A campanile here and there about the city, as for example those of S. Gottardo and S. Marco, already described, the richly decorated belfry of St. Antonio—near the Ospedale Maggiore—and but little else, remains in Milan of the graceful Gothic brick building of the period, early fourteenth century, when Azzo Visconte beautified the city with many new edifices. The Duomo stands as the great monument of Gian Galeazzo Visconte’s time, half a century or so later.

From the beginning of the fifteenth century dates the Palazzo Borromeo, a rare example, still surviving, of the domestic building of the Gothic period. The fine pointed doorway is enriched with sculptured mouldings of beautiful design, into which at the top is introduced the heraldic device of the House, the Camel couched in a basket, emblematic of the patience and the far journeyings of the Bonromei, the Good Pilgrims. The cortile, which is exceedingly picturesque, has porticoes with pointed arches of wide span, resting on low octagonal pillars with simple capitals of stiff foliage. On one side, where there is no portico, the windows are richly ornamented with terra-cotta mouldings, and are of a somewhat later date. They have been recently restored, and the fresco decoration in the wall appears too freshly repainted. The Bit, also a device of the Borromei, is moulded beneath the windows, and the motto Humilitas, surmounted by a crown—a suggestive juxtaposition—is repeated everywhere in the painted pattern. Fragments of early fifteenth century frescoes have been uncovered on other parts of the walls in the cortile. In one corner we see a company of sweetfaced, pensive ladies, with the shaven foreheads and turban-like head-dresses and coiffures of the period, gathered on a ship, which a reverend Signor, in crimson cloak and cap, seems to await at a landing-place, a page without beginning or end of one of those entrancing stories of Ursula and her maidens, or some other saint, or of errant knights and beautiful princesses which, figured thus upon the walls, fed the romantic spirit of mediÆval households. More complete and of great charm are some frescoes in a chamber on the ground floor of the palace, which visitors are allowed to see. They depict the pleasant country life of the Milanese nobles in the fifteenth century—gaily attired ladies and gentlemen, with high head-dresses and broad hats, seated round a table under a tree in a wide landscape, playing the game of cards called tarocco, others dancing, a lady with an astonishingly tall form and tiny head performing a pas seul. These paintings suggest to some extent Pisanello’s style, and are doubtless by one of the many painters—Michelino da Besozzo, the Zavatarii, and others, who were covering the walls of the Viscontean palaces in Milan and elsewhere with scenes of the same sort, all now long vanished.

The Borromeo Art Collection will be spoken of in a later chapter.

Buildings of the middle and second half of the fifteenth century, the period of the Sforza, those great patrons of architecture and all the arts, are much more numerous. Sta. Maria del Carmine, a little to the south-west of the Brera, was built under the direction of Guiniforte Solari about 1446, and is the first of the transitional period from Gothic to Renaissance. It has a modern faÇade, and the nave is the only original part, the choir having been rebuilt late in the sixteenth century. In a chapel on the north side there is a Madonna by Luini, much spoilt.

Sta. Maria Incoronata, further north, near Porta Garibaldi, consists of two churches in one, that on the right built by the Augustinian monks, with the help of Francesco Sforza, in 1451, the other by the Duchess Bianca Maria ten years later. The twin building is an interesting memorial of the closely united ducal pair. It has been much modernised. The exterior of the north side and of the apse, and the tower, with its rich terra-cotta decoration, make a very picturesque mass of brick building. Inside the church is the fifteenth century tomb of Gabriele da Cotignola, brother of Francesco Sforza and Archbishop of Milan, with his recumbent effigy set up against the wall. Also monuments to some of the Bossi family, with finely carved profile heads, perhaps by one of the Busti; a monument to Giovanni Tolentino, attributed to Fusina, and one or two other sculptured memorials, also of Renaissance style.

The interesting Church of S. Pietro in Gessate, in the east, has kept more of its original form. It was built about 1460, probably by Guiniforte Solari, and enlarged later. The nave, of a pure and simple Gothic, is flanked with chapels of the same style, built by noble Milanese families. Some of these have escaped seventeenth and eighteenth century disfigurement. The second chapel on the right has mediocre and much repainted frescoes of the Marriage and Death of the Virgin. The decoration of the roof with figures of saints in simulated niches, and angels in medallions resembling round windows, is a very favourite arrangement with the Milanese painters. The frescoes in the chapel of St. Anthony—the next going upwards—are attributed to Montorfano. In the large altarpiece Mariotto Obiano da Perugia, and Antonia de Michelotti, his wife, founders of the chapel, are portrayed kneeling to the enthroned Virgin, to whom they are being recommended by St. Benedict and St. Anthony respectively. Above is the Dead Christ with St. Sebastian and St. Roch. The architectural details of this picture are very rich, and the marvellously patterned dress of the lady is painted with the utmost minuteness and finish. The dark ashen hue of the Virgin’s face, the high lights on the salient features, the ugly little angel playing on the lute, and the general impression of laborious care are all very characteristic of the uninspired but painstaking minor painters of the earlier Milanese school.

