I begin my account of this city with its celebrated cathedral, or duomo, as the Italians call it; for that word has no relation to what is called a dome in England, but in coming to us, has travelled as far from its original meaning, as from its original place. The emperor Joseph the Second reproached the Visconti with having transformed a mountain of money into a mountain of marble; such a remark from Vienna is too bad. It is said to have been designed by a German architect, of the name of Henry of Gamodia or Zamodia, but this does not sound very much like a German name; and what proof there is even of the existence of such a person I do not know: the original account of the expenses of the edifice makes no mention of him. Other authorities (says the Guide de l’Étranger dans la ville de Milan) claim the honour for Mario di Campileone, native of a little village near Lugano. Be that as it may, the character of the building is rather of the German than of the Italian Gothic, though some particulars of the latter are distinguishable.

The present building was founded in 1385, by order of John Galeazzo, first duke of Milan. He died in 1402, and it is probable that most of the old work was performed during this interval. The church was not however consecrated till 1418, when the ceremony was performed by Pope Martin V. About the middle of the sixteenth century, St. Charles Borromeo undertook to complete the edifice, and employed Pellegrini to design a suitable front. This architect is said to have conceived the idea of so engrafting upon Gothic, the beauties of Grecian architecture, as to make an harmonious whole out of the discordant materials. If such were his endeavours, we need not wonder that he did not succeed. A part only of his design was executed by the direction of Cardinal Frederic Borromeo, the cousin and successor of St. Charles in the archbishoprick of Milan; and this part has been suffered to stand, although the completion of the rest of the faÇade in a style imitated from the Gothic, has served to make its utter discordance with the rest of the building, much more obstrusive. The central column and spire were added by Brunelleschi, for Philip, the son of John Galeazzo, who reigned from 1412 to 1447. The present front is by a modern architect of the name of Amati; both having shewn by these additions, their want of skill in Gothic architecture.

Separating the old work from its injudicious additions, and considering it only as a portion of an unfinished building, the exterior is very rich and very beautiful, with its parts well composed and well combined. The pinnacles rise gracefully from the general line, and are richly ornamented with subordinate pinnacles and statues; the material is a white marble, and the workmanship is very good. One may imagine what a sumptuous edifice it would have been, with two lofty western towers, and a light and highly decorated lantern in the centre. The Italian architects indeed have not generally adopted the western towers. The design below would be more in their usual taste, but in a building of so intermediate a style, it is difficult to say which was intended.

That an architect in Italy, where the pointed style is considered as unworthy of serious attention, should think, in restoring Gothic architecture, that he could improve it by approximating its mouldings and ornaments to those of the Roman, is not wonderful; but it is remarkable, that abstractedly from their want of suitable character, the modern ornaments are poorer in design than the ancient, and inferior in execution. At present, the ancient part of the lantern is surmounted by a slender steeple, whose outline is that of a column supporting a spire: this, as I have already said, was added by Brunelleschi; and it is astonishing, that living so nearly in the time of the Gothic architects, he should have been so deficient in understanding the character of their architecture. The front is a mere triangle, and excessively poor. The artists, among them, have contrived to produce a Gothic building, of which the outline, when contemplated as a simple mass without the details, is everywhere displeasing. Another remarkable circumstance is the want of apparent size. That it does not look very high (although the head of the figure which crowns the spires is 360 feet from the pavement,) may perhaps be attributed to its actual magnitude; yet in the distant view, where the lower part of the building is lost, it does not suggest the idea of a lofty edifice; and the front, although extending 200 feet, almost looks little. Perhaps this may arise in some degree from the style of the Italian houses, which are so much larger and loftier than ours.

The following are the principal dimensions of the building:

There are fifty-two piers, ninety-eight pinnacles, and inside and out, four thousand four hundred statues.

Pellegrini’s plan was to place ten Corinthian columns in front; but to judge from what is done, and from the three stories of windows of unequal elevation, he could hardly have proposed to unite them in a simple portico. The mouldings and ornaments were all of Roman architecture. Of this design, the columns were never erected, but the five doorways, and as many windows over them, are preserved as parts of the present composition. Two other windows of this design are concealed by Gothic tracery. The remainder, which is only just finished, is imitated from the old work; but the architect, by Grecising the ornaments, and cutting the upright mouldings, has failed as signally in the details, as in the general composition.

