truth has been exaggerated, I must however acknowledge that there is
some foundation for it. It is probable that whatever the disposition
might be, the mind would never give credit at first glance to its
unusual dimensions; but great part of the secret lies in a single word,
disproportion. The nave is composed of alternate arches and piers, with
two Corinthian pilasters in each pier. Now a column is made to diminish
upwards; and the circumference at the necking is a little more than
three times the top diameter, or about two and a half times the bottom
diameter. Suppose, for example, a column 7 feet in diameter at the base;
it usually diminishes one-sixth of its diameter, and therefore would be
70 inches at the top, and the circumference 220 inches: now, as there
are always eight leaves, each leaf, including the very small interval
between them, would measure 27½ inches in width: a pilaster of the same
diameter would be 84 inches on each face, at top as well as at bottom,
since it is not usual to diminish them upwards; and as it has always two
leaves on each exposed face, each leaf, with the interval, or measured
from centre to centre, either of leaf or interval, would be 42 inches
wide, instead of 27½; and this disproportionate size of the leaves tends
to diminish by comparison the size of the other parts, and makes a room
ornamented with pilasters, look smaller than one surrounded by columns.
The other architectural details are in general rather too small than too
large. The next source of deception may be found in the panels of
coloured marbles in the pilasters of the second order. The contrast
brings the object apparently nearer, and consequently makes it look
smaller. This is assisted by the overcharged sculpture of these panels,
and its great projection, rather than relief. A third source of error is
in the figures of the spandrils of the principal arches (which I believe
are only of plaster). A number of colossal angels are crawling out of
their triangular holes, and sprawling over the lines of the archivolt
below them, and of the entablature above; they look as if they must fall
out, and it is a great pity they do not. These have no inconsiderable
effect in diminishing the apparent size of the architecture. The fourth
cause of deception is in the too great size of the orders of the altars.
The church has three orders: the large one which supports the vaulting;
a secondary one belonging to the side arches, and the aisles, and also
forming an essential part of the edifice; and a third to the altars,
which is mere furniture. This last cuts the lines of the entablature of
the second order, and thus gains size for itself, but it is at the
expense of the building.
The sculpture all over the church is too large, (except the _pietà_ of
Michael Angelo,) and this may be enumerated among the causes which
diminish the apparent magnitude; for though perfectly aware that they
are of stone, and may be of any size, yet the mind always involuntarily
compares them with the human figure, and measures the building by them.
It is recorded of Bernini, that when he had fixed the chair of St. Peter
at the extremity of the church, he applied to Andrea Sacchi to go with
him, and to give him his opinion of the work. The painter at first would
not go, but being very much pressed by Bernini, without changing his cap
or slippers, got into a coach and accompanied him. No entreaties could
persuade him to advance a step beyond the door of the church. There he
fixed himself, to examine the effect of the work, and after a few
minutes consideration, pronounced the giant figures which support the
seat, too low by a palm. The Italians have proceeded on a principle,
which I have sometimes heard contended for in England, of exaggerating
the details, in order to give them consequence. But in all the fine
arts, nothing has a worse effect, or has spoiled more beauties, than
this desire to give great consequence to the subordinate parts. If these
are inaccessible, and can only be seen from a distance, the minuter
details may be omitted, or rudely marked: all that is required, is to
give the notion that the finishing is there, in order that the part may
not look naked and neglected, or rather to render it impossible to
determine that it is not there. If they can be approached, be content to
mark them so that they can be seen well at a proper distance. If you
execute them with reference to their appearance at a point that is too
far off, they may look well there indeed, but everywhere else they will
appear extravagant and distorted; whereas, if not exaggerated, they
nowhere look ill; and looking well in their proper point of view, the
imagination easily gives them credit for their excellence, when seen
from any other. It is not the business of the artist to expose every
beauty from every part, but to set the imagination in the right road,
and above all, not to lead it to any thing monstrous or extravagant; and
this will infallibly be the consequence of overcharging any part; for
when once the disproportion is observed, it recurs and offends the mind
of the spectator even when surveying the object from that point which
