artist, a single painting, worthy of commemoration. Let each country, then, be content with its own glory, and neither revile nor repine at the other's. Let each boast of having nobly followed the impulses of events, and, starting from a common point, of having reached goals different indeed, but each worthy of being accounted a noble prize. A few more words will close our sketch of Italian architecture.

We mentioned, a couple of paragraphs back, two eminent architects, contemporaries and friends, Brunelleschi and Alberti. The first of these attracted attention by a well-known portico at Florence, in which very wide arches spring from light and elegant columns. This was the death-blow of the pointed architecture in that city. Its architect attained the great point of his ambitious aims, the termination of the Florentine cathedral, the cupola of which had been left unfinished for nearly one hundred years. This he brought to a most happy conclusion; and though he sacrificed something to the semi-pointed character of the building, he here gave the great model to the unparalleled dome which crowns St. Peter's. It was, however, by the two churches of San Lorenzo and Sto. Spirito, that Brunelleschi made himself the head of the new school. In these, the arches of the nave rest upon columns, and the intercolumniations are sufficiently wide to form entrances into lateral chapels. It evidently was the convenience which this system presented for this purpose, that led, at least in part, to its adoption. The basilica of the twelve apostles, erected by Charlemagne, served, as has been already remarked, for a model to Brunelleschi. When it was built it had no side chapels; but, in course of time, these had been added, so as to correspond on each side to the openings of the arcade. It is not easy, perhaps, to decide, when this plan of flanking the church with chapels was introduced. Anastasius Bibliothecarius, if we remember rightly, informs us that St. Hilarus, successor to the Great St. Leo, added four oratories to the Baptistary of Constantine, dedicated to the Holy Cross, and to SS. John Baptist, John the Evangelist, and Stephen, probably the same which still remain. We have already seen how the ancient Christians erected detached chapels to different saints, and how they united several churches together. It was natural enough, as the number increased of those to whom veneration and worship was to be shown, to unite the memories or chapels in this manner, so as to open into a common church, the high altar of which should be reserved for more solemn worship. This laudable practice, once introduced, necessarily modified the form of the church, and gained a preference for that adaptation of the classical architecture, which allowed the

side chapels to appear connected with the church, by being visible from its middle or principal part. This could not be the case when the columns were kept close, as the ancient architectural proportions required. It would have been unreasonably presumptuous in an architect to decline from those forms which the discipline of the Church that employed him rendered necessary for its worship; or to expect its established usages to bend to his professional rules. Hence 'Brunelleschi, among more ancient Christian models, chose that one which experience had already proved best lent itself to the worship of the Church, as modified in the course of ages. The measurements of his parts, however, the forms of his architectural members, and even of his mouldings, were taken from the antique; and thus he combined classical taste with a proper attention to fitness and convenience. He laid the foundation of a style peculiarly prevalent at Florence, and to some extent in Rome, during the sixteenth century; the history of which is so closely connected with that of sculpture, that it must not be enlarged on in this place.

The new style introduced by this great architect, however much admired, was by no means incapable of still farther improvement. It was considered desirable to remove the eye-sore to the classical observer, of columns supporting anything but an entablature; but it was by no means desirable to do this with any sacrifice of the convenience obtained by Brunelleschi's method. L. B. Alberti, in his famous church of St. Andrew, at Mantua, gave the model on which St. Peter's, and almost every other great modern church in Italy, has been constructed. It consists in a nave separated from the sides, whether they are formed of aisles or only of chapels, by means of arches, having their own imposts, with buttresses between them, on which are half-columns or else pilasters, that support an unbroken entablature running over the arches. We do not think it difficult to discover whence Alberti drew this idea: that is, from the ancient amphitheatres, or still more probably from the triumphal arches. In the former, serieses of open arches have an entablature that runs round the entire building, supported by half columns placed against every buttress. In the triumphal arches, there are either half columns, as in that of Titus, or detached pillars, as in that of Septimius Severus. Now it is evident that Alberti, when called to finish the superb church begun by the Malatestas, at Rimini, chose, as the model for its front, the triumphal arch still existing in that city. From his church at Mantua, we may date the commencement of the style ever since prevailing in Italy, but which reached its perfection in the wonderful Vatican basilica. And if Brunelleschi copied the reformed architecture introduced by

Charlemagne, Alberti may be said to have restored, with incalculable improvements, the forms employed by the Lombard school. Michelangiolo, the greatest of his followers, however indebted to antiquity, and however partial to its unrivalled monuments, had too much genius to follow their system blindly, without fitting things to their real purposes. Both in sculpture and in architecture he took care, without ever losing sight of antiquity, to be original and modern. No one ever felt as he did the superior dignity of Christian over pagan art; and the necessity of satisfying, by the former, wants and aspirations which the latter could never feel.

