London, Volume 4
Knight, Charles
1843
XCVI.-New St. Paul's. No. I.
XCVI.-New St. Paul's. No. I.
writes Sir Christopher Wren, in the (I shall rise again). How much the architect himself was struck by the circumstance, we see by the decorations of the pediment over the northern portico, where an exquisitely sculptured Phoenix rising from the flames, with the motto has been placed in accordance with the idea suggested by the incident. And has indeed risen again in consummate beauty and grandeur. Surrounded as it is on all sides with the countless structures which the religion, trade, commerce, amusements, and luxuries of the capital of the world have required, many of them separately deserving and enjoying our high admiration, who ever thinks for a moment of comparing any of them ( excepted) with ; who ever, indeed, thinks of them at all, when the eye, casually glancing over the mighty panorama of which they form a portion, is so completely occupied by the sublime object, soaring upwards so far into the skies, the far-famed dome of the Cathedral. The man who was born within the sound of its bell, and can scarcely remember when he overpassed those limits--the stranger from the country on a brief visit, who obtains perhaps but a single view--the foreigner, familiar with the architectural marvels of other climes--the old and the young, the ignorant and the enlightened, alike feel this wondrous pre-eminence, which makes seem | |
322 | not so much a feature, however great, of London, as an embodied idea of London itself. Can any fancy London without it? In the absence of this grand central object, toward which, as in a picture, everything around appears to tend, and grow regular and coherent from that very connexion, the British metropolis would certainly look like the that Cobbett calls it. For this reason it may be said, somewhat paradoxically, that the finest view of is obtained from a spot where a considerable portion of it cannot be seen, namely, ; for the body of the structure being hidden, the dome, in consequence, with its pilastered basement and colonnaded pedestal, really seems to rest as it were upon the City; and we can imagine nothing more magnificent than the effect. Wren, it must be owned, was most fortunate in the site for his work. It is true that it is sadly shut in on all sides, but we can amend that matter whenever we please; on the other hand, the advantages of the spot are inestimable. It is in the very heart of the metropolis, and so elevated, that-if we may trust the inscription on the curious little piece of sculpture with a naked boy in the neighbouring Panyer Alley:-- Above all, it stands in the midst of the busiest of London thoroughfares, where thousands daily, as they hurry along with the press, must look upon it; and who shall say how often many of these may not have carried away with them some impression of its beauty, majesty, and power, which may open, however unconsciously, the door to a other refreshing and elevating influences? The chief view of the Cathedral obtained by such passers by--that from Ludgate Hill--was of course an object of great solicitude with Wren; forming too, as he saw it would, the only good view that could be afforded within any calculable period of the building generally. And, certainly, a thing to be remembered is the ascent of that hill, the sight of the glorious facade which rises directly before us, with its double range of sumptuous columns, windows and arches rising some feet, then the superb campanile towers at each corner, whose gilded pines at the top are not less than feet from the ground; and lastly, between the , and over the richlydecorated pediment of the front, with its colossal apostolic figures, the gigantic dome with its lantern, ball, and cross, mounting to the giddy height of between and feet; [n.322.1] and of which a distinguished critic says, [n.322.2] Grand as is the aspect of this western front, Wren designed something that would have been still grander, had it been practicable; but he had forgotten, for the moment, that if there are no limits to the power of genius to conceive, there are very decided and narrow ones as to the means by which its conceptions are to be executed. Instead of the existing lower order, with its Corinthian pillars, and an upper with composite, Wren |
323 | intended to have had but range of pillars, ascending from the ground without interruption to the height of both the present ranges; but there was no finding blocks of stone large enough to form the cornice to such a portico. So that idea, with many others equally cherished, was abandoned. The decorations of this fagade are chiefly by Bird, an artist who occupies a certain position in the history of art during the early part of last century, for we learn from his works how low must have been the state of sculpture among us, when such were its chief fruits. He is the author of the monument to Sir Cloudesley Shovel in , a work which has positively grown interesting from the wit and ridicule lavished upon it by Addison, Washington Irving, and others. Yet it is but justice to add that Dr. Busby's monument in the Abbey is also by him, a piece of sculpture so different from his other acknowledged productions as to warrant the suspicion that he had received assistance of some kind. Bird's chief performances at consist of the sculpture in high relief on the pediment of the west front, representing the Conversion of St. Paul, the bas-reliefs over the doors in