represents it most favourably. Suppose you were to employ an artist to
make a drawing of the interior of St. Peter’s. It will look better with
figures in it. Will you direct the painter to make his figures twice as
large as life, and with extravagant noses and chins? We know that this
exaggeration spoils a painting; but it is equally inimical to
architecture; and yet it is what we frequently see adopted. Besides, the
eye measures the building by the number of parts, as much as by their
size; nor in the case of statues is it of consequence that a continued
range should be presented to us; we make a ready allowance for the
spaces between, measuring them by the statues themselves. But it will be
asked, Are statues never, then, to be larger than life? Yes, to give the
appearance of strength, of dignity, of power, it is necessary to make
them so; but in that case the rule is very easy. Do you wish when the
spectator is near them, that they should appear larger than the human
form? If that is the case, make them so, but not otherwise. Even for the
sake of exhibiting forms and expression, the sculptor may wish to give
his subjects additional size, and the plea is unobjectionable; but
still, without taking distance into the account; whatever may be done to
obviate the indistinctness produced by distance, has the effect of
diminishing the apparent distance of the object, and consequently its
size, and the size of the place it is in: make them all really smaller,
and the effect remains the same. This rule leaves nothing for the
enlargement of the sculpture in proportion to the size of the building,
and some allowance there certainly ought to be. For instance: to take a
very clear example, if any building should ever be erected (a monstrous
edifice) whose frieze is 12 feet high, there can be no doubt that any
figures by which it is ornamented must be nearly of the same height;
they so evidently belong to architecture, that they form no scale by
which to measure the height of the edifice. In niches too, something of
the same sort takes place, though not so absolutely: a marble statue of
the size of life looks generally rather small; I do not know why, but I
apprehend that every body perceives it to be the case; and if surrounded
by the mouldings and ornaments of a colossal architecture, the effect
will be increased. This appearance should be corrected by additional
size, but here I think we should stop. For instance; under the dome
there are four great figures, each about 16 feet high, where the niches
are made too large for the architecture, in order to receive colossal
figures, and the figures are made too large for the niches: had these
been half the height, they would not have struck the spectator as larger
than life; perhaps they might be made somewhat more than this, but not
much; and the expression does not require any increase of size, for they
represent the saints and martyrs of the church, suffering virtue, not
triumphant power; we do not sympathize more readily with a giant, than
with a man of our own stature, but rather the contrary. The figures on
the pediment have a closer connexion with the architecture, than those
in niches, because the statues are there evidently made for the place,
whereas the niches are in some degree made for the statues. I believe,
of all the Greek statues existing, there is not one whose size is not
accounted for on these principles.
If in niches but little liberty be allowed of enlarging the proportions
of the human figure, the license, though still some license must be
permitted, is yet further diminished in monuments; but here all the
monuments are colossal. That a sculptor, even of the first class, should
wish to make his productions of somewhat more than their just
consequence, is perfectly natural, but one would hardly have expected
such an error from the architect sculptors of the sixteenth century.
While I am enumerating the faults of this building, I may as well go on,
and conclude my subject; mentioning the principal of those which have
been attributed to it by others, as well as those which offend my own
judgment. It has been said to be one of the greatest, that the nave has
been lengthened into a Latin cross, instead of a Greek one, as was
intended by Michael Angelo. It is difficult to assign precisely to each
architect his part in the building, but it is certain, that the original
design of Bramante was for a Latin cross. Sangallo and Raphael, who
successively followed Bramante, kept, as we have already seen, to this
general idea, though each proposed some alterations. Peruzzi reduced it
to a Greek cross, and the piers of the dome were carried up, probably to
the height of the nave; one arm at least of the cross was executed, and
perhaps a considerable portion of the walls of the rest of the building
carried up, before Michael Angelo had any thing to do with it. This
great man made some alterations, which I have already explained: under
him the plan was that of a Greek cross, consisting of a large dome in
the centre, and four equal, square recesses, to three of which a
semicircular tribune was added; and the fourth, or that of the entrance,
was consequently shorter than the rest by the radius of the semicircle.
