Brunelleschi's Dome

In the year 1296, the foundation stone for a new cathedral was laid in the heart of the city of Florence, Italy. The cathedral, which would be named Santa Maria del Fiore, was supposed to provide material evidence of the prosperity and success of the city of Florence, a wealth mostly accumulated from the sale of the finest cloth in all of Europe. It shows in the final product today, an impressively sized Florentine Gothic building clad in multicolored marble right in the center of the city.

The original architect of the cathedral was a master mason named Arnolfo di Cambio. Di Cambio presided over the laying of the cornerstone in 1296 and in the subsequent decades, the construction of the cathedral proceeded according to his design. Back in the late 13th century, the guidance used to construct a cathedral was not on a roll of drawings and a book of specifications like we use to build buildings today but instead a scale model of the final product to guide the craftsmen. And by scale model, I mean one 60 feet long or more, not something that can fit on the top of a dining table.

About 14 years after the laying of the cornerstone, di Cambio died. Sometime after that during the 1300s, his model collapsed and in doing so, the vision of his original design was lost. Construction proceeded for a while anyway until 1366 when the folks in charge of executing the construction of the cathedral (the wool merchants' guild) decided they ought to make sure they had a better idea of how to get to the finish line than just keeping the workers laying stone after stone with no sort of idea of what the finished product would look like.

So they ordered a new model (two models actually) so they would have some idea of how to finish the building. The preferred model was built by another master mason named Neri di Fioravante. It was about 30 feet in length and not surprisingly, it revised the design for the cathedral just a bit, although exactly how much the design changed we are not sure since the original model doesn't exist. The most striking aspect of the preferred model of the cathedral was its massive dome, which was to span over the entire crossing of the church without flying buttresses and could be built without any sort of wooden support. When it was completed, it would be the largest dome in the world.

Neri di Fioravante's model survived the construction process and became the blueprint for completing the cathedral. Unfortunately, the mason himself did not survive for long after he created his model, dying in 1374. The model left behind was used to guide the work on the unfinished cathedral for the next fifty years. Then something else happened; in 1418, the wool merchants' guild called for entries in a competition to advise them how the dome in di Fioravante's could possibly be built. For all the success and progress made on the building in the prior 122 years, it appeared that nobody knew how to build the dome. And that would be a problem. A big problem.

The interior of the dome of Santa Maria della Fiore as seen from the cathedral's floor.

The winner of the 1418 tell-us-how-to-build-our-dome contest was a 41 year old goldsmith and clockmaker named Filippo Brunelleschi. For the next 28 years, he would supervise, either in whole or in part, the erection of the dome of Santa Maria del Fiore. He lived long enough to witness the consecration of the first stone of the dome's lantern but only just; about a month later he was gone. The dome of Santa Maria del Fiore would end up being Brunelleschi's final and most important work. He not only figured out how to erect the dome without the use of centering or other formwork, he also oversaw the construction daily and invented most, if not all, of the machines used to hoist the stones in place high above the streets of Florence.

Brunelleschi's commission in 1418 was not without challenges. Between the time the results of the competition were announced and the time the dome was completed, he would have to prove and re-prove his ideas about how the dome could be erected, facing challenges from within the wool merchants' guild and from exterior rivals, notably Lorenzo Ghiberti, a Florentine goldsmith who also fancied himself an architect. Brunelleschi prevailed in every challenge and has been revered in Florence ever since his life's work was completed.

Brunelleschi's life would ultimately prove supremely influential. He produced three of the most important works of Italian Renaissance architecture in the duomo (which means cathedral in Italian), the Hospital of the Innocents and the Pazzi Chapel, which is located within the Basilica of Santa Croce; all three are in Florence. He would also discover or re-discover the principles of linear perspective, which allowed realistic pictures in three dimensions to be created on a two dimensional canvas or plane. But perhaps most importantly to me as a practicing architect, he managed to elevate the practice of architecture in the public's mind from a construction trade to an art, allowing it almost instantly to achieve the same footing as painting, sculpture or the other arts. He was really the world's first professional architect.