The first particulars which strike you on passing to the interior, are, that it is dark and gloomy, and that the leading lines are very much interrupted by the shrines introduced in the capitals of the piers, which injure also the apparent solidity of the building. And if you are told that it is nearly 500 feet long, 180 feet wide, and 150 feet high, you can hardly believe it. Indeed, as to the last dimension, I still remain incredulous; for whether I estimate the height by a general comparison with the other dimensions, or from summing up the estimated heights of the different parts which compose it, or from counting the steps which lead to the outside, and measuring some of them, it seems to me to fall short of 140; and it is necessary to be aware that the side aisles are 96 feet in height, to be reconciled even to that supposition. I do not know to what to attribute this want of apparent magnitude: the height of the side aisles certainly diminishes the appearance of that of the nave; but the width of the nave is not remarkably great in proportion to the other dimensions. At Amiens, this is 45 feet 6 inches. In York, our largest cathedral, it is 47; here it is about 55. In company with some other English gentlemen, I listened to a sermon there last Sunday: we did not hear very distinctly, but we probably lost something from our want of sufficient familiarity with the Italian language; for the people around us appeared to hear and comprehend, and they were very silent and attentive; the preacher was an old man, and the voice did not seem very clear or strong. According to Mr. Saunders, (Treatise on Theatres) the articulations of an ordinary human voice, are only heard distinctly to about the distance of eighty feet, and we were above seventy from the speaker. I had no conception of the distance till I came to calculate it.

With all these defects however, and with some feeling of disappointment from having heard so much of this building, it was impossible not to acknowledge the sublime effect of the interior. The style does not correspond with any of our English modes of pointed architecture. The vaulting is simple, without any branching ribs, or any ridge piece; it is so much supervaulted, that each bay appears to be the portion of a dome; and the disposition of the materials in concentric circles, or in portions of such circles, makes me believe that this is nearly the case. The windows of the clerestory are extremely small and insignificant; those of the side aisles are long and narrow. They are ornamented with quatre-foils: but a division of the height into two parts by arched ribs, which have not precisely the effect of transums, because they do not cross the window at the same level, indicate a very different period of taste from that of the rose and quatre-foil heads in France and England. The lower part of the capitals has something of the running foliage of the fourteenth century in England; but the shrine work, which forms their upper part, is perfectly unique; at least, I know nothing parallel, either in the work itself, or in the manner it is here introduced. The bases and the plans of the pillars are equally anomalous, and I think any person would be baffled in attempting to determine the date from the architecture; only he might safely decide that it could not be very early. The smallness of the upper windows produces a gloomy appearance, and oppressive feeling, like that of the cavern style of architecture in the south of France, with which it has nothing else in common. The height of 78 feet, which is that of the lower range of aisles, seems indeed to give plenty of room for the admission of an ample quantity of light from this part alone, but such a disposition seldom produces a pleasing effect. There are three fine large windows in the polygonal end of the choir, but even these are ill placed, and have little effect. A few days ago I went into the cathedral late in the evening; there was just light enough to enable me to walk about without striking the pillars, or running against any other persons in the church; but not enough to distinguish at any distance, those who were scattered about on their knees in various parts, or who were mumbling their prayers, or sleeping on the benches. In a small church the number of persons thus engaged would have appeared considerable, but here they hardly seemed to interrupt the solitude of the place. There was no noise; every one was perfectly silent. A few glimmering lamps feebly exhibited the altars at which they were placed, but diffused no general light in the church. In these circumstances the painted windows lost their colour; they were merely parts of the edifice lighter than the rest, and served to show that the deep gloom around was that of the building, and not that of night. What the extent of that building might be, either in length, breadth, or height, was left to the imagination. What is it, in such a scene, that so powerfully impresses the mind? There was no danger; if there had been, the impression might have been stronger, but it would have ceased to be accompanied with pleasure. Even without the sentiment of danger, I believe many persons would find the effect of such circumstances, rather oppressive, than agreeable: for myself, I am rather exhilarated than depressed by gloom, while a strong light disturbs and depresses me, and seems inimical both to reflection and enjoyment.

The roof of this edifice is covered with slabs of marble. It is everywhere accessible, and is a fine place on which to ramble about undisturbed, and examine the details of the architecture; or turning our eyes to more distant objects, to survey the wide extended plain of fertile Lombardy, and the long continued ridges of the distant Alps. Even at this distance (near eighty English miles) I never contemplate the splendid summit of Monte Rosa, without a new impression of its stupendous magnificence.

The Guide de l’Étranger points out many churches besides the cathedral as deserving notice, and I have made a little tour to such as appeared from the description, the most interesting; but very few presented any thing to detain me beyond the first glance. They are not in general beautiful, either on the inside or the out; but we meet with some happy effects. As antiquities, most of them have lost their interest by being modernized, particularly the inside; and this seems to have been done very much at one period, probably about the time of St. Charles Borromeo.

