han half the
year hangs fog. But the cathedrals of Italy owe their charm to
colour and brilliancy: their gilded sculpture and mosaics, the
variegated marbles and shallow portals of their facades, the light
aerial elegance of their campanili, are all adapted to the luminous
atmosphere of a smiling land, where changing effects of natural
beauty distract the attention from solidity of design and permanence
of grandeur in the edifice itself.[1]

[1] In considering why Gothic architecture took so little
root in mediaeval Italy, we must remember that the Italians
had maintained an unbroken connection with Pagan Rome, and
that many of their finest churches were basilicas
appropriated to Christian rites. Add to this that the
commerce of their cities, which first acquired wealth in
the twelfth century, especially Pisa and Venice, kept them
in communication with the Levant, where they admired the
masterpieces of Byzantine architecture, and whence they
imported Greek artists in mosaic and stonework. Against
these external circumstances, taken in connection with the
hereditary leanings of an essentially Latin race, and with
the natural conditions of landscape and climate alluded to
above, the influence of a few imported German architects
could not have had sufficient power to effect a thorough
metamorphosis of the national taste. For further treatment
of this subject see my 'Fine Arts,' _Renaissance in
Italy_, Part III. chap. ii.

The Cathedral of Orvieto will illustrate these remarks. Its design
is very simple. It consists of a parallelogram, from which three
chapels of equal size project, one at the east end, and one at the
north and south. The windows are small and narrow, the columns
round, and the roof displays none of that intricate groining we find
in English churches. The beauty of the interior depends on surface
decoration, on marble statues, woodwork, and fresco-paintings.
Outside, there is the same simplicity of design, the same elaborated
local ornament. The sides of the Cathedral are austere, their narrow
windows cutting horizontal lines of black and white marble. But the
facade is a triumph of decorative art. It is strictly what has often
been described as a 'frontispiece;' for it bears no sincere relation
to the construction of the building. The three gables rise high
above the aisles. The pinnacles and parapets and turrets are stuck
on to l