the one always understood when no addition is employed, died in 1546,
and Michael Angelo Buonarotti was appointed architect. He at first
refused the office, and when the Pope, by a _motu propio_ gave him full
authority to do and undo whatever he pleased, he insisted that a
declaration should be inserted, that he undertook it for the love of
God, and without any salary or reward; nor was this an idle boast, for
although Paul III. repeatedly urged his acceptance of some remuneration,
he invariably refused it.
Michael Angelo was not content to strip Peruzzi’s design of all that
Sangallo had added to it, but he also omitted the semicircular galleries
behind the tribunes, which his predecessor had already separated from
the church; he altered the design of the dome nearly to the form which
it has at present, making it double; the one seen internally being no
longer the same as that exhibited on the outside; and surrounding the
drum with a single range of coupled columns. He designed also a sort of
double portico, which certainly has no similarity to that of the
Pantheon, although you will find it asserted in some books that the one
was copied from the other. Eight large columns form the range next the
church, and four others in front of the four middle ones support a
pediment, and form a sort of portico to the portico; it is by no means a
handsome arrangement. A few alterations in the details, and the
insertion of some broken pediments over the windows internally, seem
also to have been designed by Michael Angelo. There was perhaps a little
ostentation in producing a model of the altered design in fifteen days,
and at the expense of twenty-five crowns; while Sangallo’s model had
occupied several years; but St. Peter’s at this time had become a
standing job, and the underlings employed in it, instead of feeling any
zeal to complete it, considered an appointment in the building as an
establishment for life. All this Michael Angelo endeavoured to put an
end to, and excited great ill-will towards himself by so doing; but his
wonderful talents and high character carried him through all opposition.
He began his works by still further strengthening the great piers,
which, though they had been repeatedly reinforced, did not yet appear to
him as strong as they ought to be. To what point he carried the work, I
do not know; but the whole, as far as the extent of the Greek cross,
seems to have been continued nearly according to his design.
Milizia says that Pirro Ligorio was appointed architect of St. Peter’s
conjointly with Michael Angelo: but according to Bonanni, P. Ligorio and
Vignola were joint architects after the death of that great man, which
happened in 1564. I do not know that Ligorio did any thing; Vignola
erected the two smaller cupolas, which are universally admired, but very
little seen from their position on the building, as now lengthened into
a Latin cross. He died in 1573, and the next architect we have any
account of, is Giacomo della Porta, who was a pupil of Vignola; and
under his direction, and that of Domenico Fontana, who was united with
him for this purpose by Sixtus V., the great dome was erected in
twenty-two months by the labour of 600 men; it was completed in 1590,
but without the lantern, which was executed under Clement VIII. Giovanni
Fontana, brother of Domenico, was also architect to St. Peter’s, and
then follows the nephew of Domenico, Carlo Maderno, who lengthened the
nave, and brought the building, internally, as well as externally, to
the shape of the Latin cross, for which he has been plentifully abused;
he also erected the front, in which he seems to have failed as much in
construction as in taste, since the foundations gave way before the work
was completed; and though they were strengthened in consequence, yet
they were not at last firm enough to support the bell towers, which were
to have terminated the extremities of the elevation. Bernini was indeed
engaged by Urban VIII. to erect these bell towers, and one of them was
actually built; but though of a very light style of architecture, it was
too heavy for the edifice, and immediately taken down again. At this
time St. Peter’s may be said to have been finished. Bernini added the
galleries and colonnades in front, and adorned or encumbered the
interior, with the chair, and the confessional of St. Peter. Carlo
Fontana in later times drew up a description of the building by the
command of Innocent XI., and a loose estimate of its value, not from the
sums which it had actually cost, because many of the accounts had been
lost, but from the quantity of materials employed. These he reckons at
111,122,000 cubic Roman palms;
Scudi.
And this, at 32½ bajocchi per palm cube amounts to 36,114,650
For 128 marble columns, each 40 palms high, he
adds 236,800
And allows for the other extras 10,800,000
without publishing the details of his calculations: and he adds up these
to make a total of 46,800,498, which is an arithmetic that I do not well
understand, as it seems to me that it ought to be 47,151,450. This
estimate is independent of the tower erected and taken down, and of all
other alterations which took place in the progress of the work; it is
also independent of the paintings; and if I understand rightly, it does
not include the chair of St. Peter, or the bronze confessional erected
by Bernini.
The Chair of St. Peter is also of bronze, and gilt, and cost 107,501
scudi, 44 scudi being equal to 10_l._ sterling.
Scudi.
Bernini had for his superintendence 8,000
The founder (John Artusius) 28,000
The smoothing and polishing 4,000
Gold laid on 6,000
Labour of gilding 3,000
The bronze weighed 219,061 lbs.; of this the bronze of the statue of St.
