Antonio Sangallo, nephew of the preceding architects of that name, succeeded. This architect greatly increased the extent of the design, by adding a large edifice at the end of the nave, with two lofty detached steeples, and thus making the outside form that of a Latin cross, but without changing the general shape of the inside; he proposed to close up the openings from the tribune into the semicircular gallery behind it, leaving only three small doorways; the dome was to have been ornamented with two rows of columns and arches, but it still remained single, and the internal height corresponded with that of the outside. In order to perform all this, he again strengthened the foundations.

The model of this stupendous design, although made by the hands of Labacco, who was servant of Sangallo, cost 4,184 crowns; it is preserved in the present church, and is itself a building which may deserve some description. The plan, as I have already said, is a Greek cross, with arms of considerable length, each terminating in a semicircle. The angles of this simple form are occupied by four other Greek crosses, so that the construction appears to depend on sixteen masses. Four of these, each of which is a square with one angle cut away, support the dome. It is said that in Bramante’s design these were to have been hollow; but the model exhibits no opening into them. Eight other masses are perforated, to correspond with the circular corridors behind the tribunes. These do not shew their whole width towards the great cross, the centre of the semicircle being brought a little inwards. The four remaining masses which form the angles of the general square, are each hollow, and crowned with an octagonal turret. In the execution of the building the external circuit has been much contracted, and the corridors round the semicircles entirely suppressed; but in other respects this plan is very nearly the same as that of the present church. Immediately in front is another large edifice, forming rather a disproportionate vestibule. It is perforated in both directions by a large open arch, and flanked by two lofty detached towers, whose height is equal to that of the central cupola with its lantern and ornaments.

The body of the building is ornamented with two orders, Doric below and Ionic above. Between them is an enormous Attic which might itself be called an order. The towers have a second range of Ionic semi-columns and one of Corinthian. They are then contracted to an octagon, and afterwards become round; in this part we find a circle of sixteen detached Corinthian columns, with their entablature and a balustrade above. On the balustrade, perpendicularly over each column, is a conical ornament, eight larger cones rise from the wall of the interior cylinder, and a still larger crowns the whole edifice. This apparent tendency to run up into cones harmonizes admirably with the lofty proportions of the campanili, and produces a splendour, and liveliness of effect, which would be entirely lost with a common sloping roof, or with a cupola. Indeed the whole of the upper part is exceedingly beautiful. The central division of the façade exhibits two large arches, one over the other, and a pediment at top. On each side is a division not much smaller, which also has a pediment, but not placed so high, and we see behind it an octangular turret. The large central arch has a magnificent effect; but it would have had it in still greater degree if it had been larger, and in one height. Yet perhaps this would not have been in harmony with the general character of the building, where magnificence is obtained by the multiplicity of the parts, rather than by their individual dimensions. Two ranges of arches surround the cupola. One in the upright of the drum, and the other in the height of the curve. The lantern is very large, and consequently, but a small portion of the cupola is exhibited, which perhaps adds to its apparent solidity, and to the majesty of the edifice. The decorations of the lantern correspond with those of the summits of the campanili, but as the parts have a greater extent to the same elevation, the perfect harmony of the composition is still preserved.

This Sangallo, who was the most celebrated architect of that name, and 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;

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 10l. sterling.

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.

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.

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.

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.