At its completion, the dome of Santa Maria del Fiore took the place of the Pantheon as the world's largest dome, knocking the Roman temple out of the top spot in that category for the first time in more than 14 centuries. Brunelleschi's dome would hold the same title for the next 445 years. That's pretty impressive. Its design and construction principles would also inspire the two other great domes of the Renaissance: Michelangelo's St. Peter's Basilica in Rome designed in 1547 and completed in 1590 after his death and Sir Christopher Wren's St. Paul's Cathedral designed following the Great Fire of London in 1666 and completed in 1697. Last year, I had the opportunity to climb to the top of St. Paul's dome; this year, I climbed to the top of Florence's duomo.

Climbing to the top of St. Paul's Cathedral last September involved walking up 528 steps. Ascending Santa Maria del Fiore would be easier on paper: just 463 steps. But climbing between the streets of London and Florence and the tops of their respective cathedrals is different despite the fact that one is based almost entirely on the construction of the earlier of the two. I didn't really understand that until I finished climbing.

We chose to climb the duomo first thing in the morning on our last day in Florence, a stay that was probably all too short at just two and a half days with one day out of town. We chose to do it early for two reasons. First, we figured climbing to the top of the cathedral would be popular (it was) and getting their early would mean fewer people to contend with, especially at the top. Second, we had a train to catch to Venice at about noon and figured the sooner we were up, the sooner we could get down. Getting there early proved to be a good decision.

Unlike St. Paul's, which you enter and then make your way to the steps to start your climb to the top, Santa Maria del Fiore offers two entrances to the visitor: one to get into the cathedral and one to get to the dome. The entrance to the dome is at the northwest side of the drum on which the dome sits and the doors open at 8:30 a.m. We were in line at about 8:10 or so, which put us about 30-40 people deep waiting for the doors to open. This seemed to me to be a good spot to be in. It was.

When they finally let you in the door, the start of the climb is probably about 20 feet away, through a small opening in the cathedral wall where you can see the beginning of the spiral staircase beyond. This stair is one of four at each of the "corners" of the dome (the dome is octagonal, not circular); these stairs are the same stairs that the masons used to get to work each morning to lay the bricks and stone in place high above the streets of Florence. The masons would be carrying all their tools as well as lunch and water or wine. We carried nothing but what we wore and our phones and iPods. I'm sure their climb was more difficult and they probably didn't view it as fun.

The first stair, which is spiral but rectilinear, is somewhat tight. I guess two people could pass by each other barely, which I suppose is why the masons back in the 1400s had two stairs for going up and two for coming down. Just like the more encumbered masons, we would also only use this first stair for ascending and end up coming down on the south side of the building. At the top of this stair, you emerge into one of the four half dome structures which sit at the corners of the dome's drum. You can see two of these structures in the photograph at the top of this post. This allows you some time to breathe in a less confined space, in addition to catching your breath if you need it, before starting up the next stair.

The next stair (shown above) is tighter and is a true spiral. There's no way two people could pass on this thing and climbing it is more difficult than the first stair. It's steeper and there are no handrails on either side so "hanging on" just involves touching the outside or inside of the stair walls. This stair takes you from the half dome shaped structures at the corners of the dome to the gallery at the base of the dome, which is located above the windows situated all around the drum of the dome. It's a shorter climb than the first which is good. While the first stair also had no handrails, at least it was a little bigger. For the record, St. Paul's has handrails. Just saying…

I have no idea what possesses people to do stuff like this, but on the walls of the two stairs are innumerable writings by people bound and determined to make their mark in Sharpie or whatever else they brought to write with on what is Florence's most prized monument. There are plenty of signs on the way up and down asking people not to do this but I suppose most of this is premeditated rather than an on-the-spot idea. We even found some at the top of the dome which were really recent, including some made by some Americans. While I seem by and large to have selected pictures without graffiti for this post, trust me it's there. I was disgusted with the whole thing. Just a rant, I know.