Andrew weighed 34,023, of St. Augustin, 30,791, of St. Athanasius,
23,652, of St. Chrysostom, 27,791.
The bronze of the Confessional weighs 186,392 lbs. Bernini had for his
superintendence 10,000 crowns and a pension: no architect seems ever to
have been so well paid for his labours as Bernini.
About the end of the seventeenth century an alarm was excited that the
dome was about to give way. Fontana in consequence examined it, and
found that there were indeed some cracks, but none of any consequence,
or such as to excite the least reasonable apprehension for the safety of
the building. In 1742, however, the report again prevailed, and many
mathematicians and architects were called upon for their opinions, and
gave, as is frequently the case, very discordant ones: the architects
not dividing against the mathematicians, but both classes disagreeing
among themselves. There is in the Vatican a model of half the cupola,
which is believed to be that made under the direction of Michael Angelo
previous to carrying it into execution. It is carried down cylindrically
to the floor, so that it does not exhibit the mode of construction in
pendentive. The appearance is that of a triple dome, but perhaps with
connecting ribs between the two outer. The chief strength seems to be
placed in the middle dome, the weight of which is brought down to the
internal face of the drum. Three iron bands are marked in the
construction, one entirely buried in the united base of the domes; the
other two on the outer surface of the middle dome. The cracks which took
place in the drum are painted on this model, and on a comparison with
those whose vestiges are still visible on the building, apparently with
considerable care and attention. They occurred all round the drum, and
denote some enlargement in that part from the expansion of the dome, but
in spite of all these iron ties, the cracks in the buttresses are the
most numerous and important, and from their direction, almost uniformly
outwards and downwards, indicate a settlement of the whole drum upon the
pendentives, while the columns, resting upon the direct arches of the
nave, have retained or nearly retained their position. The great piers
have therefore probably gone outward, and when in the building, by
bringing my eye carefully so as to compare the angle of a pilaster not
affected by this operation, with those of the central cupola, I think I
can perceive that such an effect has taken place. Nor has the movement
entirely ceased, since a dovetailed piece of marble, inserted to
ascertain the fact in 1810 was found broken in 1825. Perhaps there never
was any just ground of alarm; yet as one of the iron circles intended to
contain the thrust had given way, there probably had been a considerable
settlement, but not more than might have been expected from the
different periods in which the work had been carried up, and the
repeated strengthenings which the solids had received. Nevertheless it
was determined to insert five bands of iron, which were all let into the
masonry, and made tight and sound, under the direction of Vanvitelli.
The broken chain was restored, but another chain had been originally
inserted in the thickness of the wall: this there was no opportunity of
examining: in order to be perfectly secure, a sixth band was inserted in
its neighbourhood, so that in all probability the dome and its drum are
now secured by eight iron bands, five of which are in the drum: one at
the springing of the arch, and two on the surface of the dome itself. It
is doubted among the Italian architects whether the insertion of all
these bands did not do more harm than any strength they could afford to
the building can compensate.
The Sacristy was added in 1780 by Pius VI. under the direction of Carlo
Marchionni. It is a vast building, enriched with the most beautiful
marbles; and cost above 900,000 crowns; but I shall despatch it with
this short notice, as it is neither beautiful in itself, nor does it
form an appropriate addition to the edifice to which it is attached. And
now, putting an end to the history of the building, let us proceed to
the result of all these efforts.
There is no distant point of view in which this church gives the
impression of great magnificence, or from which it has the appearance of
being such an immense building as it really is. This is owing to the
situation; and perhaps no building of great consequence was ever so
badly placed. It stands in a hollow between the Janicular and Vatican
hills, which are connected by a neck behind it; so that on three sides
it is surrounded by slopes rising almost immediately from it, and about
equalling the height of the nave, and in front, in spite of the large
space before it, it seems encumbered by houses, which prevent the view
down to the base. These houses only occupy a slip extending from the
church down to the river, and it is said the French intended to have
cleared them away, and to have continued an open portico across, about
at the extremity of the present colonnades. From the bridge of St.
Angelo, and from the road beyond it, you would then have had a very
noble view of the whole edifice, of which the dome would be the
principal feature; till, as you approached more nearly, the increasing
apparent magnitude of the colonnade for a short space would have
excluded, or nearly so, the principal object: after passing through
this, the church would have presented itself under another aspect, the
dome being nearly lost, but the façade opening upon the spectator in all
its magnitude, with its accompanying galleries and colonnades. The great
advantage of such an arrangement would be this, that as the dome and
front do not well correspond together, their union would be masked just
at the point where it is most disagreeable; and as the columns of the
portico could not be seen as objects of any consequence, in comparison
with the church, till we were fairly among them; the false estimate
usually formed of their magnitude would be avoided, and they would serve
to correct our notions of the magnitude of the building, instead of
helping to mislead, as they do at present. This scheme is, I apprehend,
abandoned; and we now from the bridge of St. Angelo see little but the
dome itself, and after passing it, proceed along a dirty narrow street,
whence we see nothing; at last we catch a glimpse of part of the front,
and at the same time, of the extremity of the circular colonnade. Lest
you should not have a plan at hand, I give you a little sketch of one:
(Fig. 1.) _a_ is the church, _b b_ the galleries leading to it from the
colonnades, _c c_ the circular colonnades, _d_ the obelisk, _ee_ the two
fountains, _f_ the point which first catches your eye on your approach.
