Our first thought was to find our way to the cathedral, the second largest Gothic church in Europe, about which probably more has been written, and a greater number of conflicting opinions as to its merit expressed, than about any building in the world, with the exception of St. Peter’s, Rome. As it is impossible to say anything new about this wonderful cathedral, we shall principally confine our remarks to our own individual impressions and opinions.
To commence with, the first view of the interior struck us as far finer than the more popular exterior. Indeed, so great an effect had it upon No. 2, that he turned as white as a sheet, and seemed completely overcome with the wonder of the buildings. The enormous proportions of the church, the great height of the pillars, with their canopied niches over the capitals, and the rich religious effect of the whole, formed a picture, in comparison to which (in our eyes) the blazing but meretricious glory of the exterior, with its 4,000 or so niches and vast masses of carving, was not to be compared. It is said that an intimate acquaintance with both exterior and interior will fall far short of one’s first impressions.
Now this did not strike us with regard to the interior. No, not even after we realised the tracery of the roof to be painted, and the tracery of the windows to be somewhat straggling and unmeaning. But it is a different matter from the exterior; after the first astonishment is over, one sees at once the great over-elaboration and the general “spikiness” of the effect, though No. 1 thought the admixture of the Renaissance style in the façade saved this portion of the cathedral by supplying that solidity and “sobriety of line” which the building otherwise so painfully lacks.
Even before we heard that the architect was supposed to have been a German, we recognised the Teutonic character of the cathedral, especially of the interior, which seemed to be not entirely unlike that of Cologne.
To enter more into detail, the plan is a Latin Cross, terminated by an apse, and divided into a nave and four aisles. The interior is 477 feet in length, by 183 in breadth, exclusive of the transepts, and is supported by fifty-two pillars, which are eighty feet in height and twelve feet in diameter. The before-mentioned niches, which crown the pillars, are a great feature, each niche being of different design, and all remarkably beautiful. The roof is elaborately painted in imitation (so it is said) of tracery. Street calls this an “abominable device, which never ceases to offend and annoy the eye more and more every time it is observed.” The effect did not seem to No. 1 at all disagreeable; quite the contrary. He thought it added great beauty and richness to the design, and does not believe that it was ever intended to deceive the beholder into the idea that it is real tracery. “Why not believe it to be mere decorative painting, and beautiful art as such?” he asked. But No. 2 was really deceived into believing that the imitation of tracery was actually what it represented, particularly as the design, which is in dark-brown colouring upon a light ceiling, represents carvings of beautiful patterns and filigree work, very much like the Gothic screens of some of our English cathedrals, only fixed upon the ceiling instead of being on the line of sight. But when, after investigation, he found the paint obliterated here and there by damp and other causes, showing blotches of brown and white, he was disgusted beyond measure, and began to look upon other work with suspicion. “Why,” cried he, “should a Christian church impose on the unwary, or to the wary preach affectation and artifice?”
There is no triforium, and the pavement is a mosaic of various coloured marbles. There is a great quantity of old stained glass in the windows, which, though not equal to our old English glass, yet gives the building a very religious effect, which is still more enhanced by the colour of the stonework, which has the appearance of old ivory. The interior is well filled with ancient monuments; but we have no space to describe them, and will simply add that the most remarkable are those of Gian Giacomo and Gabriele de Medici, attributed to Michael Angelo; of Cardinal Caracciolo, in black marble, by Bambaja; and of Ottone Visconti, Archbishop of Milan, which is earlier in date than any portion of the cathedral. In the north transept is the bronze candelabrum for holding seven lamps, constructed in imitation of that which existed in the Holy Temple of Jerusalem—a magnificent work erected in the thirteenth century. And in the south transept is a famous statue of St. Bartholomew being flayed alive.
St. Charles Borromeo, the great Archbishop of Milan, is buried below the dome in a subterranean chapel. It may interest our girls to know that he was the originator of Sunday-schools in Europe.
The Duomo of Milan is like no other building in the world, it belongs to no distinct style of architecture, and in art it had neither parents nor children. Nothing was ever built like it before, and nothing will ever be built like it again. We do not say that it is the most beautiful church ever built, nor do we deny that, architecturally speaking, it possesses many grave faults, but what we mean is this: Of all other churches we say they are built in such and such a style, or are of such and such an order of architecture. But of this we say simply, it is the Duomo of Milan.
When this vast structure, with its countless pinnacles of pure white marble glittering in the sun, and backed-up by a dark blue sky, breaks upon our astonished gaze, the mind is absorbed with wonder.
Is it a vision? What have we seen before like it—possibly only one thing—the snow-clad peaks of the Alps. One cannot get rid of the notion that some kind of relationship exists between the two. We begin almost to suspect that some mighty Alp, with its snow-clad peaks, must have been its mother—so much is it like the kind of architecture that would have sprung from the mountains.