The great frescoes of the Capella Grifi in the south transept are more important, and are interesting as being in part by Bernardo Zenale, of whom there is only one other undisputed work known. As in the altarpiece at Treviglio, so here Zenale was associated with Buttinone. The frescoes are, however, so much ruined that it is difficult to judge them or to distinguish the different hands. On the left wall are scenes from the life of St. Ambrose, with groups of fifteenth century courtiers in the foreground. The subjects on the right are almost obliterated, but we seem to distinguish St. Ambrose again, seated in judgment. The curious figure above, of a man hanging, is inexplicable, unless as a symbol of justice visited on malefactors. The general colour of the painting is warm and decorative, and more spontaneous than Buttinone’s laboured easel pictures would make us expect. The types of some of the courtiers in the left-hand fresco, and the women with long plaited hair on the right are so much fairer and more refined than anything one knows of Buttinone’s that one is led to attribute that part to Zenale; but the rather coarse angels of the vaulted roof, very recently uncovered, seem to be very Buttinone. The white-robed figure of St. Ambrose below them, on a white horse against a blue sky, prancing forth against the Arians, scourge in hand, is extremely decorative. On the floor of the chapel, bereft of the sarcophagus on which it once rested, lies the recumbent figure of Ambrogio Grifi, buried here in 1495.

In the Via Filodrammatici, close to La Scala, is the beautiful old doorway of the Palazzo Vimercati, which belongs to the early Sforzesque period. The portrait of Duke Francesco, sculptured in profile, decorates the front of the archivolt, with those of Julius CÆsar and Alexander in flattering conjunction on either side. The rich band of foliage round the arch culminates in the pine-cone, one of the emblems of the Sforza. There is much resemblance between this door and that of the Borromeo Palace.

One of the greatest achievements of Francesco Sforza and Bianca Maria, and a proof of an advanced sentiment of humanity, was the erection of the vast Ospedale Maggiore for the reception and care of the sick, still to this day the chief hospital of Milan.^[16] It was begun in 1456 by the Florentine architect, Antonio Averulino, or Filarete, who made the plans and carried on the work till 1465, when he was supplanted by his Lombard rival, Guiniforte Solari. The southern portion, distinguished by its elegance and comparative purity of style from the rest, is the only part of the immense faÇade which is the original fifteenth century work. The diversity of architects is plainly revealed in this portion. The lower part, with its stately round-headed arcade and restrained ornamentation, is by the pupil of Brunelleschi; while in the windows of the upper storey, not interspaced in correspondence with the arcade below, the Lombard affection for the pointed arch and for luxuriant decoration has prevailed over the original design of the Florentine. The building is one of the richest examples of the brick and terra-cotta architecture of North Italy, and this meeting of Gothic and Renaissance ideals in it adds to its interest. The rest of the faÇade was built in

the seventeenth century, in imitation of the earlier part, but the coarseness and crowded excess of the terra-cotta decoration betrays its period. In the great marble portal, the architect, Ricchini, has frankly followed the style of his own times. Within there is a vast cortile of the same date. On the south side part of the fifteenth century building is incorporated in it. Two much spoilt paintings of 1472, by Francesco Vico, representing Francesco and Bianca Maria Sforza and their benefactions to the hospital, are in one of the wards. Passages on the right lead out of the principal cortile into smaller courts, fragmentary and encumbered with erections for hospital use, but evidently remains of the original building. The elegance and lightness of the porticoes here, the graceful terra-cotta ornamentation of the archivolts, the richness of the moulded brick cornices, the charming colour of the brick and stone used together, show how beautiful the hospital must once have been. These old cortiles have been attributed to Bramante, but apparently with no more justification than most of the other buildings of this style in Milan, labelled indiscriminately in uncritical times as Bramantesque.

The Via dell’ Ospedale opens into the piazza beside S. Stefano, where Galeazzo Maria Sforza, was stabbed to death by Girolamo Olgiati and his companions on St. Stephen’s Day, 1476. The church, of very ancient foundation, has been completely modernised, and the atrium where the deed was accomplished has disappeared altogether. A primitive Madonna and Saints is frescoed over an altar on the south side, and beside the west entrance is an archaic bas-relief representing Christ blessing two saints. Via Brolo leads hence into Piazza Verzieri, the fruit and vegetable market, where the rows of women hucksters, in their bright kerchiefs and coloured skirts, seated beneath vast white umbrellas, make a picturesque scene in spite of the modernised surroundings.