Here we may close our sketchy history of sacred architecture in Italy; from which it will appear that it has its links so closely woven together, that, without a breach of continuity, a fault, as geologists call it, in the natural course of social progress, no other system could have been introduced; so that the great churches of modern times are the legitimate and undegenerated descendants of the earliest Christian edifices. In all this we have no doubt but we possess Mr. Pugin's suffrage; for his favourite architecture would well deserve to be styled Gothic, if it suggested the overthrow of every other system, however venerable, and however adapted to times and places. A propos of this name,which Rumohr, with no small degree of plausibility, attributes to Vasari, who actually confounds the Gothic architecture under Theodoric, with the pointed style,-we must observe, that while we agree in banishing the vulgar name, given in ignorance and continued in derision, we feel the want of a substitute for it. The term pointed architecture, now usually prefixed, is far from satisfactory; for it will not apply, as an epithet, to. the parts of architecture. We can say a Grecian column, base, or capital; but we should feel it awkward to speak of a pointed pillar, or a pointed cornice. Might not the term Northern, as giving locality to the origin and prevalence of the style, be well adapted to distinguish the system from those which we usually designate by their countries, as Roman, Grecian, Egyptian, or Etruscan?

So far are we from considering Mr. Pugin as harsh or severe upon Protestant art (if there be such a thing) in England, that we think he might have added much to his censure. For instance, if the extinction of all good pointed architecture amongst us be clearly imputable to the change of religion, the accusation will have double weight if we look at the abominations erected as tombs, under Elizabeth and James I, in Westminster Abbey and

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elsewhere, and intended for Grecian architecture, with sculpture that would have disgraced the most barbarous period of the middle ages; and consider that these arts were in their perfection in other parts of Europe. But the religion adopted by England was not only, in its nature, hostile to their progress, but proved an effectual bar to their introduction by foreign artists. For while it was a matter of drawing, hanging, and quartering, to deny the king's supremacy, or to worship the saints, there was not much chance of Italian artists, who received liberal encouragement in France and Spain, crossing the seas to teach or practise the arts, at the risk of either their faith or their necks. We are not, indeed, acquainted with a single great inspiration of the sublime or the beautiful in art, for which the world is indebted to Protestantism. Even St. Paul's, avowed copy as it is, betrays its incapacity to conceive a great original thought. The system of arches separating the nave from the aisles was retained, as we have seen, from the necessity or propriety of giving entrance to lateral chapels; in St. Paul's there are no chapels, and the rules of classical architecture have been departed from, without a plea of fitness to excuse it. The dome in St. Peter's is raised over the high altar; it is a sublime canopy sublime canopy to that great concentrating object; it raises the eyes and thoughts to heaven, when kneeling beneath it: what meaning has that of the London cathedral? It is situated out of the precincts devoted to worship, it overshadows nothing holier than the statues of Dr. Johnson and Mr. Howard, perhaps the tomb of its architect*; and we believe it more celebrated from containing a whispering gallery, which may be visited for a shilling, than from any religious impression that it makes!

One concluding word of advice to Catholics. Let them profit by Mr. Pugin's book. Let them ever remember that good taste is a prerogative of their religion, that the arts are its handmaids, and that they will have to make a reckoning with posterity. We cannot be expected to compete with our forefathers in splendour of dimension or of decoration; but we may imitate them in good taste. Let no individual follow his own caprices in buildings consecrated to God, and belonging to his religion.

St. Peter's is the tomb of the apostles: an inscription in St. Paul's tells us that it is the tomb of Sir C. Wren! This inscription, which occupies the most prominent situation in the church, is often instanced as bordering upon sublimity: to us it is at least profane, and in miserable taste. Of the greatest ancient Christian works the architect is unknown: neither Bramante nor Michelangiolo has left his name recorded anywhere in St. Peter's; wherever any such records appear in ancient churches, as at Pisa, they are either outside the church, or placed on the cornice, or some other place where they can least attract notice.

Let us have nothing that can be mistaken for a dissenter's meeting-house on one side, nor for a profane building on the other; but let all our churches be so constructed, that no Catholic may pass them without an act of reverence, and no Protestant without a look of admiration.

ART. V.-Histoire de Sainte Elizabeth de Hongrie, Duchesse de Thuringe. (1207-1231.) Par Le Comte de Montalembert, Pair de France. Paris. 1836.

N perusing the various works which come under our hand,

to their character. We speak not at present of such as stir up indignant and unpleasant emotions: the volume before us banishes the thought of all such from our minds. But, in turning over pages of more agreeable nature, sometimes we may be astonished at the erudition displayed by the writer-sometimes we may rather admire his sagacity and genius; some books may convey to us a high opinion of his moral qualities, and others make us long for his acquaintance as a man of amiable and virtuous character. Seldom, however, has it been our lot to experience the peculiar feelings which have accompanied the perusal of the work now on our table: feelings more akin to jealousy.than to any other we have described. It was not the research, nor the rich poetical genius, nor the deep religious tone, nor the eloquent language of its youthful author, conspicuous and admirable as all these qualities are, which rivetted our attention, or secured our sympathy, it was the sincere love, the enthusiastic devotion, with which his task has been undertaken and accomplished, that has made us, so to speak, envy him the days and the years which he has spent upon its performance. So pure must have been the heart and soul while occupied with the sainted object of their spiritual affections; so closed must the feelings have been against the rude materialities of life in this sear generation, while inhaling the healthy freshness of a greener age; so full of delicious meditation, of varied hope, and of conscious success, must his pilgrimage have been, as he strayed from town to town, in thoughtful simple-hearted Germany, to cull traditions yet living in the memories of the people, or discover mouldy records in its libraries; in fine, so full of content and peace must life have seemed, while thus passed, in spite of many a trial which needed strong consolation, that gladly would we exchange