[Illustration: _Fig. 1._]
[Illustration: _Fig. 2._]
On my first visit to St. Peter’s, the appearance of this point puzzled
me extremely; it appeared to be close against the church, while on the
other hand, it seemed so near to the houses at the end of the street,
that I could not imagine any considerable space between them: I did not
doubt that I had taken the wrong road, and expected to find myself close
to the church, missing the celebrated place and colonnades, in front of
it; at last, however, it opened upon me, and with great magnificence. I
should have been more impressed if I had not heard so much of it; yet
still it is a scene not to be forgotten; and perhaps it is not the less
strongly fixed in the memory, because the overwhelming deformity of the
façade, half destroys its power of pleasing. Yet here, with the whole
before me, I should have formed a very false estimate of its magnitude;
the columns of the colonnade are nearly five feet in diameter: had I
been asked at that moment how large they were, I should have replied,
not merely from the first feeling, but on considering, and comparing
what was within view from the one point, that they fell short of four.
There are indeed generally figures about, which would enable one to
judge more nearly; but they look like children. The half columns in
front of the church are nine feet in diameter, I should not have guessed
them at more than six, and in both instances I should have thought that
I made an allowance for optical deception. What is the reason of this? I
shall begin with the colonnade.
In the first place, the colonnade looks small, because it is so palpably
a thing of mere ornament, not connected with, or forming any part of the
building, or applied to any useful purpose; and the understanding is not
easily reconciled to such great masses thus employed: I do not mean here
to restrict the term _useful_ to the narrow sense to which we often find
it limited in England. Magnificence is use. When well displayed, it is
calculated to produce respect and awe, or at least a frame of mind which
readily admits those sentiments, and therefore it ought to be found in
public edifices, and still more in, and about the temples of the Deity;
I mean to give you, by and by, the reasons why this colonnade does not
completely come within this rule. I admit that it does so in some
degree, but not so as fully to satisfy the mind.
In the second place, the colonnade looks smaller than it is, because the
church seems to be much nearer to the spectator than is the fact; thus
the apparent space is diminished, and with the space, all the objects it
contains.
The church looks nearer than it really is, first, from its enormous
size; secondly, from all those causes hereafter to be explained, which
make it appear smaller: the angle at the eye of the spectator being
given, to appear smaller, it must also appear nearer: and thirdly, from
the position of the galleries at _b_. These galleries recede as they
approach the church, but they do not appear to do so, and the spectator
imagines them of course perpendicular to the façade. He may know the
contrary from reading, or from plans; but this consideration does not
enter into those rapid judgments on which the impressive effect of a
building principally depends. Let us then suppose the eye to be at _e_,
Fig. 2. Although the line _a c_, from its inclined position, be really
longer than _a b_, yet it will not appear longer than from _a_ to _d_,
and the space from _d_ to _b_ is entirely lost. This gallery ascends
towards the church, and the leading line, which is the cornice, instead
of sinking, as the perspective requires, from _a_ to _c_, if as usual it
were horizontal, appears to sink no more than if the line were carried
only to _f_. The spectator does not precisely imagine this: the lines
look confused, and out of drawing; but it aids in reducing the idea of
length, and deprives him of the means of correcting the former
impression. Thirdly, the colonnade looks small, because the church looks
small, and the eye in some degree measures one by the other.
The church looks smaller, First, from all the causes which make the
colonnade look smaller; they act, as I have just said, mutually upon
each other; if there were only this reciprocal action, the effect would
perhaps vanish, but each contains also independent sources of this
deception.
Secondly, from all those circumstances already explained, which make it
appear near.
Thirdly, from its own composition. The breaks of the entablature have
very much the effect of reducing the columns and pilasters into
ornaments, and one cannot imagine mere ornaments of such gigantic
proportions. Another circumstance is, the division of the height of the
order into three stories; it looks therefore more like a palace than a
church. An enormous palace I grant, but still the imagination is
conducted towards the usual appearances of human life. Now we know that
26 or 28 feet are sufficient for the loftiest story; that 10 or 12 feet
form an immense mezzanine; and that 20 feet for the upper story is
magnificent; and this gives a height of 60 feet, instead of 90. I merely
put these dimensions down, to exemplify the principle on which the
apparent size is reduced. We certainly do not make all these guesses on
considering the building, nor perhaps any of them; the comparison is
probably never put distinctly into words, but is rather felt than
expressed; yet I have no doubt of its existence. The stories form a
scale by which we measure the whole height; our judgment is therefore
the result of proportion, but of proportion misapplied. Then the Attics
form another story, and who wants garrets thirty feet high? Another
cause of misapprehension arises from the Vatican Palace just by, which
stands on higher ground, and absolutely appears to overtop the
cathedral.