The next step on your journey to the top involves making your way around a very tight cantilevered balcony just at the interior base of the dome. From here you can get an up close and personal look at the frescoes on the interior of the dome, including the huge number of demonic figures that seem to be assaulting the human figures towards the top of the dome. The humans appear to be winning.

Walking around the balcony is a little freaky. You are far above the cathedral floor and it's obvious. There's really no danger of falling off or dropping anything because of the six foot or so high plexiglass barrier on your right but it's a little unnerving just the same. I really felt like I was on a walkway just tacked onto the interior of the cathedral wall and it sort of felt a little flimsy. And you can't move with any urgency unless you are the first in line or the people ahead of you are motivated to move fast. The folks in front of us were not, despite the signs on the barrier in six languages telling us to "keep going, please." There's only so much I can stare up at a painting of humans and demons fighting, especially when I feel like I'm standing on a walkway about to drop a hundred feet or more to the cathedral floor below. Keep going, PLEASE!!!

Once you finally get off the somewhat scary catwalk, then you start climbing up through the dome itself. The dome of Santa Maria del Fiore is actually two domes, one inside the other. One dome projects the correct height from the exterior of the building; the other maintains a pleasing proportion when viewed from the interior of the cathedral. It's exactly the same philosophy as at St. Paul's in London essentially because Wren stole the idea from Brunelleschi.

The climbing experience between the two cathedrals is completely different. The double domes at St. Paul's have a ton of space between them. Enough even to place a series of metal spiral stairs between the two to get access to the top. Santa Maria del Fiore has no such space. In fact the place is downright tight. The stair which wraps around the form of the interior dome is no wider than the first stair you climb up from the floor of the church. If I wanted to, I could have spread my arms and touched both the exterior of the inner dome and the interior of the outer dome at the same time.

The mood and lighting of the two climbs is also way different. St. Paul's is well lit and the interior surfaces are painted white, which allows for good visibility. Not so at Santa Maria del Fiore. Here the brick and stone are left their natural color and the light in the stairs is provided by some spotty, really old looking lighting fixtures and small portholes in the dome itself, allowing a little (and I do mean little) natural light to enter the space. 

The object of the two climbs is the same, however. Get up the stairs and whatever else there is to climb, fit through the openings no matter how tight and get to the top and see the view. The narrow stair after the interior balcony takes you around the dome until you get to a spot where you reach the end of that stair and see before you another hewn into the outside of the interior dome itself going almost straight up. This is pretty much the final climb.

Stay between the handrails, hold on, watch your back and the almost vertical stair will get you to a spot with a steep ladder leading to a hatch. The final last few steps before you get to the top and some real views and fresh air. I'd heard and read the climb to the top of the duomo was claustrophobic and if you had any sort of nervousness about tight spaces then you should probably stay on the ground. I didn't get any of this on the climb up. Sure the stairs were tight but it wasn't as small as I'd led myself to believe and I wouldn't have missed this trip for anything.

There are two other things to note about climbing and descending the dome. First, on the way up and down, you pass a series of windows in almost every stair, small openings that give you cool glimpses of the city of Florence. It's almost impossible for a first time visitor to understand where you are facing at any given time but every so often you'll spot something you recognize. These windows are completely open with a wire mesh screen over them so they also let in some welcome fresh air.

Secondly, the climb from the base of the dome to the top and back down again will be more crowded depending on the time of day you choose to visit. That's because the way up from the base of the dome is also the way down, meaning that tight stair that you thought wasn't so claustrophobic now needs to accommodate two people passing each other. We didn't notice this on our way up because there was nobody coming down first thing in the morning; we noticed on the way down. 

So you have climbed the rectilinear spiral stair, the circular spiral stair, the stair that wraps the dome, the stair which goes straight up the dome and the last ladder to the hatch at the top. Finally, you are standing on top of Brunelleschi's dome.