the portico below, the centre having for its subject St. Paul preaching to the Bereans; and lastly, the statue of Queen Anne in the area before the Cathedral, with the attendant figures at the corners of the pedestal typifying Britain, France, Ireland, and America. The sculptor of the colossal figures which adorn the top of the pediment and the base of the campanile towers does not appear to be known. The figure on the apex of the pediment is of course St. Paul; St. James is known by his pilgrim habit to the right, and St. Peter by the cock to the left. The figures of the Evangelists at the sides may be similarly recognised. The statue of Queen Anne, of which a lunatic a century ago broke the nose and shattered the sceptre, suggests some interesting recollections. Here, during the brilliant career of Marlborough, was the Queen accustomed to come year after year to return thanks for his successes. The procession on these occasions seems to have been very imposing. Our space will only allow us to mention the visit in -, when there were individuals present who must have given unusual eclat to the spectacle. After the Members of the , headed by their Speaker, the Masters of Chancery, the Judges, and the Peers of the realm, in their curious low coaches (such as we see represented in the prints of the period, illustrating some of these public processions to , and from which the following is extracted), came the Queen in her state equipage, drawn by horses, and having |
324 | ly her side the Duchess of Marlborough, the wife of the conqueror, and her Majesty's early and bosom friend. . The streets through which the procession passed were lined by the militia and the City trained bands; the balconies and windows of the houses were hung with and crowded with spectators. The Queen was received at by the peers, and preceded into the choir by the great warrior himself-Marlborough, carrying the sword of state. years later Queen Anne came to again for a similar purpose; and years after that dismissed the man to whom she owed so much from all his employments, and left him as helpless as it was possible to meet the charges of peculation which his enemies had brought against him. The as the Queen delighted to call the Duchess (she, herself, assuming the name of Mrs. Morley), was now, also, as much hated as she had been previously loved; though with some reason: there is no doubt the masculine-minded spouse of Marlborough endeavoured to advance his interests and the interests of his party with too high a hand, and in a kind of reckless forgetfulness of her mistress's own very decided political principles. So a new favourite came in: the existing ministry was broken up and another formed, who gave the nation reason, at all events, for the disgrace of Marlborough : they showed they did not want him, but treated for peace, which they obtained-many thought, at no small sacrifice of honour-by the famous Peace of Utrecht. of the dissatisfied persons we have alluded to has left his opinions on record in connectionywith the statue before us; and whatever may be thought of the soundness of his views, there can be no question as to the wit displayed in their exhibition. Thus writes Sir Samuel Garth: We must add to these verses, a striking evidence of the effects of the party spirit of the time: Voltaire says, that whilst he was in England, he heard Marlborough called a coward, and Pope a blockhead! |
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Though not only the dome, but the entire exterior of , has received the highest praise that could be lavished upon it--it has been held, for instance, superior to its mighty rival at Rome-yet, it must be owned, this success has been obtained at some sacrifice. Not only does the real dome, such as it is (as seen from the interior), bear but a small proportion to the apparent , but the height of the cathedral walls all round is a splendid deception. It consists, like the front, of stories, of which the lower only shows the real height of the aisles of the church within, the upper being a mere mask to the roof of the aisles and the buttresses which support the vaulting of the nave and choir. With that exception, the exterior of challenges the warmest admiration. In walking round it we may observe, among many other-admirable features, the art with which Wren has repeated the idea of the dome in various parts of the building: thus both the northern and southern porticoes are domed, as well as the upper part of the campanile towers; the effect being a material enhancement of the harmony that pervades the different parts of the structure. The sculptured Phoenix, before mentioned, on the pediment of the south portico, is by Cibber, who received, it appears from Malcolm, for the model and for the work. may wonder that the author of the famous statues at the Bethlehem was not more extensively employed at ; but Bird, no doubt, was the fashionable sculptor-so whilst he was working away at the highest departments of the art, Cibber, immeasurably his superior, had to be content with the lowest. Before we enter the Cathedral, we may observe there is a building nearly opposite the northern portico, which is seldom noticed, even by curious observers, and which yet recalls the memory of a passage in modern ecclesiastical history, not without interest. That tall, substantial, but somewhat dingylooking mansion, is the Convocation or Chapter House of the Cathedral, and was repaired by Wren during the rebuilding