THE JUVENILE COMPANION.

ST. PETER'S.

THE Basilica of St. Peter was the first and noblest religious edifice erected by Constantine. It stood on part of the Circus of Nero, and was supposed to occupy a spot consecrated by the blood of numberless martyrs, exposed or slaughtered in that place of public amusement by order of the tyrant. But its principal and exclusive advantage was the possession of the body of St. Peter, which secured to it the first ace in the affection and reverence of the Christian world. Every age, as it passed over the Vatican, seemed to add to it holiness and dignity; and the coronation of an emperor, or the installation of a pope, gave it so many new claims to the veneration of Christendom. At length, however, after centuries of glory, the walls of the ancient Basilica began to give way, and symptoms of approaching ruin were become Lo visible about the year 1450, that Nicholas V. conceived the project of taking down the old church, and erecting in its sted a new and more extensive structure. Successive popes have erdeavoured to acquire a share in its glory and duration by some decoration or improvement. On the whole, it would ro. be exaggeration to assert that three hundred years elapsed from the commencement to the te nination of this stupendous fabric. To calculate the expense would be difficult; but we may venture to state that it must have amounted at least to twelve millions sterling; and when we consider that the marbles, bronze, and other valuable materials employed in its decoration, are not only uncommon, but scarcely known out of Rome, we may add that it would require three times as much to raise a similar edifice in any other capital. When the spectator approaches, he views four rows of lofty pillars, sweeping of to the right and left in a bold semicircle. In the centre of the area formed by this immense colonnade, an Egyptian obelisk, of one solid piece of granite, ascends to the height of one hundred and thirty feet: two perpetual fountains, one on each side, play in the air, and fall in sheets round the basins of porphyry that

receive them. flights of marble steps, extending four hundred feet in length, and towering to the elevation of one hundred and eighty, he beholds the majestic front of the Basilica itself. This front is supported by a single row of Corinthian pillars and pilasters, and adorned with an attic, a balustrade, and thirteen colossal statues. Far behind, and above it, rises the matchless dome, the justly celebrated wonder of Rome and of the world. The colonnade of coupled pillars that surround and strengthen its vast base, the graceful attic that surmounts this colonnade, the bold and expansive swell of the dome itself, and the pyramid seated on a cluster of columns, and bearing the ball and cross to the skies, form the most magnificent and singular exhibition that the human eye perhaps ever contemplated. Two smaller cupolas, one on each side, partake of the state, and add not a little to the majesty of the principal dome.

Before him, raised on three successive

The interior corresponds perfectly with the grandeur of the exterior, and fully answers the expectations, however great, which such an approach must naturally have raised. Five lofty portals open into the portico, a gallery in dimension and decorations equal to the most spacious cathedrals. It is four hundred feet in length, seventy in height, and forty in breadth, paved with variegated marble, covered with a guilt vault, adorned with pillars, and pilasters, and terminated at both ends by equestrian statues, one of Constantine, the other of Charlemagne. Opposite the five portals of the portico are the five doors of the church. As you enter, you behold the most extensive hall ever constructed by human art, expanded in magnificent perspective before you. Advancing up the nave, you are delighted with the beauty of the variegated marble under your feet, and with the splendour of the golden vault over your head. But how great your astonishment when you reach the foot of the altar, and standing in the centre of the church, I contemplate the four superb vistas that open around you; and then raise your eyes to the dome, at the prodigious elevation of four hundred feet, extend like a firmament over your head, and presenting, in glowing mosaic, the

companies of the just, the choirs of celestial spirits, and the whole hierarchy of heaven arrayed in the presence of the Eternal, whose "throne high raised above all height" crowns the awful scene!

The high altar stands under the dome. In order to add to its relief, and give it all its majesty, a lofty canopy rises above it, and forms an intermediate break or repose for the eye between it and the immensity of the dome above. The form, materials, and magnitude of this decoration are equally astonishing. Below the steps of the altar, rise four twisted pillars fifty feet in height, and support an entablature which bears the canopy itself topped with a cross. The whole soars to the elevation of one hundred and thirty-two feet from the pavement, and, excepting the pedestals, is of Corinthian brass !-the most massive work of that or of any other metal now known. The chair of St. Peter (St. Peter never sat in it) is a lofty throne elevated to the height of seventy feet from the pavement, a circular window fringed with yellow throwing from above a milder splendour around it.

From the lower part of the Basilica, we pass to the roof by a well-lighted staircase, winding round with an ascent so gentle that beasts of burden go up without inconvenience. When you reach the platform of the roof you are astonished with the number of cupolas, and domes, and pinnacles, that rise around you; with the galleries that, spread on all sides, and the many apartments and staircases, that appear in every quarter. Crowds of workmen are to be seen passing and repassing in every direction, and the whole has rather the form of a town than that of the roof of an edifice. Here the traveller has an opportunity of examining closely and minutely the wonderful construction of the dome, and of discovering the skill and precision with which every part has been planned and executed. The vast platform of stone on which it reposes as on a solid rock; the lofty colonnade that rises on this platform, and by its resistance counteracts, as a continued buttress, the horizontal pressure of the dome, all of stone of such prodigious swell and circumference; the lantern which like a

lofty temple sits on its towering summit; these are objects which must excite the astonishment of every spectator, but can be perfectly understood and properly described by none but by a skilful architect thoroughly acquainted with the difficulties and the resources of his art.

The dome of the Pantheon had for many ages excited the wonder and admiration of mankind, and this Bramante, the first planner of St. Peter's, would have imitated. But the dome of the Pantheon rested on columns and attained no striking elevation. "A similar cupola," said Michael Angelo, with the confidence of genius, "will I raise in the air!" And this was done by constructing walls sufficiently strong to sustain the enormous weight.

In what direction the traveller approaches Rome, he sees the sublime dome towering into the blue heavens. It seems to invite him from afar, and increase the impatience which all must feel on a first visit, to arrive at the Eternal City. Like our own St. Paul's, but with the immense advantage of being almost constantly seen through the medium of a pure, transparent atmosphere, it forms a grand and conspicuous object in almost every distant view of the city of which it is the glorious crown. It may be seen from the hills of Baccans on the north; from the Lower Apennines on the east; from the volcanic ridges of the Alban Mount on the south; and from the mast-head of a ship in the Tyrrhene gulf of the Mediterranean on the west; and in all these views it rises up from the broad flat of the Campagna, in which the "Seven Hills," and other elevations in the neighbourhood of Rome, are of themselves ridges or breaks scarcely more perceptible than a distant wave at sea. It seems to reign in solitary majesty over the city; and is, perhaps, never so impressive an object as when seen thence, particularly on the stated festivals, on the evenings of which it is suddenly, nay almost instantaneously, covered with a flood of light. The reader may conceive this effect by fancying the dome of St. Paul's lighted up by innumerable lamps and torches; but we must add, in the case of St. Peter's, "the deep blue sky of Rome," without a cloud, without a vapour or a wreath of smoke.