The traces of Bramante’s handiwork in Milan, where he is known to have been employed for many years, have vanished more and more in the light of the careful studies of recent times. But in the Church of Sta. Maria delle Grazie we do at last come upon them, though his part in this building also seems to be much less than was generally supposed. The famous Dominican church, with its memories of Lodovico il Moro and Beatrice d’Este, of Leonardo and Bramante, of the novelist Prior, Matteo Bandello, brings us to the full Renaissance. It is in part, however, of the transition style, and links together the earlier and later Sforzesque periods. It was built for the Dominicans in 1465, by Count Gaspare Vimercati, one of Francesco Sforza’s chief supporters, and became later a special object of interest to the Moro, who, not satisfied with its already antiquated style, began to rebuild it completely as soon as he attained the Dukedom. His project was, however, only carried out as far as the choir and cupola. This part used always to be, and is still by some, attributed to Bramante, but there is no evidence that he contributed except with his advice and influence to the work. The great clustered pile, as it appears outside, with its rectangular and circular projections, its panels and pilasters, parapets, arcades, columns and candelabra, its medallions and perforated wheels, seems typical of Renaissance ideas as interpreted by the Lombard architects, with their dislike for simplicity and broad effects, their fondness for broken surfaces and elaborate detail, their natural redundancy. It is grandiose, melancholy and cold. Round the base are shields bearing the various devices of the Sforza. The flank of the church, with its long windows and round oculi, and rich terra-cotta mouldings, is of the earlier style used by the Solari, as is also the faÇade, but here in the beautiful marble portal, the only part accomplished of the new front projected by Lodovico, we come upon what is generally allowed to be actually Bramante’s work. Its large and dignified character, and the pure design of the arabesques, show a great artist, and a character foreign to the Lombard. The scoppetta, il Moro’s peculiar emblem, is introduced into the pattern on the pilaster on the right hand of the door.

On entering the church one cannot but feel grateful that the Moro’s ambitious designs never arrived at the destruction of this beautiful Gothic nave, so simple and so graceful, so devout and suggestive, with its grey columns and hoary colour and touches of faded fresco everywhere. The story goes that Count Gaspare Vimercati, the founder, and Fra Jacopo Sestio, who was in charge of the work for the Dominicans, had much contention over it, the one desiring a fine handsome building, the other a sanctuary suited to the poverty and humility of the friars. They seem to have succeeded in embodying the ideals of both. From the dim Gothic aisles one emerges with a curious sense of contrast into the great space beyond, where immense arches, springing from heavy pilasters, support a lofty dome, whence abundant light pours down from a circle of windows. This is, of course, the later part of the building. The cupola, which is of nobler and severer aspect within than outside, is much disfigured by baroque decorations. The device of painting objects in perspective, to simulate relief, had already attracted the architects even of the great age, as is shown here, where it is used with ingenuity and restraint in the simulated parts of the gallery in the lowest storey of the dome. The Evangelists in the spandrils are a glaring instance of its abuse in later times.

The choir has fine stalls of 1470, decorated with figures and elaborate designs in intarsia. High up on the right, near the organ, is a charming fresco by Luini, painted in 1517, of the Virgin and Saints and a devotee, one Laschenaer, an officer of Louis XII.’s. It was to this choir, still unfinished, that the dead body of the young Duchess Beatrice was carried in those mournful early days of 1497, and here that the friars chanted Masses round her bier for seven days and nights without ceasing, and that amid a countless host of mourners bearing torches she was committed to her tomb. Hither came her husband, to weep and pray over her grave, before he abandoned his and her Milan to the invader. Beneath the pavement behind the High Altar she lies now, her infant children beside her. Some say that the Moro’s body, recovered from its far-off exile in France, rests here too beside it, but this is very uncertain. Anyhow a pitiful obscurity covers this grave in which those brief years of an incomparable pride and glory ended—not even a stone marks it now. The monument carved for it by Cristoforo Solari, with the effigies of the husband and wife upon it, has been removed to the Certosa of Pavia.

There are some ruined frescoes by Gaudenzio Ferrari in the fourth Chapel on the south side of the church. The old, low-vaulted ornate chapel of the Rosario, on the north side, has some fifteenth century frescoes, also ruined. Close to the altar is a large sepulchral monument to the Della Torre family, late fifteenth century, attributed to the Cazzaniga. The monument to Branda Castiglione, with the realistic profile and delicate arabesques, is perhaps by Briosco,^[17] and that to the Della Valle by Fusina.