of . Many of our readers will be aware that a kind of clerical parliament, or Convocation, as it is called, is summoned with every new parliament of the kingdom. The writ of the sovereign is directed to the Archbishop of Canterbury, commanding him to summon the bishops and lesser clergy. When they meet, which is usually in , they form the Houses, and nominate their Speakers; but--the conclusion is rather ludicrous--the moment they proceed to business, the Convocation is prorogued, to meet no more, except under similar circumstances and for a similar termination. But there was a period when the clergy turned restive under this treatment, and made a bold but unsuccessful attempt to turn their nominal powers into real ones. During the reigns of William and Anne, the clergy of the establishment became divided into parties--the looking with the deepest mortification and disgust on the principles of toleration in religious matters which were secured by the Revolution, and not hesitating to extend their hatred to the government of the Revolution itself; the other, holding sentiments as nearly as possible diametrically opposite. of the modes adopted by the former party in the pursuit of their objects, was an attempt to restore to a state of speech and action their ecclesiastical parliament, which had been muzzled by repeated prorogations from the time of the meeting just after the Revolution, when the King perceived but too clearly their hostile spirit. The last year of William's reign gave them a favourable opportunity. A Tory | |
326 | ministry came into power, and of the stipulations attending that event was, that a Convocation should have leave to sit. Accordingly, on the , the day of the opening of parliament, the Houses of Convocation met in , and then adjourned to the neighbouring building. |
And now they went to work in a most vigorous style. Their mortal enemies, .the old Commonwealth men, might have been their exemplars. They asserted that they had a right to sit whenever the parliament sat, and could only be prorogued when that was prorogued; and when the Archbishop, on the day of their sitting, , prorogued them, they continued to sit in defiance of the order, for some time, and then to the day named in the Archbishop's prorogation. At of their subsequent meetings, they asked for another of the privileges of parliament, and seldom resorted to even by that potential assembly--a free conference with the Upper House, which did not participate in its violence: the request was, of course, refused. Open war between the Houses now broke out. The Lower House again defied an order of prorogation: severe recrimination took place. of the bishops, Burnet, was officially attacked for the doctrines he had put forth in his and the whole business grew daily more and more embroiled, and was, at last, only put an end to for the time by a royal writ directed to the Archbishop, at the period of the dissolution of Parliament. The accession of Anne, with her known Tory principles, made the Lower House, at their subsequent meetings, bolder than ever, and, in consequence, made their pretensions less dangerous from their extravagance. With all the Queen's desire to support them, she was obliged more than once to reprove them in a marked | |
327 | manner, and although the contest continued through several interesting phases for the next few years, it was at last effectually stopped in : from that time the Convocation have never been allowed to proceed to any business. It is to this period, and these divisions in the Church, that we owe the designations-the of which, at least, is still in vogue--the High and Low Church parties. |
With so many cathedrals in the Gothic style existing in this country, the erection of a similar building in a style as much opposed to the Gothic as it could well be was and yet is an interesting experiment. And it will no doubt be generally conceded that no better existing type could be chosen for the new building than the magnificent architecture of imperial Rome afforded,--no worthier artist than Wren, a man of high genius, and full of veneration for that particular school. Yet we must own that, if the excellence of the styles be measured by what appears to be the highest standard, those old pointed arches and windows, those irregularities of transept and chapel, and massive buttresses, with their continual play of light and shade, the contemned of Wren, are to this hour not only the more beautiful, but the more appropriate. In the devotional feeling predominates over every otherthe sense of the unrivalled beauty and grandeur all around you is absorbed in the higher sense of Him to whom that beauty and grandeur are dedicated: in , on the contrary, as we now enter, we perceive that the beauty and grandeur, and not the devotional spirit, are paramount. You are prepared for a church, or you would certainly see a Pantheon. The very statues, so wretchedly unsuitable to the place in every other point of view, have a strikingly mischievous significance in this. A great mistake, it seems to us, has been made in ecclesiastical architecture since the decline of the Roman Catholic religion. Artists have thought and talked so much about the ritual of the old form of worship, and the adaptation of the Gothic cathedrals to that ritual, as at last to have believed, or at least to have acted as though they b'elieved, that the ritual and the essential sublimity of the style had some indivisible