University of Virginia Library

ST. PETER'S.

At length we arrived at the noble square with its
sweeping colonnade and old obelisk, which are about
St. Peter's. Having entered that edifice and immediately
passing through a side door, we commenced
ascending an inclined plane which winds round, is
bricked, and continues for a long distance until it
brings us out upon the roof. This wide space, with
its several cupolas, has been aptly compared to a
small village. We soon entered the first and second
interior gallery of the dome, and thence looked
down from an immense height upon the variegated
marble floor, or immediately around upon the coarse
mosaic figures. Still ascending, we reached the
lantern, and obtained a most comprehensive view,
embracing the city, the campagna, the distant snow-covered
mountains, with a glimpse of the Mediterranean,
and having stood in the copper ball which
surmounts the whole building, we descended.[1]

At one visit to St. Peter's, the several scenes presented
most effectually aided me in realizing the vastness
of the building. Two of the chapels were
filled with children receiving Sabbath instruction,
whose singing resounded pleasingly through the expanse.
In one corner, some lads, seemingly designed
for the priesthood, were loudly engaged in a
dialogue, the purport of which was an exposition of
the church ceremonies; these were eagerly listened
to by a surrounding crowd. Around the circular
and illuminated railing, which is about the descent
to the tomb of the great apostle, kneeled many female
figures, and another knot were clustered beneath his
bronze image, and fervently kissing the worn foot;
while, scattered upon the far spreading pavement,
and bending at the numerous shrines, were many
devotees apparently absorbed in prayer. The confession-boxes,
too, were unusually occupied, and the
whole area thickly studded with the figures of those
whom curiosity or devotion had brought thither.
And yet these numerous and variously occupied
human beings seemed, in no degree, to lessen the
apparent space enclosed by those immense walls and
that exalted dome, but rather to increase the impressiveness

of the whole. I ever gratefully remarked the
peculiar mildness and genial warmth of the atmosphere.
It is even pretended by some of the inhabitants,
that this phenomenon may be ascribed to the
heat, which the dense walls acquire during summer
—a heat so great and so well retained as to continue
partially latent, and be evolved during the few
weeks when comparative coolness prevails. Many
circumstances, however, contribute to the production
of so pleasing an effect, particularly the admirable
exposure of the building to the full influence of
the sun, which beams through one or another of
its many windows, during nearly the whole day,
while the arrangement of the entrances almost
precludes the admission of the external air.

But it was my special delight to visit St. Peter's,
not critically to examine, but to yield myself freely
to its sublimity and beauty. Sometimes I would
rest in front of the monument to the last of the
Stuarts, to sympathize in the mournful expression
of its basso relievo angels of death, extinguishing,
as if in sadness, the torch of life; or pause in
admiration of the lions of Canova surmounting
the tomb of Pope Clement XIII. As the setting
sun shone gorgeously through the glory, over
the main altar, and lingered upon the gilded cornices
of the wall, it was mysteriously exciting
to gaze on one of the splendid mosaic copies of
the most eminent originals; for instance, that of
Thomas satisfying his doubts. The perfect serenity

of our Saviour's countenance, the determined inspection
of the incredulous apostle, and, above all, the
sad, yet mild and affectionate expression of John,
riveted my gaze and touched my sensibilities. I
could almost believe that I saw a tremulous play
of the muscles, or living softness of the features, as
they were thus revealed in the twilight.

It was surpassingly interesting to roam through
the quiet and rich precincts of this magnificent edifice,
with an elevating sense of its excellence as a
place of religious enjoyment. There is a freedom,
a nobleness, a grandeur about St. Peter's, allied to
intellect and sentiment in their higher manifestations.
Within no structure, perhaps, does the human
form dwindle to greater apparent insignificance,
but in few spots does man yield more spontaneously
and legitimately to a sense of his capacity for excellence.
The idea that the building, which is filling
and delighting his spirit, was planned by the intellect
and reared by the labour of his species, and the
thought of that Being to whose praises it is devoted
—all this suggests itself with the view and its enjoyment.

Indeed, familiarity with the splendid temples of
worship for which Italy is remarkable, rather augments
than diminishes the spontaneous admiration
which a first inspection of them excites; or rather,
the primary emotions of pleasure melt into a calm
sentiment of satisfaction, far more favourable to a
discriminating view and just impression. The still

but most efficient teachings of those three happy
influences, painting, sculpture and architecture, seem
here combined for the most felicitous ends. I
could not but often think of it as one of those consoling
and redeeming things, which modify all the
evil in the world, that these were places dedicated
to Catholicism, but open to all and at all times;—
places for reflection, devotion and thought, where
one can wander contemplatively, the painted windows
imparting a mellow light in which the pictured
and sculptured forms seemed living things, and the
notes of the chanters falling in reverberated echoes
upon the ear, and worship after his own heart, or
muse holily till the fire burns.