The steeple of St. Gothard, built in 1336, is a curious specimen of that age; it is of brick, except the little shafts which decorate it, and these are of stone. The four lower stories appearing above the roof of the church, are plain octagons, with unequal faces, with a row of ornamental intersecting arches to each cornice, and a shaft or bead at each angle, which interrupts all the cornices. There is a little window in the lowest but one, but it appears to have been broken through at a later period; the fourth has on each face, a window divided into two parts by a little column, and each part finishes in a small semicircular arch. This sort of arrangement occurs in the early architecture of France, of the eleventh, and perhaps of part of the twelfth century, but I think not later. In the fifth story, the angular shafts receive their capitals, and unite with other shafts on the faces of the octagon to support a series of little arches; but as the angular shafts intersect the little cornices of each story, and consequently pass beyond the upright of the plain faces, while the intermediate shafts are within that line, the latter are broken into two heights, one projecting before the other. Over this are two stories, rather smaller than those below, and forming an equal sided octagon; and above all is a spire, cut to indicate scales or shingles, terminating in a globe, and a little winged figure supporting a weathercock. I have dwelt more fully on these details, because they so strongly distinguish the Lombard buildings, from similar edifices of the same period in France or England; and because also they shew the necessity of a new system of dates, when we would determine the epoch of a building by the peculiarities of its architecture. Though built in the fourteenth century, it exhibits more of what we call Norman than of the Gothic; and perhaps the Italians never entirely abandoned that mode of building for any consistent style, till the restoration of the Roman architecture in the fifteenth century, under Brunelleschi. There are several steeples at Milan of this sort, but this is the best. It was highly extolled by contemporary writers; and it derives some additional interest from having contained the first clock which ever sounded the hours. In the earliest buildings of this kind, there are no intersections in the little ornamental arches of the several cornices: the later the edifices, the more complicated is this decoration, and in the steeple of St. Gothard, some of them are composed of four series of interwoven semicircular arches.

The Milan Guide says, that the church of the Passione is one of the handsomest in Milan; I found it very large and very ugly. Near to it is a shabby little church, I know not to whom dedicated, which struck me as giving the outline of what perhaps, ought to have been the composition of the cathedral; a large octagonal lantern at the intersection, and at the west end two towers rising considerably higher than the lantern. Under every disadvantage, the experiment proves the excellence of such an arrangement.

In all the churches of Milan, in whatever style, the arches are retained in both directions by iron bars. One would think it a point of taste with the Milanese, if that were possible, and indeed the Milan Guide does speak of it as one of the valuable inventions of modern times. A large tie-beam, generally gilt, is also seen to the arch which opens into the choir; and upon the tie-beam a crucifix, and over that a canopy of crimson silk, or velvet; nothing can be worse in point of taste, but it is curious, as exhibiting the probable origin of the rood-lofts of our own cathedrals.

Many of the churches at Milan lay claim to a high antiquity; but as I have already observed, they have been generally modernized. That of the Madonna near San Celso, was built towards the close of the fifteenth century. The architecture has been attributed to Bramante, and to Solari, a Milanese, while the font is the design of Galeazzo Alessi, who was not born till about the year 1500. It exhibits no trace of Gothic architecture; unless it should be contended that the general distribution of a Christian church, even of the present day, is borrowed from that style. The entrance is from a court surrounded by arcades, which has a very elegant appearance. Courts of this sort are said to have been frequent appendages to the early Basilican churches. It is surprising that they have not been introduced more frequently, for they add a dignity to the building, by seeming to separate it from the bustle of the world; and they rather enhance than diminish the effect of the architecture, by limiting the point of view. The edifice is of marble, and both the court and the interior of the church are well proportioned, and produce a pleasing impression, though the details are bad.

The little church of San Satyro, still exhibits some of the architecture of the ninth century. It is a mere fragment, of no great interest, except as it serves to prove that the taste of that period was very much like that which we call Norman, with capitals more nearly resembling the ancient Corinthian; but I could not trace any thing of the Beautems de Rome, which is said to characterize this edifice.

The church of St. Eustorgio deserves a passing glance; the outside is of brick, probably of the thirteenth century, as in 1220 it came into the possession of the Dominicans; the inside has been modernized, but it contains some interesting tombs of the Visconti, and of the early restorers of Greek literature in Italy. Here also they pretend to shew the marble sarcophagi of the three wise men—kings they are pleased to call them, who followed the star of our Saviour from the East. An archbishop is said to have brought the bones from Asia to Milan in the fourth century; and Frederic Barbarossa in the twelfth, seized and carried them to Cologne. Prester John, who it seems valued himself on his descent from these kings, (query from all?) sent here some offerings to their relics in the fifteenth century, and these have also been carried to Cologne. The guide-book vouches for the latter part of the story, though it acknowledges that the bodies or bones of the Magi were never here; for my part I vouch for nothing, but leave you to accept or reject what you please.