connexion; and, consequently, that in the abolition of the ritual the style must be abolished too. Others probably thought, and with greater truth, that the associations of the Gothic with the Roman Catholic worship had, for the time at least, rendered that style distasteful to Protestants; and this feeling no doubt might have been a permanent , if the value of our cathedrals had really depended upon their peculiar adaptability to a particular time and form of Christian faith, instead of being, as they are now pretty generally once more acknowledged to be, the grandest, and in all essential respects the most suitable of Christian temples. There is reflection connected with this subject suggested by the foregoing remarks. Quitting the high ground of principle for expediency, with how many buildings have not architects studded the country, which, if they suggest anything atall, suggest the most remote and discordant associations. Thus, class of churches reminds us of Greek and Roman temples; another has some indefinable connexion with Egypt and Egyptian theology; a -but we need not multiply examples already familiar to every : such has been the success of our architects in avoiding the Gothic, in order to avoid jarring associations. On the other hand, time passes on, the heats of religious contest subside, and Protestant and Catholic alike perceive that the associations of our cathedrals are | |
328 | after all their most precious wealth: they remember how intimately those buildings were connected with the early history of the faith; when their forefathers, before words of division were known, and, instead of Catholics and Protestants, there were only Christians, worshipped in common together at their fanes: above all they remember, with no unnatural pride, that these wonderful buildings sprung from Christianity, and have ever been devoted to its service. But, we repeat, the experiment of a new style was and is an interesting , and even the lovers of the old cannot regret that it was made. The plan of is |
essentially that of most other cathedrals, a cross, formed way by the nave and choir, and the other by the transepts. Over the circular space, where the nave, choir, and transepts join, rises the dome, supported by great piers, forming as many semicircular arches, disposed in an octagonal form. The view enjoyed by a spectator standing directly below the dome is truly magnificent. The imposing circle of lofty arches, which seems to enclose the charmed gazer, or to open only that his eye may range along the vistas of the nave or choir, and enhance his sense of what he sees by a consciousness of how much still remains to be seen, becomes still more imposing as he looks upward, and sees how grand a duty has been allotted to them--that of bearing, now and for ever, the glorious concave which more peculiarly makes an honoured name through the civilised world; and which, suddenly rising to the mental vision of the far-off traveller, sick and friendless in inhospitable climes, or the tempest-tossed and despairing mariner, must have many and many a time given fresh heart and hope, new impulses and energies, enabling them to reach the home of which that dome would be the most appropriate symbol. Another fine view--of the structure is obtained from the western doors, though in , as at , you must pay to see it. From thence you look along the nave, across the circular space below the dome, and, when the doors of the choir are open, through that also, an arched perspective in all of feet, the nave alone measuring feet. In still closer imitation of our Gothic cathedrals than Wren desired, the nave has its side aisles, a measure forced upon him, and, it is | |
329 | supposed, through the influence of the Duke of York, then secretly planning the restoration of the Roman Catholic religion, when the vould have been again in requisition. The architect is said to have shed tears when yielding to a measure which he conceived so objectionable. Although we cannot quite agree with the author of the before mentioned, that the give yet there is no doubt Sir Christopher was sedulously attentive to the important subject of decorations; and, whilst he has in consequence left us some valuable works of this nature, we also know how much more he would have done had he been more liberally supplied with funds. We cannot, however, adduce the &c., as any remarkable example of refined elegance in the art, or as any striking proof of Wren's taste; nor need we dwell upon the handsome marble pavement, nor on the for, passing through the gates of that screen, we behold in the carved wood-work of the choir something of a much higher character. On those flowers and fruit, and on those more ambitious works the Caryatidal figures, which adorn the stalls, the different thrones or chief seats, and the organ gallery, we recognise the unmistakeable impress of the hand of genius: these can but be by man-Gibbons. Evelyn's account of his drawing this fine artist from obscurity, and of the narrow escape he had, for the time at least, of being sent back to it, is very interesting. He found Gibbons in a cottage at Deptford, carving his famous work, the Stoning of St. Stephen, after Tintoretto; and immediately determined to introduce him through his work to the court. says he, Charles, however, appreciated the skill exhibited, and placed Gibbons in of the government offices, and, what was better still, employed him in his own way: of course he soon grew famous, and was extensively employed. For his work in the choir of he received the sum of To all this richness of decoration, and general grandeur of the building decorated, the high altar, which should be the most sumptuous part of the whole, offers a melancholy contrast. It is to be hoped that some liberal and munificent-minded dignitary of the Cathedral may hereafter remember what Wren's intentions were, and endeavour to have them carried into effect. [n.330.1] |