The most interesting part of the building architecturally is the small cloister which leads to the old sacristy, both recently restored. Here the beautiful porticoes, in which the characteristic Lombard charm of colour due to the combination of brick and stone is joined to a singular purity and grace of form, justify the traditional belief that Bramante was the architect. The sacristy also, a lofty rectangular building, is probably his. The roof is decorated with a curious painted pattern of intertwisted cords, such as is seen in some of Leonardo’s drawings. There are beautiful presses, some of which are inlaid, others painted in imitation of inlay; they are decorated with small painted scenes, biblical and legendary. They were begun in 1498 by the sacristan, Fra Vincenzo Spanzotto, and continued later under the care of Matteo Bandello. In the recess at the east end there is a very poor altarpiece, representing Gaspare Vimercati kneeling before St. John Baptist, attributed to Marco d’Oggiono; and on either side of the chapel a profile in bas-relief, one a portrait of the Moro, the other of his son Maximilian, a charming-looking youth with curling hair, at about the age when he returned to Milan as Duke—by some Milanese sculptor of the early sixteenth century. A fresco on the right-hand side, by Luini, shows Madonna, with Beatrice d’Este and one of her little sons kneeling as devotees. It is a charming presentment, joyous and young, of the princess as she may have remained in the memory of the artist from the days of his youth.

The convent, now long converted to secular purposes, was, like the church, the object of Lodovico Sforza’s generosity. Leonardo da Vinci was commissioned by him to decorate the refectory with paintings, and there the Florentine artist, working slowly through many years, produced his Last Supper. The work was probably begun soon after 1483, and apparently not finished till 1498. The fate that befell it within a few years is one of the greatest tragedies in the history of art. Owing to his experimental use of oil, instead of the usual method of wall-painting, it was already quite ruined—rovinata tutta—when Lomazzo wrote his treatise on painting, sixty years later, and as early as 1536 it was, by Vasari’s testimony, only a blur. The repeated restorations of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries have almost obliterated the faint remaining traces of the master’s handiwork. The Dominicans wantonly contributed to the destruction of their priceless possession by cutting a door into their kitchen through the lower part of the central group, and Napoleon’s troops, stabled in the hall in 1796, gave it a final battering.

The refectory stands beside the church. As one enters, the ghost of the great picture appears at the upper end of the long melancholy chamber. It seems at first sight as if nothing of the real work were left. Cosa bella mortal passa, Leonardo has said himself, and he, least of all, seems to have cared to give immortality to the beauty which he created. E non d’arte, he adds. And soon we perceive that this too is true here. For the deep and elemental significance of the painter’s conception lives still in its largeness and entirety, expressed in the great lines of the composition, in the distribution of light and shade, in the disposition of the figures. Our eyes are carried up by every line of the composition, every action of the subordinate figures, and left alone with the Christ. He sits upright, His hands spread out upon the table, His head against the space of light framed by the large middle window of the long chamber. On either side, but a little apart, so that no other head intrudes on this central space of light, are ranged the Twelve, in groups of three. The words have been uttered—One of you shall betray me—and a tempest of surprise and questioning agitates them. Peter, half rising, grasps the shoulder of John, who still sleeps on. Judas draws fiercely away, clutching the moneybag. Beyond this group, Andrew, James the Less, and Bartholomew, variously show distress and wonder. On the other side, James the Elder spreads his hands in horror; Thomas lifts his forefinger; Philip, risen, leans forward in earnest protest. Matthew, Thaddeus and Simon, beyond, comment eagerly on His words. But their agitation cannot touch that central stillness; it serves only to deepen the spiritual silence in which He sits solitary. He has eaten and drunk with them, but they have not understood. Love itself is asleep, leaning away to a sinner’s breast. Only Hate understands and watches, proud and defiant, with tense grasp upon its desire. But even the splendid Judas, supremely evil, draws back afraid. The Passion has begun. Out there in the dawn lies Gethsemane. Calvary is beyond. Could ye not watch with Me one hour? will be but a question already answered; only the Eli Eli lama Sabacthani has yet to come.

It is commonly said that Leonardo never quite finished the face of the Christ. In any case we do not see it now as he left it. The half-length pencil drawing in the Brera Gallery has been regarded as Leonardo’s own study for this figure, but if it is genuine—which many authorities deny—it has been so much worked over by other hands that it has no value as an indication of the artist’s conception, which remains for us unparticularised. Studies of the heads of Matthew, Simon and Judas fortunately exist in the Windsor Castle Collection and show the heroic lines on which they were designed by Leonardo. The drawings of the Apostles in the Weimar Collection, photographs of which are to be seen in the room, are judged to be copies of studies made by one of Leonardo’s followers from the picture, and are valuable as giving a contemporary version of the originals. There are also a few genuine sketches at Windsor and at Paris of some of the groups, and in Venice a drawing of the whole scene exists, probably a copy of one by the master. The subject had long occupied Leonardo’s thoughts before he received the commission, and these sketches show the progress of his conception of it. Among his writings, too, there are ideas noted down of various attitudes and actions for the Apostles.