For this, my authority is Milizia; for from Bonanni one would rather
conceive that all the four arms were precisely similar. If this
difference entered into M. Angelo’s design, it was well conceived, for
the first view of a spacious edifice is that which fixes itself on the
mind, and there can be no doubt that the view would be much grander, and
more impressive from the entrance, as thus designed, than from the
bottom of one of the semicircles. The more I consider the subject, the
more I am dissatisfied with the shape of a Latin cross, as usually
managed so as to make a single room. If this form be adopted, it ought
to be divided into distinct parts, the nave forming one, the dome
another, the three other branches, or three tribunes, as they are called
in Italy, three others; these divisions may open into each other, not by
doorways, but by arches, occupying nearly all their width, or they may
be separated merely by ranges of columns; but still the separation ought
to be distinctly marked; for there is necessarily a change of design,
which otherwise confuses the attention. In a Greek cross the whole may
be considered as one room, the four arms being merely so many recesses;
but then they should be kept shallow, so as never to present themselves
but as mere appendages. The old design of St. Peter’s had these recesses
too deep; probably had Michael Angelo had the entire design, he would
have omitted altogether the semicircular tribunes; but he did not like
to destroy what had been executed. With all these considerations present
to my mind, I confess I cannot wish that the nave were not executed; it
is so beautiful in itself, that some degree of want of harmony with the
dome may be forgiven to it.
It is usually said to have been the boast of Michael Angelo that he
would elevate the Pantheon in the air. Whatever honour may attach to
this idea, is due to Bramante, since the cupola designed by him was
certainly in pendentive, while that of Brunelleschi at Florence, bears
perpendicularly on its foundations. Perhaps to put it upon stilts, would
have been a more correct expression, and it is certainly better on the
ground. To be convinced of this, it is only necessary to mount into the
gallery, and observe how much superior it appears in size and beauty,
than when seen from below.
I must mention among the faults, that while the vault of the nave is
very beautifully gilt, the principal order which supports the vault is
entirely without gilding, a transition which is displeasingly abrupt;
and the roof, and the pilasters and entablature, do not seem to belong
to each other. Then the ornaments in and about the arches are gilt, and
the plain surfaces of the spandrils. This is very bad, because it
separates the work into different parts, which no longer appear firmly
knit together into one solid body, but as if you could take out the
arches and leave the main piers and pilasters standing. The side aisles
do not form one continued corridor, but are divided into a series of
little rooms, by columns and piers supporting arches, the latter going
up into the circular pediments, which appear to be supported by the
order: but I will not detain you about these side aisles, because the
whole arrangement is entirely bad: the niches squeezed in between the
pilasters in the principal nave are also to be considered as defects.
In spite of all these faults, the interior is universally admired.
Horace Walpole says that “one must have taste to be sensible of the
beauties of Grecian architecture, one only wants passions to feel the
Gothic. In St. Peter’s one is convinced that it was built by great
princes. In Westminster Abbey one thinks not of the builder; the
religion of the place makes the first impression.” He has here, I am
persuaded, confounded the effect of his own early associations, with
that produced by the architecture; and he is unjust with respect to St.
Peter’s, since his observation would imply that it had no other merit
than mere size and splendour. The pyramids must have been built by great
princes, yet who thinks them beautiful? I must however, according to my
custom, endeavour to trace the source of this pleasing impression, or at
least, to be more correct in my metaphor, point out the little streams
which unite to produce it.
