Cathedral Cities of Italy — Reading Companion
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For Cathedral Cities of Italy — Reading Companion, the stored edition analysis reports 69,971 words, 5 hr 5 min estimated reading time, and 7 detected text sections.
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way in Spain working on the Escorial for Philip II. The east end is the oldest part of the building, and is almost entirely taken up by three grand Gothic windows. The east window, which is of most beautiful tracery, was executed from the designs of a Frenchman, Nicholas Bonaventure. Both the other windows are fine, but the upper portion or rose pattern, although in itself very delicate, appears "stuck in," and not part of the design; some of the glass in these is very rich in colour. The archivolts of the arches are filled with figures which follow the curve in a rather uncomfortable style, not only here but in every other window save the fine classical of the façade.
The interior is grand, and of immense height, albeit the vaulting with its admirably painted tracery is evidence of the great skill of the Italian at "faking." The mellow light from the amber coloured glass of the octagon and the twilight filtering through the gorgeous hues of the other windows is remarkably and impressively pleasing. The columns of the nave, in clusters of eight shafts, are eighty feet high, and carry narrow capitals of foliage which form the base to eight canopied niches occupied by figures of saints--a fine feature. The aisles are double, the outside being lower than that next the nave. The four columns at the crossing which support the octagon are of larger dimensions than those in the nave. Two semicircular pulpits covered with bas-reliefs of gilded bronze stand on either side of the steps leading into the choir, to the solemn darkness of which the shadows thrown from the sounding-boards above make pictorially a good foreground introduction. These pulpits are supported by caryatides representing the Evangelists and four doctors of the Church.
The choir was designed by Pellegrini, and contains a fine sixteenth-century tabernacle of gilded bronze. Beneath is the subterranean church, through which one enters the tiny chapel, under the central spire, wherein is deposited, in a magnificent silver shrine the gift of Philip IV. of Spain, the body of S. Carlo Borromeo dressed in full pontificals. Born in 1538 he was created cardinal by his uncle, Pius IV., in 1561. After the close of the Council of Trent he assisted other prelates to draw up the epitome of Catholic doctrine, the "Catechismus Tridentinus"; but it is more for his good works and great charity, especially during the plague of 1576, that he lives in the hearts of the Milanese.
In the north transept is a very good example of the metal work of the thirteenth century, in the shape of a fine bejewelled bronze candelabrum. It forms a tree and has many quaint figures in its intricate design. In a chapel in this aisle is the old wooden crucifix which S. Carlo carried when barefooted he tramped the streets during the plague, tending the sick. In the south transept close to the corner near the staircase leading on to the roof is a monument to Giacomo and Gabriele de' Medici, brothers of Pius IV., and a bronze statue of S. Bartolommeo which represents him flayed. The south sacristy door is a fine specimen of Gothic work. Unlike the exterior effect, nothing obtrudes inside this great cathedral. The eye on entering looks straight up to the east, conscious as it travels there, of great pillars rising into the gloom of the vault above, of fine glass and restful solemnity, in which even the chapels in the aisles are lost, to be discovered later on only when searched for.
W. W. Collins, a painter and member of the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours, approaches Italy's cathedral cities with the eye of an artist rather than a historian. His descriptions dwell on the physical fabric of buildings—the color and weathering of stone, the play of light across arcades, and the visual effect of decorative details. In his account of Pisa Cathedral, for instance, he notes how the white marble has been 'baked to a beautiful warm yellow and light red' by the sun, while the north side, exposed to the bitter tramontana wind, is 'blistered and scored' into an unpleasant ashen white. Such observations reveal a sensibility attuned to materiality and environment.
Architectural Description as Visual Experience
Collins rarely offers a dry inventory of architectural features. Instead, he describes how a building looks in specific conditions. The façade of Pisa Cathedral is analyzed in terms of its layered galleries: 'the slender pillars that support the arches of these galleries have wonderfully carved capitals, and stand out in the brilliant afternoon sun from the deep shadow behind with marvellous effect.' He notes the arrangement of columns—round on the façade and apses, pilasters elsewhere—as 'an extremely good arrangement' that enhances the building's length without breaking up the wall surface. Even the interior's 'forest of columns and arches' is evaluated for its visual complexity, with the observation that 'if it were not for the fine proportions of the nave, the eye would have but little rest.'
Materials and Weathering
Collins pays close attention to the physical condition of stone and the effects of climate. At Pisa, he contrasts the warm yellow and light red of the sun-baked south side with the 'ashen white' of the north, where the marble is 'blistered and scored' by the cold tramontana. He also remarks on the 'crude mosaics in the tympanums' as 'a jarring colour note which one would willingly suppress,' while praising the 'wonderful patterns of inlaid marble' and 'rich ornamentation of vine-leaves and floral forms, human heads and animals' that embellish the façade. This sensitivity to material decay and repair—the lead-covered penthouse that 'wards off the inclemency of the weather'—suggests a writer who sees buildings as living, aging objects.
Selective Detail and Omission
Collins does not attempt a comprehensive guide. He focuses on what strikes his eye, often omitting historical context or complete inventories. For example, he mentions that the bronze doors of Pisa's façade are 'good examples of the seventeenth century' without naming their makers, and attributes the design of six altars to Michelangelo with a brief 'is attributed to.' He notes that mosaics in the transept apses are 'said to be designed by Cimabue' but adds that 'the same origin can be more justly c[?]'—the text breaks off, leaving the judgment incomplete. This selectivity mirrors the artist's habit of choosing what to paint, and it invites the reader to see the cathedrals as a series of vivid, composed scenes rather than encyclopedic entries.
Collins's text rewards readers who share his interest in the visual and tactile qualities of architecture. His judgments are those of a practitioner—praising a 'good arrangement' of columns, lamenting a 'jarring colour note'—and his descriptions are most vivid when he captures the effect of light on stone. The book is less a systematic guide than a painter's notebook, offering a series of sharp, personal observations that can enrich a traveller's own encounter with these buildings.
That rainy afternoon, I lingered over Collins’s notes on Pisa’s marble, how dampness deepened its white into honey. Something about material weather—stone absorbing sky—stayed with me. Later, searching shelves, I found a worn volume on Siam, its pages thick with heat instead of rain. Odd comfort, that same patient watching: Siam : The Land of the White Elephant as It Was and Is — Background and Themes felt like turning to another window.
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