But it would be idle to expatiate on the impressive beauty of St. Paul’s, which rises with such solemn majesty, and towers so tremendously over the clustered houses at its feet. There are some curious particulars associated with this great cathedral which are perhaps little known to “the general.” The huge walls which form its outline, it will be noted, are of the height of the central aisle, and suggest a lofty interior of cruciform shape. But when we enter we find that the interior does not correspond to the exterior. There is a great central nave, flanked by narrow aisles, much lower in height, while the choir seems contracted. It is only by comparison that we discover that the exterior is deceptive, and pretends to represent far more space within than really exists. The side aisles are really but half the height represented on the outside, and there is a whole “mock story” over the aisles, which seems a pretence scarcely worthy of so great an architect. Indeed, this system of sham is carried out through the whole, the interior scarcely anywhere corresponding to the exterior.
But there is a greater surprise in the case of the famous dome. It is generally assumed that what is seen inside the church is but the inner surface of the outer dome. But in nearly every constructed dome there is an inner shell, with a space between it and the outer dome. The reason is, it would be impossible to raise so ponderous a piece of vaulting in the air. Only a construction of a small and shallow kind could be thus supported, and a light outside shell of timber and lead is framed over it. But few could suppose what a tremendous disproportion exists between the outer and innermost shells of St. Paul’s dome, the latter being some fifty feet below the other! The daring plans of Wren made him adopt no less than three casings for this dome. His object was to surmount all by a massive stone lantern, to be capped by the gilt ball and cross; but the difficulty was that the weight would be so great that no system of arching would support it. He therefore carried up from the base whence the dome springs an enormous funnel-shaped cone of brick, on which he securely built his stone lantern, the sides of the funnel being perfectly straight. This erection, which is so lofty that it would hardly stand under the roof of the nave, is, in parts, only a couple of bricks thick, yet it supports a massive structure in the air; and to prevent its spreading at the base, the ingenious architect wound round it a vast chain, which he sunk in molten lead.
Outside the funnel was placed the grand dome, which is simply a wooden shell covered with lead, while, to hide the funnel within, a second dome was constructed below. This is the one that exhibits the Thornhill paintings. A grand dome is like an epic for the architect, and the story of the dome of St. Peter’s is a romance; but when we think of an architect carrying up with him to the clouds, that is, to the height of 360 feet from the ground, a stone temple 40 or 50 feet high, to be there perched securely, defiant of storms, the head grows dizzy. Nor does this exhaust the singularities of the structure. The line of the circular wall that is behind the visitor to the Whispering Gallery slopes inwards at a sharp angle, and continues to do so all the way upwards.
“I think,” says Hawthorne, “I must have been under a spell of enchantment to-day, connecting me with St. Paul’s; for, trying to get away from it by various avenues, I still got bewildered, and again and again saw its great dome and pinnacles before me. It is very beautiful, very rich. I did not think that anything but Gothic architecture could have so interested me. The statues, the niches, the embroidery as it were of sculpture traced around it, produced a delightful effect.
“The exterior of this fabric, no less than that of its Italian rival, is remarkable (as seen from its immediate vicinity) for deceptive smallness. Few spectators from the surrounding roads would believe the dimensions of any part, if stated to them. This defect (which some by singular sophistry have tried to prove a beauty) arises here chiefly from the want of a scale, owing to the fence preventing our seeing any human figures near the foot of the building, or even judging of the distance that separates us from it.” This fence, however, has been removed. To quote a shrewd architect:—“It takes little to humble a cathedral, and this little, Wren’s successor contrived to add, in his mock balustrade over the second cornice; a thing protested against by Wren without seeing it—how much more had he seen its barbarous design!—and, what is worse, a thing studiously contrived to give a false scale; and it is therefore taken by every eye as a perfectly safe measure of scale. We know that a balustrade is meant to lean upon, and therefore, wherever we see one, we conclude it to be 3 or 4 feet high. A mock balustrade, nine feet high, never enters our calculations, so that when we see such an absurdity, on a building 90 feet high, if we have other scales we are simply puzzled, but if, as in this case, we have none, the building is at once reduced to 30 or 40 feet.” This theory, however, will scarcely hold; for a statue placed at a great height must, to appear of ordinary size, be made of colossal proportions.
Within will be noted the massive piers and arches which support the dome, and which are of enormous strength below as well as above ground. Many will be puzzled by the little gallery and second arch which disfigure the four corner arches. It is believed that some signs of settlement were noted or feared during the work, and that Wren took this mode of strengthening the supports.
The latest addition to the glories of the Cathedral is the new reredos, set up in the year 1888, at a cost of over £30,000. This is an enormous structure, apparently suggested by the sumptuous altar in the Oratory; it rises to a vast height, and is a rich composition of rare marbles, gildings, and statues. Notwithstanding, the effect on the Cathedral is most unhappy, and instead of being an ornament it is really a disfigurement, as any one can see for himself. It seems like a great solid screen; it does not harmonize with the style of the Cathedral, and seems to cut off a portion of the choir. The side columns have quite a “skimpy” air, and appear to do no duty, having nothing to support, suggesting the lines on those in front of old Carlton House:
“Care colonne, che fate là?
Non siamo in questa verità.”
The depth and mistiness of the apse behind is lost. The accomplished architect of the fane had these objections in view when he designed a fine baldacchino, supported on rich twisted columns, which would have left the view open and increased the sense of distance. It is really melancholy to find how architects have lost this sense of appropriateness in all their attempts.
In a side chapel on the right is seen the Duke of Wellington’s monument, an ambitious structure, somewhat after the pattern of Queen Elizabeth’s monument in the Abbey. There is a sad story of disappointed hopes and failure associated with it. The artist, Alfred Steevens, was an enthusiastic person, full of ardour, and accomplished. He could paint as well as mould, and saw here a chance, as he fancied, of “immortalizing himself.” He flung himself into the work, but only to pass from disaster to disaster. He had modelled his style a good deal after the Elgin marbles, and in Holford House there is a great chimney-piece of his execution, of which the model is shown in the South Kensington Museum; figures in rather contorted attitudes, with brawny, muscular, and fleshy limbs; these were his favourite peculiarities, and as they contrasted with the tame conventional school of his time, it was considered genius and not extravagance.