Some of the many copies made by Leonardo’s pupils hang on the walls here; the most important is the one on the right hand nearest the original, by Marco d’Oggiono. Here the artist has followed his master’s work as faithfully as he could, and it is extremely interesting to notice the differences into which his own temperament has insensibly led him. These are most apparent in the central figure, which he has inclined sideways and impressed with a sentimentality and effeminacy absolutely foreign to the attitude of the original. This shows the direction in which Leonardo’s Lombard followers were disposed instinctively to carry his style, evolving a morbid type which has become too much associated with his name. The copyist appears to have altered the Apostles, also giving the weakness of exaggeration to their virile and spontaneous expression of emotion. It is from this copy, or rather from a copy of it and not from the ruined original, that the engraving was done by which the picture has become known all over the world, another instance of the strange fate of ruin or of travestied existence which has befallen so much of Leonardo’s work. The other copies in the room lose value by their departure in part from the arrangement of the original.

The great work in the Dominican convent attracted immense attention and interest even during its progress. It is often mentioned by writers of this time and a little later. Bandello, in one of his novels, gives an oft-quoted description of the painter at work. He used often to go early in the morning and mount upon the platform and, from sunrise until the dusk of evening, never putting down his brush and forgetting to eat and drink, paint without ceasing. Then two, three or four days would pass when he would not touch it, but remained for one or two hours together contemplating, considering and examining within himself, judging his figures. I have seen him too, according as his caprice or humour moved him, go off at noon-day, when the sun was in Leo, from the Corte Vecchia, where he was composing his stupendous horse of clay, and come straight to the Grazie, and mounting the platform, take a brush and give one or two strokes to one of the figures, and straightway depart and go elsewhere. Doubtless Bandello was often in that room, where the friars watched the progress of the painting with great impatience, annoyed at the painter’s unaccountable lengthiness. Duke Lodovico himself, finest and most appreciative of critics, would sometimes come, and many noble gentlemen were wont to visit the painter here and converse with him as they contemplated his work. The fame of the great picture spread quickly throughout Europe. When Louis XII. entered Milan in 1499, he came to see it, and expressed a desire, fortunately impracticable, to carry it away to his own country. With him were Duke Ercole of Ferrara, the Marquis Gian Francesco of Mantua, and many other brilliant and historic characters; among them was CÆsar Borgia, and possibly it was on this occasion, before his newly finished picture, that Leonardo first met this extraordinary man, into whose service he shortly after entered.

The other end of the refectory is filled with a vast fresco of the Crucifixion, by Montorfano, signed with his name and the date 1495. The perfect state of preservation of this poor, laboured and crowded composition, an inferior example even of the Milanese school, seems a bitter irony here. The Lombard painter, sticking to the old groove, has achieved the permanence which Leonardo recklessly risked for the sake of an experiment. At the lower corner of the painting, on either side, are portraits of the ducal family kneeling in devotion, Lodovico and the little Maximilian on the left, Beatrice and the younger child Francesco on the right, and these, unlike the rest of the picture, are in very bad condition—almost obliterated. Vasari affirms them to have been painted by Leonardo himself at the special command of the Duke, and in oil, like the Last Supper; but the portraits themselves, as far as can be judged from what remains of them, are quite mediocre and do not bear out his statement.

In San Satiro, entered from Via Torino, we come at last to a building really by Bramante. The church is properly called Sta. Maria, the ancient S. Satiro being represented by a chapel incorporated with it. It was founded in 1476, on the site of a shrine containing a miraculous picture of the Virgin. It is a purely Renaissance building, but has certain peculiarities due to cramped conditions, the builder having been restricted in space and bound by the necessity of embodying the remains of the old Basilica of S. Satiro on one side and of an existing Chapel of S. Teodoro on the other. The difficulties have been ingeniously surmounted, and the effect is very fine, but it seems a pity that the genius of Bramante should not have had room for free play. The general impression on entering into the rich and gilded obscurity of the interior is of great breadth and spaciousness. The three aisles, in which the dividing pilasters and arches are unusually low in proportion to the height of the roof—a feature explained by the necessity of according them with the old S. Satiro, now the Chapel of the PietÀ—open out into a great space roofed by a lofty cupola and with wide transepts. The church ends in a grandiose semicircular choir. Here the architect met with his chief difficulty, being prevented by the street outside from carrying the building as far eastward as was necessary for his design after allowing full scope for the rise of the cupola. He has overcome it by a deceptive use of perspective, the depth of the choir being simulated, not real. The device can only be admired for its ingenuity and the cleverness with which it is executed.

The gilded friezes and capitals of the nave are of the best Renaissance style, rich but of clear and not over-elaborate design. In the spandrils beneath the cupola are medallions circled with gilded ornamentation and containing paintings of the four Evangelists, by Bramantino, dignified forms, dim and rich in colour as seen from below. There is an old picture of the Virgin over the High Altar, with a portrait in it of the young Duke Gian Galeazzo Sforza, but it is held in such extreme veneration that the veil covering it may not be withdrawn except on one special day of the year.