Next to the cathedral, the most interesting church in Milan is certainly that of St. Ambrose, or perhaps many might put it in the first place. It is said to be the very church which that saint closed against Theodosius after the massacre at Thessalonica, in 390. They even pretend on the spot, to shew you the identical doors; but the more probable opinion is, that these doors are of the ninth century, made by order of the Archbishop Anspert; they are covered with a profusion of carving in figures and foliage, but the wire-work added to protect them almost hides the detail. The most ancient part of the building which presents any character of architecture, is probably of the same period, though one would not venture to deny that some remains of the original church of St. Ambrose may still exist. The court in front is acknowledged to be of the ninth century, and the church exhibits very much of the same style of art. This court is a parallelogram surrounded by arcades, having three arches at each end and six on each side. The walls abound with fragments of inscriptions, and one or two curious tombs are built up in them, particularly a large rude sarcophagus of Paganus Petrasanta, captain of the Florentines, who died in 800, and at whose funeral four cardinals were present. Considerable vestiges of the old painting in stucco remain on the wall, but the subject is no longer discernible. This stucco must have covered up the inscriptions, unless indeed they have been recently inserted. On the side of the court next the church, is a second story of arches of unequal heights, surmounted with a gable, the sloping line of which is enriched by little ornamental semicircular arches, some formed on the sloping line entirely, some with a little perpendicular appendage, and some

springing on horizontal lines; nor need you be surprised at this diversity, since a similar irregularity of disposition has been observed in the modillions and dentils of the pediments in Roman architecture. These little arches run round the cornice of the court, and are almost the only ornament it has. The piers, which support the arches of the court, are formed each of two half columns attached to an oblong pillar; they are of stone, and have rude leafy capitals, with hardly any projection. The upper arches, and the central lower arch next the church, have the archivolts of stone, rudely, but richly carved; every thing else is of brick. It appears from this description, that there is nothing in the details of the design, or in the execution of this little court, to demand our admiration; and yet it is exceedingly beautiful, from the mere simplicity and harmony of the general disposition. The tower is a square brick building, the panels of which are marked by little shafts of stone, and finish at the top in rows of ornamental arches without intersections. The inside of the church was originally divided on the plan, into square portions, each division having two semicircularly arched openings on each side, on the ground, and two above to the gallery; and a vaulting of semicircular groined arches. The two first squares remain in this state, but the third has two pointed groins springing from a lower point; the strong ribs which separate the squares, unite likewise in a point. The fourth square is that of the lantern, which, from the external appearance, is probably an addition of the thirteenth century; within, it is entirely modernized. There is no transept. The parallel walls of the building continue a little beyond the lantern, and the building terminates in an ancient niche or apsis.

None of the churches here have that elevation of the middle above the sides, to which we are accustomed in our Gothic edifices; there is at most only room for a range of small windows above the arches of the aisles, and sometimes, as in the present example, not even for that; they are consequently much lower in proportion to their dimensions on the plan, but they may help to show, that beauty is not confined to one scale of proportion, as two or three of them produce a very pleasing effect, and amongst others, S. Ambrogio is good in this particular. Yet I rather imagine, that it requires a practised eye to be able to judge of this proportion, and to be pleased with it, when the building taken as a whole is faulty; and that a man of good taste, not accustomed to analyze the composition, is very likely to condemn the church as he finds it, proportion and all. At my first visit the last rites were celebrated to one who had been an abbot. The church was hung with black tapestry; but broad borders of gold and silver tissue, covered nearly as much space as the black. The Italians seem unable to bear the gloom of entire black, and choose to introduce something of gaiety and splendour, even in their funerals. The pall was of white satin, embroidered with coloured flowers, and the mitre and crosiers were laid over it on the coffin. Although it was mid-day, the church was lighted up with multitudes of wax candles, and a man dressed entirely in scarlet, stockings included, walked from one to the other, to collect the wax which guttered down from them. Each candle seemed composed of four stuck together, which I apprehend to be very well calculated to make the wax run down, and as this is, I believe, a perquisite of some of the inferior officers, it may really be an object. One candle was neglected, and an old woman interrupted her prayers, to pick up a fine lump of wax, which fell down from it; her cautious look round, to see that no one belonging to the church observed her, shewed that she felt she was stealing; but I suppose the moral sense of the poor in Italy is hardly high enough to condemn with severity, petty thieving, or petty cheating. In the churches of France, I used to find more women than men; I think in Italy, or at least in Milan, the men are more numerous than the women. All seem very devout, and are very silent.