First, the size. Nothing of sublime or beautiful is found in a model of
Mont Blanc, or the Jung Frau, considered in itself. It could interest us
only by calling to mind the forms and appearances of those large masses;
but when we see the objects themselves, the mind must be insensible
indeed, which does not feel the impression. Such a feeling may doubtless
be heightened by various poetical associations; but unless there were a
strong native impression, such associations would never have been
attached to lofty mountains. Great size alone then is capable of
producing admiration; and as our estimate of size is comparative, such a
building as St. Peter’s is to other churches, what Mont Blanc is to
other hills. This effect of size to produce the sublime is probably by
its exciting ideas of power, and in this instance the effect is much
enhanced by the richness and splendour of the decoration. It is true,
that when the parts are considered separately, there are some
deficiencies; there is, for instance, a good deal of stucco, which ought
to be marble, or at least good stone; but nothing of this comes into the
first glance; we see a great deal of really rich and beautiful material,
and give credit for something more, which is not so distinctly seen.
Afterwards, when we examine the whole, we find so much of rich and
beautiful in this respect, that we are willing to overlook what is
wanting. Another source of pleasure lies in the simplicity of design. In
this respect also I must acknowledge that there are some failures; but
upon the whole the design is easily comprehended, and there are not many
unaccountable breaks, nor of much importance. The arrangement of the
vaulting of the nave in simple caissoons, with each a rose in the
centre, and the judicious distribution of the gilding upon it,
contribute very much to this excellence; but do not look along the side
aisles, for you will find nothing of it there. To produce the effect of
magnificence in architecture, three things seem to be necessary,
greatness of dimension, simplicity of design, and richness of
decoration; to satisfy the mind, after examination, three other things
are requisite, otherwise there is danger that the observer may be vexed
that he has been cheated into admiration for the moment, and disgust
instead of pleasure will be the permanent result; correctness of
proportion, graceful drawing, and delicate execution; by graceful
drawing, I mean that the mouldings and ornaments should be beautiful in
themselves, and well combined. Of these six points, St. Peter’s has the
first in a high degree, something of the second, and a great deal of the
third. The three latter it also possesses, though not in a very
remarkable degree; the proportions do not offend, and the drawing and
execution are good.
The most admired piece of sculpture here is the _Pietà_ of Michael
Angelo, the Virgin supporting the body of her dead son, apparently much
older than herself. She is stoutly made, and the weight appears nothing
to her. The countenance is good, not expressive of deep sorrow, but
rather of affection and anxiety, such as a mother might well have, when
looking on her sleeping child, and meditating its future fortunes. Mr.
Scott says, she is ruminating on the past, and considering whether all
that our Saviour had said of himself could be true; an idea which I
think the artist did not intend to suggest. Another celebrated monument
is that of Clement XIII. by Canova. Here are only three figures, the
pope himself in the attitude of prayer, which is excellent; a colossal
Religion, where Canova has attempted the sublime, and failed; and
another colossal figure called the Genius of Rome. It is an angel of
most exquisite beauty, but appearing to lean so painfully against the
edge of the marble, that I never could look at it with pleasure. Can you
tell me why in a monument nothing is to be told of a man but that he
died? One would think that in any distinguished character some of those
circumstances which rendered his life conspicuous, might be introduced
in sculpture, and that which is common to all men, might without any
loss be omitted. Into how many absurdities has this custom of telling
that a man died, and that somebody grieved for it, betrayed the
sculptors! Angels with lumbering stone wings, and bodies wholly unsuited
to them, and without any apparatus for moving them; Deaths of mere
bones, moving without muscles; heathen gods and goddesses to help a
Christian on his journey to heaven, and extravagant and unintelligible
personifications, and allegories still more extravagant and
unintelligible. Another monument which has been much praised is by
Bernini; above are a pope and two allegorical figures, made to be
forgotten. The admired part arises from a door below, which it was
necessary to preserve, and Bernini has surrounded it with marble
drapery, and made Death supporting the curtain, as if to give entrance
to the tomb. The Death wants consequence, and the whole is prettier in
description than in reality.