On a clear day (and the day we were there was relatively clear), you can see a pretty good distance all the way to the Tuscan hill towns that surround the city. You can take in the Campanile at the front of the Cathedral, the Palazzo Vecchio to the south, the Arno River and the church of San Miniato al Monte across the river to the southwest. Just like St. Paul's, it's the perfect spot to take in the city since the cathedral is right in the middle of everything. The only thing you can't see well from up there is the duomo itself.

The space at the top of the dome is remarkably large which I didn't expect. It can fit way more people up there than the top of St. Paul's, which is essentially a walkway which can accommodate two or maybe three people deep. There are even benches to sit on and you can actually get six feet or maybe more away from the exterior rail to snap some amazing pictures of your favorite people standing in front of the city of Florence. It's worth the climb, just like it was in England last September.

Looking east from the top of Santa Maria del Fiore.

Checking out the tiles and one rib, looking down towards the Hotel Duomo.

For some reason I can't explain, I have this compunction to climb as high as possible in every building I visit. For most cathedrals, standing right on top of the dome would satisfy this yen. But at the top of Santa Maria del Fiore there's an extra tease.

You see, the floor that you are standing on when you first climb out of the floor hatch is not the topmost point of the building. That point is maybe another 30 feet up and is accessed by a ladder behind a locked gate right near the point where you come out of the building to get as high as I got this past April. If only I had that key… 

The gate to the ladder to the very top.

Wren's Dome

On Sunday night, September 2, 1666, a small fire started at the bakery of Thomas Farriner on Pudding Lane in London. Three nights later, the fire had consumed most of the city within London's old Roman wall and a small portion beyond the wall to the west. While there were relatively few deaths in what became known later as the Great Fire, the blaze destroyed more than 13,000 houses, almost 100 churches and a number of large public buildings in the city. Like most major fires in cities throughout history (Chicago comes to mind most notably in the United States), the event caused sweeping changes in building construction and firefighting policies to be implemented immediately.

Of all the buildings destroyed in the Great Fire, one of the most important was the old St. Paul's Cathedral, the largest church with the tallest spire in the city. The Cathedral, which had stood for more than five centuries at the time of the Great Fire, was not only a place for people to worship; it was literally a fixture on the London skyline. The task of recreating St. Paul's Cathedral would be a significant post-fire priority. The city and the church turned to Sir Christopher Wren, England's pre-eminent architect at the time, to take on the task of designing and overseeing the construction of the Cathedral. While the undertaking was not without design and construction obstacles, the importance of the effort clearly shows. In Cathedral terms, the construction was astonishingly fast; it was consecrated in 1697, a mere 31 years after the fire.

One of the greatest challenges for Wren was designing a building way taller than any other in the city while also maintaining a correctly proportioned interior, most importantly at the Cathedral's crossing, which was to be located beneath a massive dome. This was not a new idea for architects during the Renaissance. For centuries in Europe, man had been trying to build taller and taller churches. During the middle ages, the Gothic cathedrals throughout the continent stretched the limits of stone construction and the rudimentary understanding of structural principles decade after decade to reach closer to heaven. Generally speaking, the builders of these cathedrals were concerned only with height and not with the experience for the people on the inside; the task was about building close to God, not building correctly proportioned interior spaces.

But during the Renaissance, the discussion shifted. Now all of a sudden the conversation was about every aspect of design, and the architects of the world, who were slowly developing their craft into a profession, were now very concerned that the crossings of most Gothic cathedrals were just too tall. Filippo Brunelleschi had solved this problem in the design of the cathedral in Florence, Italy in the 1400s by creating two domes: one inside the church that could be viewed from below at a correct height and one to create the exterior form of the building. Michelangelo borrowed the same idea in the design of St. Peter's Basilica in Rome in the following century. Operating on the time tested tradition within architecture of borrowing other people's ideas, Wren followed suit with the design of St. Paul's: the building has a magnificent outer dome which is visible from throughout London and an interior dome which is suitable to the interior building proportions favored by Wren. Between the two is a cone of brick, which is really holding the whole thing up.