To return to the architecture of the church. The choir has been modernized, except the apsis, which is ornamented with mosaics representing our Saviour, and with saints and angels. It is said to have been executed by Greek artists in the tenth century; the pieces of the mosaic are formed of a thin lamina of gold, or metal, laid on a thick die of glass, and covered with a very thin plate of the same material, and the whole united by exposure to heat. In a little chapel of San Satyro in this church, is another mosaic of the same sort, which is thought to be still more ancient.

The great altar contains the ashes of St. Ambrose, St. Gervase, and St. Protasius; over it is a canopy, supported on four columns, of a beautiful red porphyry. The canopy is attributed to the ninth century, (if I understand rightly) but the columns are esteemed much more ancient, and I dare say they are so, but not in their present situation; they pass through the present paving, and tradition says that they are as much below it as they are above, which is about ten feet. The bases of the piers in the nave shew the pavement there to have been raised above a foot; that of the choir is about two feet above that of the nave; if we add these two dimensions, equal to three feet, to the present height of the columns above the pavement, we shall probably have their total height. The canopy is composed of four arches, each somewhat exceeding a semicircle, and of four gables of a greenish colour, richly adorned with gold. The ornament of the archivolt is formed of a series of intersecting arches, all gilt, and little gilt crockets run along the gables. The altar is also said to be very rich with gold, silver, and precious stones; but it was covered with a case, and I did not see it. Besides the altar, this church contains part of a granite column with a marble capital, much too small for the shaft; and upon this is the identical brazen serpent made by Moses for the Children of Israel in the wilderness. More moderate people say, that it was made in imitation of that of Moses; but these do not specify where the artist of the present, could have seen the ancient one, or how he could have made a copy, without knowing any thing of the original. It is entirely devoid of use or beauty, and does not seem to be an object of reverence. Near this is a sculptured sarcophagus of white marble, of Christian times, and supposed to have been made to receive the ashes of Stilico, and his wife Serena. Without entering very minutely into the truth of these more reasonable traditions, they are certainly very pleasant, and seem to bring history home to us; and they do really by increasing our associations with it, fix it more firmly on the mind. Over this sarcophagus, and partly resting on it, is a marble pulpit, which with the eagle of gilt bronze which forms the reading desk, is of the time of Frederic I. i. e. of the twelfth century.

On leaving this church I went to visit a little chapel, where St. Augustine was baptized; but it has been modernized. I was much disappointed, because, as the interest of the place depended entirely on the event which took place there, it is palpably of importance, to any impression received from it, that the original form and disposition should as much as possible be preserved; and the Roman Catholic clergy generally know how to give effect to their religious establishments.

Another church which interested me very much, is the Madonna delle Grazie. It did belong to a rich convent of Dominicans, celebrated for containing the Last Supper of Leonardo da Vinci. The front of this edifice has suggested to me, the idea of what that of the cathedral might have been. The nave is ancient, with a sort of half modernization which lets the antique character peep through; to this have been added a large square edifice, forming the centre of the building, crowned with a lantern of sixteen sides, and a choir. The central part is just of the beginning of the restoration of Roman architecture, and retains traces of Gothic taste; but the parts are so well disposed, and so well combined, that it forms one of the most picturesque compositions possible. The Last Supper still exists in a room in the convent; but it is in so bad a state, that hardly any thing but the design and composition are readily intelligible. The head of our Saviour is said by Vasari to have been left unfinished by Leonardo; but Lanzi rather throws a doubt on this fact, though he acknowledges that in its present state, three heads of the apostles alone remain of the original work. However this may be, the expression of the head of Christ pleased me very much; but I shall not presume to enter on the merits of the painting, a subject already so often treated. The damage is principally owing to time and damp, though the feet of our Saviour were cut away by a superior of the convent to heighten a doorway; and some mischief was done by the French troops, and especially by the cavalry, who were stationed there in 1796; but I think from the carelessness and inattention unavoidable in these circumstances, and not from that systematic love of destruction which Eustace attributes to the French in all cases. The woman who showed it said she had known the water stand three feet deep in the room. Under EugÈne Beauharnois it was drained; and I believe every thing possible has since been done for the preservation of the picture. On the opposite wall is a composition in distemper, anterior to Leonardo, on which two figures in oil were painted by him, previous to the execution of his own subject, which was done in oil. The ancient distemper remains much more perfect than either these figures, or those of the Last Supper.