St. Peter’s as you know is ornamented with mosaics, which have the
advantage of pictures in durability. The damps will not injure them, and
if by chance a candle should fall against them, they do not suffer; but
if you should ask me whether these mosaics are equal to the originals, I
must answer in the negative; and I will add, that the difference is very
considerable, even between the best mosaics, and the first-rate
paintings from which they were copied; in pictures of inferior merit of
course there is less difference, and I have seen the weaker parts even
of a capital painting improved in the copy; for the natural tendency of
every process of the sort, is to reduce all things to a level, bringing
down the finest touches, and raising those which are indifferent. These
pictures cost from ten to twenty thousand crowns each, and it has been
said that for half the money you might have had paintings, either copies
or originals, of equal or superior merit, while the interest of the
remaining sum would have provided an ample fund for renewing them, and
have kept alive the spirit and emulation of artists; but I confess the
mere circumstance of their durability gives me a pleasing emotion. It is
painful to see the most beautiful productions of the fine arts exposed
in situations which are preparing their destruction; and this idea of
duration corresponds with the character of the immense structure which
surrounds you. Added to which, the altar pieces of churches are never in
very good lights for the effect of the painting. In the adoption of such
a mode of decoration, one would imagine that none but the very
first-rate paintings would be chosen; but you will be surprised to learn
that this is by no means the case; several of those at St. Peter’s are
copied from quite second-rate productions.
I descended into the vaults, the pavement of which, in part at least, is
that of the ancient basilica of Constantine; it contains some ancient
sarcophagi of saints, emperors, and popes; and some sculpture, and
mosaics, and ancient columns, the plunder as we are told of the
Septizonium. No woman is permitted to enter here, except on one
particular day in the year, when the men are prohibited.
The excursion to the top is more interesting than that into the vaults;
but contains still less to write about, unless I were to enter into the
particulars of the construction, which has already occupied so many
writers. The masses are so great, and the roof so extensive, that we
seem rather to be in a town founded on a vast rock, than on the top of
an edifice. The building is perfect, without this wooden roof, but as
vaults covered with stucco are seldom entirely impervious to the
weather, it was necessary to erect it. It is slight, and rests entirely
upon the vaulting, so that the whole might be blown away, and no
mischief done to the edifice. On reading over what I have written, I
feel that it is calculated to give a much less favourable impression of
this truly magnificent edifice than it really deserves. I go to it again
and again, and contemplate it, and enjoy it; and now I have finished my
criticisms, perhaps more than at first. I wish I could enable you to
dwell upon its beauties, and feel the same mental satisfaction and
delight; but this seems to be quite beyond my ability.
———Cupidum, pater optime, vires
Deficiunt.
LETTER XXVI.
BASILICAN CHURCHES.
_Rome, March, 1817._
IN following the order of dates, an account of the basilicas and ancient
churches of the lower empire, should have preceded my observations on
St. Peter’s; for although most of them have been very much altered, yet
there are still sufficient remains of the old work to trace the plan and
distribution of the parts, and indeed every thing relating to the solid
masses of the building; and in one or two, more or less of the original
mode of fitting it up. The first of these in size and in reputation, is
the Church of St. Paul without the walls, (_fuori delle mura_) and it
has the advantage of having undergone very little alteration, so that
most of the original construction is not only preserved, but is still
exposed.[45] It was founded by Constantine, A. D. 324, but not completed
till A. D. 395, under the reign of Honorius. About the year 440, it was
restored by Eudoxa, wife of Valentinian III., but one may suppose, that
at so early a period it did not want any important repairs. Having
afterwards been injured by an earthquake, it was again restored in 795,
by St. Leo III. The wall, which at present divides the transept
longitudinally, is thought to be part of this restoration. Under Clement
VIII. (about 1600), a new ceiling (or roof?) was put to the transept,
and in 1725, Benedict XIII. added the portico.