So much for its magnitude; in other respects the front of the building
is hardly worth a single observation, and the galleries connecting it
with the colonnade may be dismissed as readily, but the colonnade itself
requires some further remarks. It is said to be the masterpiece of
Bernini, and is certainly a very fine thing; but in estimating the merit
of the architect, we must consider, not merely the effect produced, but
the means employed to produce it: here are two hundred and fifty-six
columns, 5 feet in diameter, and 40 feet high, with their complete
entablature and appendages. A dipteral hypæthral temple with twelve
columns in front and ornamented with columns also internally, the
largest known to antiquity, only employs at the utmost one hundred and
ninety-six. It is beautiful in design, graceful and even magnificent;
yet magnificence is not its character. The design would be better on a
smaller scale, with Corinthian columns hardly as high as the present,
and an ornamented Corinthian entablature. The design has richness and
magnificence, but it has not majesty or sublimity; and it is this want
of majesty which makes one unwilling to admit its size, and communicates
an appearance of uselessness. But you will ask me, If thus enriched and
adorned, would it form a suitable approach to St. Peter’s? I answer
_No_, nor does it now; and the proof of this is, that it looks better
any way than towards the church. It is more beautiful considered alone,
than united with the building it was meant to accompany. There are
several considerable defects in the details; the curves are
injudiciously broken in the middle, and the columns, bigger in the
middle of the shaft than at the bottom, have some resemblance to
barrels; but neither of these are of much consequence in the general
view, though very disagreeable when considered separately. The fountains
are beautiful, and they are mere fountains, without tritons or nymphs
blowing up water, or any affectation of the sort; and this to my eyes is
a very great merit, especially in Rome, where they have been so prodigal
of these accessories. The obelisk would, I think, be better away; if
there were two, instead of one, leaving the centre clear, I should like
the effect better, but all the obelisks in Rome are single, and badly
mounted.
You enter St. Peter’s by a vaulted gallery, whose length is equal to the
breadth of the building, and whose height occupies what is apparently
the first story; this arrangement occurs in several of the Roman
basilican churches, and is adopted in order to obtain an upper gallery,
from which the benediction is given. It forms frequently a very noble
porch, and is certainly a highly magnificent feature in this instance,
though defaced by many errors in the architecture. There is a smaller
order employed in the openings of the front, subordinate to the
principal one, which in the general view looks quite small; but after
passing a short time in this corridor, the eye acquires a new scale, and
these become noble columns; while even a third order, which adorns the
doors of the church seems of considerable size. We enter.——After all the
abuse which has been bestowed on the building for looking little, and
all the absurd admiration it has obtained for this defect, the spectator
must perceive at once that he is in the largest, far the largest room he
ever saw, and if he have any sentiment in the art, he must feel the
strong impression of a most noble and magnificent piece of architecture.
Of one where the richness of the material is combined with justness of
proportion, and where science, taste, and genius have united with riches
and power to produce sublimity. For my own part, I was indeed on my
guard against the deception, but it seemed to me to be impossible that
any one should seriously believe the cupids or angels at the font, to be
no bigger than little children, or suppose the doves mentioned by
Eustace to be of the natural size.
All these criticisms, and conjectures, and comparisons, are sadly
injurious to the first impression of a building; they divert the
attention from the sublime and admirable whole, to fix it on trifles;
but they are so drilled into one by books, and by the driest of all dry
prosers, the Roman antiquaries, who are anxious to show you that they
know every thing, by letting you feel nothing, that it is I believe
impossible to enter the church with the same simplicity, and freedom
from system, with which you would enter a less celebrated edifice; but
if you should ever come to Rome, let me exhort you to pay your first
visit to St. Peter’s alone, and if you must think of these things at
first, turn your back on all your knowledge as soon as you can; this is
the true way, both to judge of, and enjoy a fine building. Criticise
afterwards, and you will find yourself able from time to time to correct
your criticisms, and to repeat your enjoyment, by recalling the first
impressions; but if you begin by dwelling on the details, and still more
by minuting the defects, you may indeed feel the beauties of the
architecture afterwards, but never with that vividness, or the same
unmixed delight, that you experience, if you begin by laying yourself
completely open to it. This unfortunately is a pleasure which I cannot
communicate by words, and I must therefore descend to the more distinct
and tangible field of criticism.