Another of the churches I visited at Milan is that of St. Mark; the proportions of which are very good, though low in comparison with those usual with us. It was built in the thirteenth century, and its beauty is said to have passed into a proverb; the front seems to have had a magnificent rose window, which is now filled up; the inside has been entirely modernized, but enough of the exterior remains to shew how very inferior the architecture of Italy was, at that period, to that of France and England. Though adopting a slightly pointed arch, the buildings do not seem to have risen above the plainness and rudeness of the Saxon style, till the middle of the fourteenth century. The artists then began to copy the forms they found in France, but without adopting the greatly elevated nave, and without abandoning the strong expression of horizontal line, and horizontal extent, which they had retained from the Roman architecture. In the following age, Gothic was entirely abandoned.

Besides the churches, many public and private edifices at Milan are pointed out to the notice of strangers. The first I shall mention is the Palace of the government. While Eugene was there something was added every year to its embellishments; but now this has ceased. The principal suite of apartments is hung with tapestry, with large cornices, and broad gilt borders, and ornamented with painted ceilings; such materials, if tolerably well disposed, always produce an appearance of splendour and princely magnificence; and this effect is not wanting here. I considered how far Mrs. Schimmelpenning’s theory of the superiority of light borders might be here illustrated. The relation of the colour of the plain surface to that of the border, is very various, but the lightest did not seem always the best; however, I so far agreed with her, as to think that borders lighter than the ground, have sometimes a degree of delicacy and elegance, which can hardly be attained by the contrary disposition. In general it appeared to me, that the rooms hung with yellow are the handsomest. I remarked this also at the Palazzo Litte, where are two large rooms almost alike, one hung with crimson, the other with yellow damask; and the effect of the latter was far superior to that of the former. Next to yellow, blue and crimson are the best colours. Green is the worst; but one room, sprinkled over with large and high coloured flowers on a white ground, was exceedingly tawdry, and much inferior, even to those where the green was predominant. The ceilings are painted in fresco on the cove, and in the middle, with ornaments in general very well designed and well executed; and with subjects of history or allegory. These are partly the productions of a Roman, of the name, I believe, of Traballesi; and partly of Appiani, a native of Milan, scholar of the former. The scholar’s works are excellent; full, rich, and harmonious; and far exceed the master’s. Of the floors, some are very beautifully inlaid with different sorts of wood; others are of the Venetian stucco, which receives different kinds of marble, while yet soft, and the whole is afterwards polished down to an even surface. When well done, it is very handsome. Some of the rooms are hung with Gobelin tapestry, which at the best, forms only indifferent pictures. Besides this suite there are two large and lofty saloons, the largest of which has a gallery supported by caryatides, one or two of which are justly admired for their execution; particularly a female, covered with a veil. When first pointed out to me, I thought the face had really been covered with a linen veil, in order to preserve it. The other is a music room, the ceiling of which is supported by columns. Both these rooms have been ornamented with paintings representing the exploits of Napoleon, which are now removed.

The Brera was formerly the principal establishment of the order of the Umiliati, who in the middle of the sixteenth century were found, like so many other religious orders, to have departed very far from that humility and piety, which was the first object of their institution. St. Charles Borromeo attempted to reform them; and on this occasion their chiefs are accused of endeavouring to assassinate the saint. The order was suppressed in consequence of this charge in 1570, and this building was given to the Jesuits for the establishment of public schools; and it is still used for this purpose, and for the academy of the fine arts. The great court is surrounded by two stories of arcades, the lower upon coupled Doric, the upper upon coupled Ionic columns. On the side of the entrance a double range of these archways gives room for the great staircase. The judgment does not easily reconcile itself to arches upon columns; or on posts; for a column is only an ornamented stone post; yet I confess there is sometimes a delightful lightness and airiness of effect, produced by the distribution, which I should be very much puzzled to obtain by any other means. With regard to painting, I seem here to have got into a new world. The number of pictures at Milan is astonishing; not perhaps of absolutely first rate productions, but still very fine ones. The grandest collection is in the Brera, and one feels quite dazzled and almost overwhelmed by the splendour of art there exhibited: but however delightful it is to have ready access to such a gallery, I am aware that nothing is more dull, than a long enumeration and description of paintings you cannot see; and I shall therefore abstain from particularizing them. I have learnt here a great respect for names which make very little noise in England. The drawing and design of some of the frescos of Bernardino Luini are most excellent; and the smaller pieces of Daniele Crespi are very fine, as are some of the pictures of Giulio Cesare Procaccini. Besides many first rate pictures, and these of the second rate, of the Milanese school, the Brera contains a great number of ancient paintings; extremely valuable to those who examine the history of the art, and trace its progress, from the stiff attitudes and hard finish of early times, to the grace of Coreggio, and the glow of Titian. It contains also a fine collection of casts, and one of engravings. There are likewise rooms for the exhibition of the produce of the useful arts; and attached to it is a botanic garden. Every body must find his curiosity gratified in the Brera.