The Chapel of the PietÀ is at the end of the left transept. This ninth century structure, founded according to tradition by Archbishop Ansperto, was restored at the time when the large church was built beside it. The coloured terra-cotta group of the Deposition which gives its present name to the chapel, a crudely realistic work, ably modelled and utterly inartistic, has been ascribed, quite unjustifiably, to the famous Milanese goldsmith, Caradosso, a delicate worker in fine materials. It is probably by one of the many Lombard sculptors of the style of the Mantegazza.

Adjoining the church on the right is the Baptistery or sacristy, a beautiful little example of Bramante’s work. It is a small octagonal building with a lofty dome and very richly decorated. The remarkable terra-cotta frieze, composed of heads projecting from wreaths, between groups of sportive putti, and painted to look like bronze, has been also always ascribed to Caradosso; but it is now pronounced to be certainly not his work, the style of the heads, vigorous, realistic, and somewhat coarse, showing all the characteristics of the late fifteenth century Lombard school of sculpture, rather than the fine hand of the metal-worker, trained in Rome, whom documents, moreover, prove to have been absent from Milan when this work was executed.

The exterior of the church is much hidden by the houses around, but a bit of it can be seen closely in Via Falcone and shows Bramante’s hand in the bold classic style, and the strong, simple, and graceful design of the terra-cotta ornamentation. From the Via Carlo Alberto one gets an impressive view of part of the low and elaborate Renaissance pile, proud and learned, and beautiful with brick and stucco decoration, swelling beside the simple old Campanile which belongs to the original ninth century church, and is the most ancient example of a Romanesque tower now existing in Milan.

The Monastero Maggiore, also called S. Maurizio, in the Corso Magenta, is an early sixteenth century building of typical Renaissance form, by Dolcebuono, and is extremely interesting on account of the complete and beautiful decoration of the interior by Luini and his school. It is one of the principal shrines for the worshippers of that master, who is seen at his best there. Luini was commissioned, about 1522, to paint this church by Alessandro Bentivoglio and his wife, Ippolita Sforza, their daughter Alessandra being a nun in the ancient and wealthy Benedictine convent to which it belonged. The interior, which is of great length, without aisles, has a very graceful gallery or loggia all round, and chapels in the corresponding space below. A partition wall in the middle, not reaching to the roof, divides it into halves, the lower half being the public church, with the High Altar at its upper end, and the part shut off behind the choir that reserved by the nuns for their private use. The whole interior has the effect of a splendid hall, rather than a church. The walls are entirely covered with paintings, of the strong gay colour characteristic of Luini’s work, dimmed by time to a delightful harmony where the temptation to “freshen it up” has been resisted. Beautiful ladies, in richest robes, look out from beside the High Altar with that sweet familiar smile, of which the charm grows somewhat stale by too much repetition. The emblems they carry show them to be saints—Cecilia and Ursula holding a tabernacle between them, Apollonia and Lucia standing on either side of a small figure of the Redeemer. Above them appears a real lady of the time, Ippolita Sforza herself, a beautiful and stately creature, in a spreading white brocade dress, kneeling under the protecting presence of three saints, of whom Sta. Scholastica, who has her hand on Ippolita’s shoulder, is said to be a portrait of her daughter, the young Suora Alessandra. Alessandro Bentivoglio, a mild personage, who is lauded by his daughter in a memorial inscription for having done no one any harm—nemini nocuit—is depicted in a corresponding composition on the other side of the altar, with S. Benedict, St. John Baptist, and St. Lawrence. Above on the left is the Martyrdom of St. Maurice, and on the right St. Sigismund, the supposed original founder of the church, offering a model of the building to St. Maurice, who stands upon a pedestal, and in the background of the same composition is seen the Martyrdom of Sigismund. Between is represented the Assumption of the Virgin, in which the principal figure has been unfortunately much restored. The altarpiece is by Campi, 1578.

The frescoes of the chapel on the right of the sanctuary are also by Luini. In the midst is the Scourging of Christ; on the left the fine portrait of an old man, Francesco Besozzi, at whose charge the chapel was painted, and St. Catherine protecting him; on the right St. Lawrence. Above and at the sides are depicted scenes from the legend of St. Catherine. The figure of the saint being beheaded—on the right-hand side—is very beautiful. The meek bent head, with rich gold hair simply coiled, the adorable neck bared for the sword, the golden dress, composing an exquisite harmony of colour, make one forgive Luini for sometimes boring one a little. Bandello, in his story of the Contessa di Cellant, tells us that this is a portrait of that naughty and ill-fated lady, who was beheaded on the piazza of the Castello in 1524 for having induced one of her lovers to murder another. But there seems to be no real foundation for this identification, and it is difficult to associate this wholly lovely creature with the too passionate Contessa.