Choral service is performed here twice a day (at a quarter to in the morning and quarter past in the afternoon), and few things can be more deliciously soothing to the than to step out of the ceaseless turmoil, the petty cares and strifes of the world's daily business, into the holy quiet of this place--a quiet only broken by the divine harmonies which we hear rising every now and then, in tones of solemn and almost unearthly grandeur and beauty. It may be here mentioned that on the north side of the nave, near the western extremity, there is a morning-prayer chapel, where divine service is performed every morning (Sundays excepted) at in summer and in winter. This chapel, with the Consistory Court on the opposite side of the nave, forms a kind of lesser transept, of the same breadth as, and connected with, the western front, so that from the exterior it hardly looks like a transept. The organ of the choir is justly reputed of the finest instruments in the country. It was erected by Schmydt about the close of the century, who received for it. | |
Interesting as is in its general and more essential features to all persons of whatever amount of taste or knowledge, yet it must be owned that a few of its adjuncts enjoy at least their fair share of attention and admiration. Nay, we fear the numbers are somewhat considerable who think a great deal less of the dome than of the ball at the top, into which they themselves have actually ascended--who are much more anxious to appreciate the wonders of the clock-work than of the architecture-whose amazement is more readily called into action by the size of the great bell than by the statement of the dimensions of St. Paul's--who would be infinitely better pleased by being able to distinguish the friendly whisper across the famous gallery, than to listen in awful silence to the voice of their own heart, which such a scene is calculated to call forth, and with the happiest effects. And if we do not participate in such views, there is no doubt all these, with the other curiosities of , are deserving of notice. Before we ascend to the upper portion of the building, where these curiosities are to be found, we may mention assemblies which annually draw a considerable share of the popular attention to the Cathedral. These are the musical meeting for the benefit of the Sons of the Clergy in May, and the meeting of the great body of the charity children of the metropolis (connected with the established church) in June. The origin of the former is thus described. In the Rev. G. Hall preached a sermon for the relief of the sons of such of the clergy as had been reduced to indigence for their Nonconformist principles. The appeal was so successful, that a similar was made annually, and during the reign of Charles II. a charter was granted to the promoters of the charity, which then took the form that it still holds, of a charitable establishment for the relief of the widows and orphans of poor clergymen. The house is situated at | |
331 | Wood. The performances consist of a miscellaneous selection of sacred music from our great writers, Handel, Boyce, and others. The collections average nearly The other meeting is of still greater attraction. The circle beneath the dome is now formed into an amphitheatre of seats for the or children present, the members of the choir are placed against the organ, the area in the centre is filled with persons of rank, fashion, and intellectual distinction, whilst the nave accommodates that portion of the public which can obtain tickets of admission. feature of the day is certainly very touching and beautiful--the sound of so many youthful and infant voices when they join in the choruses and other portions of the service. It may be useful to add, that to these meetings, as well as to the previous rehearsals which take place on each occasion, any can obtain admittance to the body of the church by making a contribution to the charity, which is expected to be not less than half-a-crown. Let us now ascend. A door in the south aisle, close to the circle, opens to a staircase winding upwards, and which presently conducts us to the long galleries over the aisles of the Cathedral, with their massive timber rafters overhead and along the right side. In the southern gallery we find the Library, founded by Bishop Compton, whose portrait adorns the walls. Here are preserved some manuscripts belonging to old , and on the table facing us as we enter is an open book of ancient music, with square notes, and written on lines only. The decorations of the room are very beautiful: the gallery is supported by exquisitely carved oaken brackets of great size, and the floor consists of small pieces of variously-coloured oak disposed in geometric patterns. As we glance around the shelves we see that Chrysostom, Cyril, Gregory, and Thomas Aquinas are somewhat more tolerant than usual as to their company--the golden dreamer, Plato, is amongst them. At the end of this gallery is the geometrical staircase, built by Wren, for the convenience