The churches in Milan are full of good paintings, the chief performers in which are Luini, Crespi, and Procaccini; but they are mostly in bad lights, and the row of wax candles stuck in front of them is unfavourable to their effect: but even in the poorest paintings, there is a knowledge of drawing and colouring, and a grace in the position of the figures, which we should seek in vain in the common productions of France and our own country.

I have said nothing of the Great hospital, and I have very little to say about it; for it possesses little interest as an object of architecture. It is very large; about, I suppose, twice as big as the new Bedlam. It was begun in the middle of the fifteenth century by duke Francis Sforza, and has been increased at different times; the last addition being in consequence of a bequest of a Dr. Macchi, who lived in misery, in order to be able to leave three millions of livres to this hospital. Every body is received, whatever may be their country, their religion, or their disorder; and it possesses moreover a magnificent dispensary, where medicines are delivered to the poor, gratis, on the specification of any physician that they require them, but where also they are sold to those who can afford to pay for them.

There are many fine houses in Milan; but were I to particularize every thing which attracts my attention, I should never have done. The only Roman antiquity is a range of sixteen Corinthian columns, with their architrave, said to have been part of the public bath. They are very much mutilated, but enough remains to shew that they were of good style and well executed.

One of the principal lions in Milan, is the workshop of Rafaelli, who is just finishing a copy in mosaic of the last supper of Leonardo da Vinci; the labour of seven years, began by order of Eugene, and continued for the Emperor of Austria. These mosaics have the richness and depth of colour of oil paintings, and they last for ever. Had I been a rich man, I think I should have been tempted to throw away twenty louis d’or on a snuff-box, on which a greyhound was most beautifully executed; but I suspect it is rather in bad taste to have trinkets in mosaic, as its great merit consists in its durability, and a snuff-box does not seem intended to last for centuries.

PAVIA.

There is a navigable canal from Milan to Pavia, which was begun in 1807, but is only just finished. From the Gate of Milan to the Ticino at Pavia, it descends 182 feet, 8 inches; there are thirteen locks, the whole descent of which is 167 feet, 8 inches; leaving for the descent of the canal, fifteen English feet. The length is 107,350 feet, the breadth 42½ feet. At first it forms a considerable stream; but is continually giving off part of its waters for the purposes of irrigation, and becomes very sluggish on its arrival at Pavia.

My first object was the Duomo. There is a fragment of ancient Lombard architecture on the outside, not now belonging to the church. The present edifice was begun in 1488, on a magnificent scale. A spacious octagon occupies the centre, and a nave and side aisles, extending in each direction, were to have formed the cross; the side aisles opening into the oblique sides of the octagon, which are smaller than the others. I sought in vain for the sarcophagus of Boetius, and for that of St. Augustin.

The church of the Carmine is much more interesting than the cathedral. It dates in 1373, is of the pointed Lombard style, with intersecting ornamental arches in the cornice, and the front is the most elaborate example I have seen of the sort. It is also a very fine specimen of brick-work; on which account also the pillars of the inside deserve notice. Three squares form the nave, each of which is covered by a simple groin, but opens by two small arches into the side aisles, and has a very small circular window above. The beautiful brick-work has been hacked, to retain a coat of stucco or whitewash. The walls and vaults are also of brick-work, but of very different quality. These were evidently intended to be covered. The upper capitals are of stone, ornamented with detached leaves; the lower are of brick, cut into escutcheon faces. I suppose you will laugh at me unmercifully, if I were to propose to ornament such an edifice with gilding; but in fact it would harmonize beautifully with the rich brown of the brick, whose dark colour wants something to relieve it.

The front of S. Francesco is in the same style, and of the same material: there is a series of round-headed arches below, which displeases me; but the upper part, with one large central arch, surrounded by a number of plain and enriched bands, is finely composed. There are seven pinnacles in front of the Carmine, five on that of S. Francesco, but though well contrived in themselves, they do not, in either case, unite well with the building. The inside has been modernized; and done badly, as is usually the case, because those who wish to modernize, are precisely such as despise the old style, and would scorn to enter into the feeling it produces: perhaps indeed I might say, they are such as stop short at the rules, and totally neglect the poetry of the art.

