stance,--in such a church as S. Pietro might have been,--and that
it is not so, we may remind ourselves, is the fault of that return to
barbarism and superstition which Luther led in the North.

What then, we may ask ourselves, were the aim and desire of the Italian
builders, which it seems have escaped us for so long? If we turn to the
builders of antiquity and seek for their intention in what remains to us
of their work, we shall find, I think, that their first aim was before
all things to make the best building they could for a particular
purpose, and to build that once for all. And out of these two intentions
the third must follow; for if a temple, for instance, were both fit and
strong it would be beautiful because the purpose for which it was needed
was noble and beautiful. Now the first necessity of the basilica, for
instance, was space; and the intention of the builder would be to build
so that that space should appear as splendid as possible, and to do this
and to enjoy it would necessitate, above all things, light,--a problem
not so difficult after all in a land like Italy, where the sun is so
faithful and so divine. Taking the necessity, then, of the Italian to be
much the same as that of the Roman builder when he was designing a
basilica,--that is to say, the accommodation of a crowd of people who
are to take part in a common solemnity,--we shall find that the
intention of the Italian in building his churches is exactly that of the
Roman in building his basilica: he desires above all things space and
light, partly because they seem to him necessary for the purpose of the
church, and partly because he thinks them the two most splendid and
majestic things in the world.

Well, he has altogether carried out his intention in half a hundred
churches up and down Italy: consider here in Florence S. Croce, S. Maria
Novella, S. Spirito, and above all the Duomo. Remember his aim was not
the aim of the Gothic builder. He did not wish to impress you with the
awfulness of God, like the builder of Barcelona; or with the mystery of
the Crucifixion, like the builders of Chartres: he wished to provide for
you in his practical Latin way a temple where you might pray, where the
whole city might hear Mass or applaud a preacher. He did this in his own
noble and splendid fashion as well as it could be done. He has never
believed, save when driven mad by the barbarians, in the mysterious
awfulness of our far-away God. He prays as a