of access to the Library. In the northern gallery is the model of the design for , which, however, is so badly situated, that to judge of the character of the proposed building is almost impossible. Here hang some of the tattered flags which formerly desecrated the dome. Returning to the southern gallery, a very narrow circular staircase in the southern campanile tower leads up to the bell and clock works. A strange mistake has been made with regard to the bell. It is continually said to be the same, only recast, as that which, from the reign of Edward I., hung in the bell-tower in front of Hall, and which was at known as Edward of , and then as the Great Tom. It is true that this bell was given by William III. to , and re-cast by Wightman, but proved, so faulty, that [n.332.1] But we do not need a -centuries' character to enable us to know that the bell of is a truly magnificent instrument: we are not even obliged to believe the story of the soldier, at Windsor, who saved himself from capital punishment by hearing strike , when it was alleged he was asleep, to teach us how far and wide its voice may be heard as it continues, hour after hour, to record the stops of Time; or when, still more grandly, it announces the death of some distinguished personage--for on such occasions alone is Great Tom called upon to put himself in positive action, the hour being merely struck upon the bell. Its weight is lbs., its diameter feet. As the mode in which it is hung is considered a good example of the methods adopted for supporting heavy bells, we subjoin a |
| As to the clock, when we state that the dial on the exterior, the guide of innumerable minor satellites, is feet in circumference, and the minute-hand feet long, it will be tolerably evident the works behind must be of no ordinary calibre. If, in descending the narrow staircase, the visitor should happen to hear the hour struck, as we did, he will not speedily forget it. | |
Returning towards the Dome and again ascending, we reach the uppermost of the galleries which encircle it, known as the Whispering Gallery, from the circumstance that a whisper uttered in spot may be heard right across the vast circle, to the spot directly opposite. The Whispering Gallery had formerly a higher purpose. From hence was enjoyed the best view of the paintings, by Sir James Thornhill, in the cupola above, but which are no longer distinguishable. The space is divided into compartments, devoted respectively to subjects illustrative of the different events of the life of St. Paul. Sir James was paid for this work at the rate of a square yard. It was whilst engaged in these paintings that he had so narrow an escape from instant destruction. Stepping backwards, day, painter like, to observe the effect of | |
333 | his finishing touches upon the head of of the Apostles, he gradually came close to the undefended edge of the scaffold. Fortunately a friend was with him, who, with admirable presence of mind, snatched up a brush and hastily smeared the picture. said the artist, rushing forward,
was the reply, and there did not need many more words of explanation. Whatever the character of Sir James Thornhill's works may have been, they are, in effect, worthless now (through the damp), and thus another opportunity is afforded of decorating the Dome in the manner designed by Wren, and on which he had evidently set his heart. He says:
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Before we again begin to ascend towards the top of the dome, we may say a few words on the construction of that great work, which, as we stand in the whispering-gallery, appears to terminate at no considerable height above us, but the very base of which, as it appears on the exterior, we can hardly fancy we have reached. On inquiry, therefore, we learn that the dome may be said to consist of no less than domes, the inner being that which is seen from the interior; the , of brick-work, rising over this in a conical form and supporting the lantern, ball, and cross; and the , surrounding the , of wood covered with lead, which is the dome seen from without. The acccompanying cut shows the outlines of these several domes or cupolas, and is further interesting as showing the relative forms and dimensions of the chief cupolas of modern times: the cupolas of Santa Maria del Fiore at Florence; of at Rome, from which the idea of that of was borrowed; and lastly, of St. Genevieve at Paris, which had for its exemplar.[n.333.1] | |
The cone-shaped dome of brick is strengthened with girdles of Portland stone, around the lower part of which is inserted in a channel an immense iron chain, doubled, weighing nearly tons. We are now once more mounting: the stairs, at so broad, and so gentle in their elevation, become narrow and steep, and as we step out into the gallery, the encircling the base of what we have called the great of the dome, we see we are already considerably above the level of the tallest houses around. The | |
