to have persecuted the other to the utmost; there was no forbearance towards a conquered enemy, no amalgamation between the parties, no numerous and respectable intermediate classes, whose views and interest would in some degree take the colour of each. No sentiment existed but that one party must govern, and the other must be slaves.
The Palazzo Vecchio is what we might expect from such a state of society. It was built by Arnolfo in 1298; and if it cannot boast much architectural beauty, certainly combines with other objects to give a most striking, or, if I may use a French term, a piquant effect to the square. The irregularity of its plan is a curious evidence of the violence of party spirit, since it arose from the determination of the ruling party, not to make use of any ground which had belonged to a Ghibelline. Close by its entrance is a fountain surrounded with gigantic figures in marble; and on the other side is the Loggia, the architecture of Andrea Orcagna in 1356. It is said that M. A. Buonarotti, being consulted on a building for the use of the magistracy, recommended to Cosmo, the first grand duke of Tuscany, to complete the Loggia of Orcagna round the square; but as the construction of the five arches had cost 86,000 florins, this idea was never executed. Though erected after the death of Giotto, and before the restoration of Roman architecture, it is not Gothic, but consists of semicircular arches resting on columns; and it is designed with great judgment and feeling. Some very beautiful pieces of sculpture are placed in it, particularly the Perseus of Benvenuto Cellini, in bronze, one of the most admirable productions of modern art.