Views of St. Paul's Cathedral, London — Background and Themes

Framing the Cathedral: Exterior Views and Their Vanished Vantage Points

The opening photographs document the cathedral from three distinct exterior angles, each chosen to highlight a different structural feature. The view "from the South West" is noted as having been taken from the Post Office Savings Bank before warehouses obscured the lower portion—a rare record of a now-lost perspective. Simpson's note that "the exquisite proportions of the Dome are here displayed to the fullest advantage" ties the image directly to the building's most celebrated element. The North West angle view emphasizes the "noble flight of steps" and the carving on the North Tower, while also recalling that the Bishops' Palace once adjoined that tower. These observations ground each photograph in a specific historical moment, making the images documents of both architecture and urban change.

The Crypt: Tombs, Epitaphs, and the Weight of History

Two photographs of the crypt anchor the interior section: Nelson's tomb and Sir Christopher Wren's grave. Simpson notes that the sarcophagus intended for Cardinal Wolsey was repurposed by Henry VIII, and that Nelson's body lies "not in the Sarcophagus, but beneath it." Wren's tomb is described as "a singularly modest epitaph"—a black marble slab only sixteen-and-a-half inches high—contrasted with the famous inscription nearby: "Lector, si monumentum requiris, circumspice." The surrounding memorials to artists, politicians, and war correspondents create a dense network of associations, turning the crypt into a microcosm of imperial and cultural memory. Simpson's dry observation that the epitaph is modest "at a period when fulsome phrases abounded" adds a wry editorial note.

The Library: Books, Relics, and the Material Culture of the Cathedral

The Library section departs from architectural description to inventory the cathedral's collection: early English Bibles, ritual books, sermons, plays by the "Children of Paul's," autographs, and over ten thousand printed books. Simpson highlights specific objects—a model of the Western Front once owned by the master-builder, a large-paper Polyglot Bible, Bishop Compton's Prayer Book of 1662, a Runic stone found in the churchyard, and a chain used to fasten books to shelves. The brackets long attributed to Grinling Gibbons are reassigned to Jonathan Maine, carver, in 1708. This section shifts the reader's attention from stone and space to the smaller, portable artifacts that accumulate within the building, suggesting that the cathedral is not only a structure but a repository.

Movement Between Scales: From Dimensions to Details

Throughout the notes, Simpson oscillates between grand measurements and minute particulars. The opening page gives the cathedral's exterior length as 515 feet, the height to the cross as 365 feet, and the cost as "about a million pounds." Later, he notes that Wren's tomb is only sixteen-and-a-half inches high. The dome is praised in Fergusson's sweeping terms, while the Library section lingers on a facsimile of a tonsure plate and a chain. This alternation creates a reading experience that mirrors the physical act of approaching the building: one first takes in its mass, then steps closer to examine carvings, inscriptions, and objects. The photographs, too, shift from full-façade views to interior details, reinforcing the sense of a guided tour that moves constantly between the monumental and the intimate.

The Series Context and the Reader's Orientation

The volume concludes with an advertisement listing other titles in the same series—St. Bartholomew the Great, Westminster Abbey, Southwark Cathedral, Christ's Hospital, and a general volume on "Famous Buildings and Street Views." This places the St. Paul's book within a larger project of photographic documentation of London's historic architecture, priced at sixpence each. For the reader, this context suggests that the work is intended as part of a collection, each volume offering a similarly structured combination of image and commentary. The closing note also reminds us that the photographs are not merely illustrations but primary records: the South West view, for instance, captures a scene already altered by new construction.

The interplay between Dovaston's photographs and Simpson's notes invites the reader to move through the cathedral as a sequence of framed views, each accompanied by historical and architectural commentary. The work does not attempt a comprehensive history but instead selects moments—a vanished vista, a modest tomb, a Runic stone—that together suggest the layered life of the building. Readers interested in the cathedral's fabric will find the precise dimensions and material details useful; those drawn to anecdote will discover the stories behind the monuments. The volume rewards a slow, attentive reading that mirrors the careful composition of each photograph.

There’s a particular hush in those old plates of St. Paul’s, how the light falls through the nave before you even reach the choir. It makes me think of the quiet care in tracing a forgery’s hand, that same patience with detail. The guide lingers on what’s real and what’s crafted, much like Forgers and Forgeries — Context and Discussion does. Both feel like keeping company with gentle, obsessive minds.