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.
If the peculiarity of this building, in looking so much smaller than the 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.