Now I'm not usually a sucker for visiting old buildings. My primary historical interest in architecture is the work of the pre-Modernists, architects struggling to develop a new language of architecture appropriate to the new materials and technologies arising from the industrial revolution at the end of the nineteenth century. One of my objections to classical architecture is the concealing of the building's structure with cladding more pleasing to the eye; I'd rather see the columns and beams which are holding up the building rather than covering it up with ornament. This is a concept that the pre-Modernists wrestled with and you can see it in their work, which is one of the reasons I find that stuff so appealing. Wren, of course, being a Renaissance architect, covered all the building structure in St. Paul's. But you can still see the structure of the dome, if you are willing to work for it. Which is why I visited.

I have to admit, when I first started looking into creating an itinerary for my England trip, I initially balked at the £15 (or about $25) admission fee to St. Paul's. Yes, I had already paid a similar price to visit the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona earlier this year. But the Sagrada Familia is a masterpiece of pre-Modern architecture; St. Paul's is a seventeenth century classical-by-the-book church and not exactly my cup of tea (if you will excuse the expression). The admission price I was thinking about not paying, by the way, was a discounted advance purchase price; tack on an extra £1.50 when purchased on site! It just seemed to all be a bit too much. 

But ultimately the pull of Wren's dome was just too much to resist for two reasons. First, the admission price fell into my "I've come all this way and spent all this money just to get here, I may as well fork over a couple of more dollars" logic that I find myself using all too often lately to convince myself to part with a little more money than I really want to on vacation. Although I find my own logic sound on this point. And secondly, and I'd like to think more importantly, you can go up into the dome. I'm a bit of a sucker for going up high buildings and seeing the places I visit from a different perspective. Knowing I could go check out the hidden structure between the interior and exterior shells, which I know I would find truly beautiful, proved too irresistible. 

The trip to the top of St. Paul's dome seems like an easy one from the ground. The brochure you pick up with your admission price shows a great sectional view of the dome (above) with the number of steps to each level of the dome listed: 257 steps followed by 119 steps followed by 152 steps. 528 steps in all covering a vertical rise of 85 meters or about 279 feet. So at about a little before 4 pm on Tuesday, September 2, I made my way to the southwest corner of the Cathedral's crossing and entered the staircase hidden within the column at that location and started to climb.

The stairs to the Whispering Gallery.

The first 257 steps in the climb take you almost one third of the total height of the dome to the Whispering Gallery, so named because you can allegedly whisper on one side of the dome and have it be clearly audible on the opposite side. Given the number of fellow tourists in the gallery at the same time I was there, I was unfortunately unable to test if this was true. I suppose if I wanted to validate this claim, I'd get there when St. Paul's opens and rush up to the gallery before anyone else could get there. Maybe next time.

The Whispering Gallery is about half the distance to the top of the interior dome. From here you can see in more detail the paintings, including the many many saints, on the curves of the dome which are considerably closer in the Gallery than they are from the Cathedral floor. The steps that you climb to the Whispering Gallery (shown above) are spiral, like the rest of the stairs all the way to the top of the dome, and fairly wide. Wide enough even to accommodate two people going up passing two people going down. There is plenty of room and the climb seems pretty easy, although by the time you get to about step number 250, you start to feel the burden of sitting all day in an office, despite having walked yourself almost to death in the previous couple of days of vacation. I was glad for a few minutes rest before considering resuming the trek higher.

Before I continue, I should point out that photography in St. Paul's is forbidden. Yes, I took some pictures anyway. I figured they can't possibly want to restrict people from taking pictures of the insides of the stairs to the dome. That's really only fun to people like me, right? Besides, how would I write about my climb to the top without a few pics. If I've erred in judgment here, the Cathedral can probably figure out where to find me. 

The stairs to the Stone Gallery.

The next stop on the climb up St. Paul's dome is the Stone Gallery, 376 steps total and 53 meters total above ground level. The Stone Gallery is the exterior platform just below the base of the outer dome and it affords some nice views of London when you peak through the stone balustrade that runs about six feet high all around the perimeter of the Gallery. St. Paul's is truly one of the best places in the city to see the rest of London from an elevated viewpoint. It's really right in the middle of the old city and you can see pretty much everything. If only we could get rid of that pesky balustrade.