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iigures on the pediment of the western front here appear of the gigantic stature they are, feet, and the beautiful towers display their graceful outlines and decorations in :>n almost startlingly clear manner. But the wind is blowing with such violence that we can hardly maintain a footing: so after a moment's pause in the enjoyment of the shelter of the doorway, listening with closed eyes to the sound, which seems like that of a tumultuous ocean, we again follow the apparently interminable circle for some time. Another pause; a door is opened, and we are in the gallery, which, though still below the dome, lifts us above the tops of the lofty campanile towers, as well as of the innumerable surrounding spires. The houses around the base of the pile are with difficulty separately distinguishable; the occupants of the streets begin, like the fishermen in Shakspere's well-krown passage, of which we are instinctively reminded, to But we must not lose time. We have as yet accomplished little more than half our journey. A narrow door in the external wall now opens for our admission, and our way lies through the almost impenetrable gloom of the interior of the chief dome. All about us are gigantic ribs of the vast body of the dome, looming through the darkness. Now in this direction, now that, shoots upward through the whole the felt but unseen staircase. At every turn there is a kind of unpleasant suspicion of the possibility of finding some unguarded spot, some accidental opening in the low rails, through which may plunge suddenly into the unfathomable abyss. But there is no fear. Ah, light again! Another door, and gallery; but how small the circle it makes! yes, we are above the dome. We must look down for the western towers. As to London, it seems little else than dense mass of house-tops, chimneys, and spires, shutting in the Cathedral on all sides, and extending to beyond the scope of our vision, the whole seen but dimly through the thick atmosphere. The Thames, however, has become a conspicuous object from its form and colour, and we know that those dark lines across at intervals are the different bridges. The rest of our way lies through the upper portion of the brick cone before mentioned, and the elegant lantern it supports. It is well that our fair readers can accompany us in these pages, for we should otherwise have to part company speedily. The ascent, growing more and more difficult, is at last accomplished only by perpendicular ladders rising from stage to another. The last of these ladders admits us through a little square aperture to a narrow chamber in the small dome immediately below the open support of the ball and cross. Forcing ourselves with difficulty into the circle of slender iron pillars in the centre of the chamber, we must now advance merely by the assistance of the small projections placed against the masonry on side, and by our grasp of of the pillars. The top of this reached, we pass through a circular opening just large enough to admit a man of ordinary bulk, and we are suddenly standing in a place open on all sides to the sky from the feet upwards, and scarcely large enough to admit of any companionship. Above us we look into the dark ball. We would fain look down, but such a place and such a height require a little time to habituate ourselves to both, as well as a powerful vision to enjoy the prospect. We may add, also, firm nerves are useful. With these requisites, the view from hence during the clear and serene mornings of summer, before a natural or artificial cloud of any consequence rests on the sky above, or on the sleeping and wonderful world below, must be such that it would be dificult to parallel either in its physical or moral features. Who has not read and enjoyed the description of the mornings spent in this way by the painter of the Diorama now in the ? Who that has seen that work--as faithful as it is beautiful-but must be struck with the change which the same panorama presents to our view at this season and hour, as, with a foot on each side of the circular aperture below, we turn round in our narrow and gilded cage, and look down-but our head grows dizzy-speculations as to the solidity of these bars which alone hem us in will intrude-we begin half to doubt whether, if of them were suddenly to fall, we should not yield to that strange fascination which most persons must have felt on looking from some great height, and try a less |
336 | tedious mode of descent than the actual . That consideration is quite enough to quicken our departure. As we descend we suddenly catch the sound of the organ, pealing upwards in tones of inexpressible beauty: it is the afternoon service; we shall yet be in time to be present, and allow the mind to re-assume the feelings which more fitly harmonise with the objects of the structure. |
Footnotes: [n.322.1] The differences which pervade the published accounts of the dimensions of most of our cathedrals are more than usually striking at St. Paul's. Thus the Parentalia gives the height of the cupola and lantern at 330 feet; Maitland the height to the top of the cross at 340; other authorities make the entire altitude 360; whilst the Guide sold in the Cathedral gives the same at 404 feet. Part of this discrepancy seems to arise from the measurement being sometimes made from the 1pavenReolt of the church, sometimes from the giound-line of the exterior. [n.322.2] Mr. Gwilt-Britton's Public Build ings in London, [n.330.1] Parentalia. [n.332.1] Wren's Answer to the Tract Frauds and Abuses at St. Paul's. [n.333.1] Their respective external dimensions and heights are as follows:-- External Diameter in Feet.Height from the ground-line. Santa Maria del Fiore139310 St. Peter at Rome139330 St. Paul's112215 St. Genevieve, or the Pantheon, Paris67190 To this we may add that the circular gallery just above the external dome of St. Paul's is 274 feet 9 inches above the pavement of the nave. |