The frescoes in the other chapels are by the school of Luini.

Passing into the choir, or Nuns’ Church, we see on the other side of the dividing wall more frescoes by Luini himself, corresponding to the decoration on the public side. Here is another row of sister saints, whose beauty is the more enchanting for the veil spread over them by the centuries, and happily undisturbed. These gracious ladies stand for Apollonia, Lucia, Catherine, and Agatha. The story of the Passion is frescoed round the altar. Near by may be seen the arms of the Bentivogli and Sforza quartered together, and the initials of Alessandro and Hippolita, the benefactors of the church. The lower part of the wall is decorated in chiaroscuro, with angels and saints in simulated terra-cotta medallions. The ceiling painting over the altar—God the Father surrounded by saints—is by Borgognone, by whom are also the figures of bishops and saints between the arches on each side of the church. The rest of the frescoes with which the walls are everywhere covered are poor works, by the sons and followers of Luini. The carving of the double row of stalls, simple but of very good style, is of the same period as the church.

By a staircase, which emerges on a terrace, where you find yourself close to the ancient brick campanile of the convent—a relic, some say, of the Roman walls, or, according to other authorities, one of the towers built by Ansperto when he restored the walls in the ninth century—you are conducted into the upper gallery of the church. Over the doorways leading through this loggia there are half-length paintings of women saints by Boltraffio, exceedingly charming where they have not been spoilt by repainting. They have the familiar contours of that artist’s Madonnas, but the colour, unlike the hot and opaque tones of his oil-painting, is very fresh and delicate, and decorative. They are all there, the Martyrs, Catherine, Agnes, Agatha, and the rest, each sweet-visaged creature bearing a green branch flowering into red or some lovely blossom. Here is one of a type especially characteristic of Boltraffio, with long golden hair curling in rings over her shoulders; she is dressed in green and purple, and holds a lily. On the wall dividing the two parts of the church there are some very poor frescoes by the sons of Luini—the Supper in the House of the Pharisee, the Adoration of the Magi, and the Baptism of Christ.

The effect of the long gallery and of the richly-decorated church as seen through its graceful pillared openings is very charming. A fit temple for Suora Alessandra and her fellows, those vestal virgins of the Renaissance, cherishing the flame of its many-sided religion in their art-irradiated cloisters, innocent sacrifices for the sins of the too vigorous races, Bentivogli, Sforza, and many another almost as wicked, from which they sprang. Beneath the archways, where their beautiful martyr sisters of long before look sweetly down upon them, the meek veiled figures seem to flit silently before us. But they, too, are but beings of the imagination now. The little door in the wall between Luini’s saints is never opened now for the passing of the Eucharist to the cloistered worshippers on the inner side. No sweet voices rise any more to the accompaniment of that ornate organ; the long row of stalls has been untenanted this hundred years and more. In this place, where those virgin princesses and ladies knelt and adored, surrounded by these exquisite creations of the Renaissance spirit, and by its lovely order and refinement, the loathsome dust to-day lies thickly everywhere, and no foot falls but that of a chance visitor. And the vast gardens and vineyards of the convent, where behind high secluding walls Alessandra and her companions took the air and played and laughed, let us hope, and where, doubtless, the stately Ippolita came to visit her daughter, bringing a breath of the joyous world outside, have given place to modern streets and houses, and the great Monastero Maggiore has utterly disappeared, except for this one rich relic, the church.

Sta. Maria della Passione, with a great cupola built by Cristoforo Solari early in the sixteenth century, and an ornate late Renaissance faÇade, contains one of the most important works of Luini’s earlier career, a large picture of the Deposition, in the choir. There are some fine Cinquecento choir stalls. In the right transept are Christ and the Apostles by Borgognone, and in the left a Last Supper by Gaudenzio Ferrari. The sacristy has frescoes by Borgognone.

Sta. Maria presso S. Celso adjoining the little Romanesque basilica of S. Celso, was built by Dolcebuono at the end of the fifteenth century, but altered and finished later. The ornate faÇade is of the later part of the sixteenth century. The cloister in front was probably designed by Cristoforo Solari. There are some pictures by important masters in the spacious and imposing interior. The lowest on the left-hand side is a characteristic work by Borgognone—Madonna, with St. Roch and St. John Baptist. Behind the choir there is a Madonna with St. Jerome, by Paris Bordone; the Baptism of Christ, by Gaudenzio Ferrari; and St. Paul, by Moretto. In the sacristy is preserved a very precious example of ninth century goldsmith’s work, a cross given by Louis the Pious to Milan, of exquisite workmanship and thickly set with gems. It has figures of the Emperor and Empress and the Carlovingian princes carved upon it. The treasure also includes a carved Cinquecento jug, once attributed to Cellini, and one or two other pieces of goldsmiths’ work. There are, besides, some beautiful embroidered vestments.

