Page 416 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

Peter’s and find it smaller than its fame; the first time she
passed beneath the huge leathern curtain that strains and
bangs at the entrance, the first time she found herself be-
neath the far-arching dome and saw the light drizzle down
through the air thickened with incense and with the re-
flections of marble and gilt, of mosaic and bronze, her
conception of greatness rose and dizzily rose. After this it
never lacked space to soar. She gazed and wondered like a
child or a peasant, she paid her silent tribute to the seated
sublime. Lord Warburton walked beside her and talked of
Saint Sophia of Constantinople; she feared for instance that
he would end by calling attention to his exemplary conduct.
The service had not yet begun, but at Saint Peter’s there is
much to observe, and as there is something almost profane
in the vastness of the place, which seems meant as much for
physical as for spiritual exercise, the different figures and
groups, the mingled worshippers and spectators, may fol-
low their various intentions without conflict or scandal. In
that splendid immensity individual indiscretion carries but
a short distance. Isabel and her companions, however, were
guilty of none; for though Henrietta was obliged in candour
to declare that Michael Angelo’s dome suffered by compari-
son with that of the Capitol at Washington, she addressed
her protest chiefly to Mr. Bantling’s ear and reserved it in its
more accentuated form for the columns of the Interview-
er. Isabel made the circuit of the church with his lordship,
and as they drew near the choir on the left of the entrance
the voices of the Pope’s singers were borne to them over
the heads of the large number of persons clustered outside

416 The Portrait of a Lady