The church of San Salvadore, a little out of the town, is another edifice of the same style, but on the outside, much plainer. The inside has Corinthian pilasters supporting pointed arches, and it does not appear that the solids have been altered, although various stucco ornaments, which are not in good taste, have been added. The divisions are square, each opening into two side arches. The whole is splendidly gilt and painted, and in spite of some apparent discordance, the effect is really fine. The church of San Michele is of an earlier date and style of architecture. Malaspina di Sannazaro (Guida di Pavia, 1819,) asserts that it existed in the time of Grimoaldo, king of the Lombards in the middle of the seventh century. The plan is a Latin cross, with an octagonal lantern at the intersection; but it is difficult in these ancient edifices, to distinguish accurately the alterations from the original work. The front is a very curious one; all the arches are semicircular; there are three small doors, ornamented with grotesque carving, and several small windows. There is also a central, circular window; but this, though not large, appears to be an alteration. On the slope of the gable is a series of small arches on columns, each column being placed on a step. S. Pietro, in Cielo d’oro, is another example of the same early taste: the inside has been modernized, but it is now a barn.

There is said to be a church here by Bramante; but I inquired for it in vain. Just out of the walls is one by Pellegrino Pellegrini. The outside has never been finished, but if it were it would hardly be handsome. The inside has two orders, and the upper entablature is nearly half as high as the pilaster to which it belongs.

The university is a modern building, magnificent rather by its extent, than by any merit in its architecture. The library is said to contain 60,000 volumes. There is a valuable collection of natural history, but the animals are not well stuffed. For example, the sole is so well filled, as to appear nearly round.

The bridge over the Ticino is one of the lions at Pavia. It was built in 1351. The body of the work is brick, with stone quoins to the arches. The road-way is covered with a roof, supported on posts of rough granite, which in this state is by no means a beautiful material. It is employed in the same manner in the hot-houses at the botanic garden. The divisions in this garden are formed by Thuja orientalis, which is very tractable to the shears, and makes very compact green walls, three or four feet high, and not above six inches thick.

And now, having gone through the architectural antiquities of Pavia, I must conduct you to the Certosa, about five miles distant, and not much out of the road to Milan. It is here considered as one of the most beautiful buildings in the world; and may be cited to shew how much more effect the appearance of riches and splendour have on the judgment of the multitude than fine taste and elegant proportion. It was begun in 1396, a period at which several splendid ecclesiastical structures were raised in Italy. The cathedral of Milan; the church of S. Petronio at Bologna; and the church of S. Francesco at Assisi; are all nearly of this date. The architect is said to be the same Henry of Zamodia or Gamodia who designed the Duomo at Milan. Malaspina (Guida di Pavia) supposes it rather to have been built under the direction of a certain Marco di Campilione; who disputes also the honour of the cathedral at Milan, but this appears to be a mere guess. There is a bust of the architect within the building, but without name or date. The style of the two edifices is so different, as almost to preclude the possibility of their being the productions of one man; and the present offers no indication of the taste of our northern artists, while the cathedral above-mentioned abounds with them. The nave has four square divisions, each subdivided on the vault, and with oblique groins. The groining of the side aisles is singular, each space being in fact covered with five unequal pointed vaults, meeting in a common centre. Beyond the side aisles on each side, two chapels open towards each square division of the nave. The choir and arms of the cross have each two square divisions, so that there are seven on the whole length of the church, and five on that of the transept. The whole is in the highest degree rich with painting and gilding, and the orders^[31] of the altars of the chapels of the side aisles are of the richest marbles, while the altars themselves are of inlaid work in precious stones. Nothing is neglected. Even the washing place of the monks is a magnificent marble monument. The tomb of the founder, John Galeazzo Visconti, is said to have been designed in 1490, and completed in 1562, which is the date mentioned in the inscription. Circumstances might induce us to expect here one of the finest productions of the cinque cento, but this is not the case. The ivy represented on a door jaumb just by is far more beautiful than any thing in the tomb. The outside of the flanks and transept of the building is full of pinnacles and ornaments, which do not rise naturally out of the construction of the building; but I examined the inside first, and to confess the truth, I was fairly tired out with the interminable splendour of the edifice: every little part seems to say, come and admire me. There are two large cloisters, one of which is of immense size, with marble columns, and a profusion of ornamental brick-work; and there is a spacious palace of later date, for the reception of visitors.

I have left the front till last, because it was erected after the rest of the church, and is itself a distinct object. It was begun in 1473, from the designs of Ambrogio Fossano, and as might be supposed from the place and date, is not Gothic, but an immense heap of little parts, in the taste of the cinque cento, often beautiful in themselves, but leaving no impression as a whole, except an undefined sentiment of its immense prodigality of riches. I should not raise your ideas too high, if I were to say that there are acres of bas-reliefs in figures and ornaments, often beautifully executed, and never ill done. The material is marble throughout; but after all I could say or write, I could never sufficiently impress you with the richness of the building, or with the feeling of fatigue with which you take leave of it.