S. Giorgio al Palazzo, in Via Torino, an old church completely transformed in recent centuries, contains in the third chapel on the right some fine frescoes by Luini, of the scenes of the Passion. The Crucifixion in the dome of the chapel is an impressive composition, quiet and harmonious in colour.

S. Fedele, designed by Pellegrini in the latter part of the sixteenth century, and containing fine Cinquecento choir stalls—once in the destroyed church of S. Maria della Scala—St. Alessandro, of the seventeenth century, S. Carlo, built about a hundred years ago, all sumptuously decorated in the taste of their times, and other less important churches of the same style, have little artistic interest, and are, in any case, far outside the scope of our mediÆval story. We must turn back to the best period of the Renaissance, and look at some palaces which still remain from that time.

The Palazzo Carmagnola, also called the Palazzo di Broletto, at the corner of Via Rovello and Via Dante, is the oldest of these palaces, and is also of historic interest. Duke Filippo Maria gave a house here, in 1418, to his great general, Carmagnola, who rebuilt it a few years later. The house passed through one of his daughters to the Dal Verme family, and was confiscated in 1485 by Lodovico Sforza, who installed his mistress, Cecilia Gallerani in it later. The historian Giorgio Merula, one of the ornaments of the Moro’s court, also inhabited it for some years. When Louis XII. made himself master of Milan, he gave the palace to his general, Charles d’Amboise, and later on it came into the possession of the city, and was used for public offices, whence it acquired the name of Palazzo di Broletto. It is now the Intendenza di Finanza. The building has little of its old aspect left, but there is a picturesque cortile of the late fifteenth century, with graceful and characteristic sculptured capitals, part of a probable restoration of the palace by the Moro, to make it a habitation worthy of his beautiful favourite.

A beautiful late Quattrocento palace is the Casa Fontana, or Silvestri, in the Corso Venezia, which has a noble portal of classic form, supported on columns in the form of candelabra, and windows enframed in terra-cotta ornamentation. The faÇade is, moreover, painted in chiaroscuro, with designs of the typical style of Lombard Renaissance decoration—colossal heads and sporting putti, etc. It has been attributed to Bramante, but is more probably the work of local architects. The cortile is very picturesque.

Casa Ponti, in Via Bigli, has a Cinquecento cortile of very graceful proportions, and glowing with the deep rich colour of painted decoration. On the walls above the porticoes there are full-length figures, representing gods, muses, the arts, etc. They are of noble grace and stateliness, with the familiar contours and the everlasting smile of Luini and his school. The archivolts, spandrils, the little arcade beneath the rich projecting cornice, are all covered with arabesques and devices of graceful and playful fancy. We see here the very setting of that joyous decorative Cinquecento life which has hardly its parallel for beauty in history. But the old glory of it is dimmed by the passing of centuries and the influences of a damp climate. Many of the figures are in very bad condition, and on one side of the court modern copies have been substituted and the originals removed and placed on the staircase of the palace, where, if one has the good fortune to be allowed to enter, one may study closely the gracious figures of Painting and Sculpture, and some delightful baby forms, riding on sea-horses, playing with grapes, etc., from the frieze upon the parapet in the cortile. The portal of the palace is a fine example of early sixteenth century building, and has two little statuettes of Madonna and the Angel of the Annunciation, in the spandrils.

Casa Castani—opposite S. Sepolcro—of the late fifteenth century, has also a fine doorway, of simple but noble form. It is decorated with classic heads in the spandrils, and has a Greek motto on the cornice, signifying Good Luck. A medallion of Francesco Sforza appears above, a sign of homage to the reigning house, often seen on palaces of this period in Milan. The cortile is built with double loggias.

Casa Dal Verme in Foro Bonaparte, opposite the theatre of that name, is another house of the same style, with an exceedingly picturesque cortile, to which the warm colour of the terra-cotta decoration gives a great charm. Between each arch there is the familiar decoration of medallions with shields or classic heads. These palaces have all much affinity, and they are generally attributed to the influence of Bramante. They have, indeed, been labelled sometimes as the work of the Master himself. The style is, however, common throughout North Italy at this time, though probably derived in the first instance from Florentine sources. There are others of similar style in different parts of the city.

No. 10-12 Via Torino, entered through a squalid passage, has a very picturesque small court, with porticoes surmounted by two open storeys, and delightful terra-cotta ornamentation. This beautiful old fragment of the Milan of the Sforza period has fallen into plebeian use, and is, moreover, doomed to speedy destruction in the course of projected improvements to this crowded quarter.

PALAZZO VISCONTI DI MODRONE—GARDEN ON THE NAVIGLIO