The stairs to the Stone Gallery are not like those from the Cathedral's floor to the Whispering Gallery; they are noticeably tighter. There's no two way traffic on these things. There is actually an "up" stair and a "down" stair leading to and from the Stone Gallery. There's room enough for a fairly large sized man (i.e. me) to get up or down but not much more. And there are resting spots for those folks who cannot take all 119 steps without stopping, allowing others to pass while catching some breath. Thankfully I'm not in bad enough shape yet to have needed any rest but the stair is challenging. As you go higher in the building, the rise of the steps increases. Each set of stairs gets more difficult.

The view through the Stone Gallery balustrade to the Shard.

The Stone Gallery is nice. I know nice is not a great word but that about sums it up. It's got a decent view and it's refreshing to get a breath of fresh air after being inside the centuries old church. But the fun part lies just ahead: the final climb to the Golden Gallery. Not only do you get the biggest payoff for your efforts in the form of panoramic views of London, you also get to check out the hidden structure between the domes while climbing past and in between it. This stuff is truly interesting from here on out.

The difference between this portion of the climb and the previous two sets of stairs is immediately obvious as soon as you step inside from the Stone Gallery. You are no longer climbing a spiral staircase with stone steps built within stone walls. Instead, you are ascending a series of metal stairs suspended between the structural brick cone and the inner face of the exterior dome, all of which is painted white. Looking up, you can see a spiral staircase system winding its way up and over as the curve of the outer dome forces you towards the center of the building. You can also hear the shoe-on-metal clanking of others climbing ahead of you echoing in the dome chamber. Only 152 more steps to go from here.

The metal spiral staircase from the Stone Gallery to the Golden Gallery.

The perforated ribs of the structural dome.

The structure is fascinating. The structural brick cone is your floor so to speak. It's solid and forms a surface by which to measure your climb. Between the brick and the exterior dome are a series of horizontal curved ribs to support the outside of the building, with cutouts both to allow passage of the stair you are climbing but also to decrease the weight of the structure (Wren knew what he was doing). The views you get as you climb are constantly changing as the space gets tighter and tighter. It's really sort of cool, I would think even if you are not an architect.

Eventually, you run out of dome and you start climbing into the cupola, which includes the outdoor Golden Gallery, and the stairs start getting really tight. The last half dozen or so stairs are no longer the metal spiral stairs but are instead hewn out of stone, much like the stairs to the Whispering Gallery or the Stone Gallery. Except tighter. Like way way tighter. I had difficulty fitting through here. My shoulders were just about touching the side walls and I actually managed to bump my head on the arch of the final opening before eventually emerging into the inside of the dome's cupola. Be careful here. It's a tight squeeze, but the sense of accomplishment you get in finally reaching the top is a good one.

The final staircase. The Golden Gallery awaits!

There is a small room within the cupola that by comparison to the last stairs seems enormous. There are some stairs leading further up which are closed to the public (totally jealous) and a door opening to the exterior Golden Gallery which is the ultimate view of London. Stepping through the doorway to the outside, you can see central London in an extraordinary way; there is absolutely nothing to obstruct your view of the city and you are right smack dab in the middle of everything. You are even able to take in some spectacular views of St. Paul's itself. But be prepared: the Golden Gallery is small and it is likely to be packed full of people. Hold on to your camera.

Getting to the top of St. Paul's is a bit of a chore, but exploring the innards of the dome and looking out over the entire city are well worth it. I did this once before in 1997 but I am sure the day was not as beautiful and I know the company was nowhere near as good. I'm not sure I'd do this every time I visited London but once every 14 years or so I think is OK. It's amazing how much a city changes in that time. I hope London is as gorgeous 300 years from now when St. Paul's is twice as old.

Looking down on St. Paul's from the Golden Gallery.

The ultimate payoff: looking south from St. Paul's over the Thames to the Millennium Bridge and the Tate Modern.