Paul's Cathedral was doomed to destruction.
Threatened on one side by the flames devastating Cheapside, and
on the other from those creeping steadily up from Blackfriars to
this great centre, it was now impossible to save the venerable
church, which Evelyn terms "one of the most ancient pieces of
early Christian piety in the world." Seen by this fierce light,
and overhung by a crimson sky, every curve of its dark outline,
every stone of its pillars and abutments, every column of its
incomparable portico, stood clearly defined, so that never had it
looked so stately and magnificent, so vast and majestic, as now
when beheld for the last time.
Too speedily the fire advanced, watched by sorrowful eyes; but
even before it had reached the scaffolding now surrounding the
building, the vaulted roof, ignited by showers of sparks, burst
into flames. Then followed a scene unspeakably grand, yet
melancholy beyond all telling. In a few moments a pale yellow
light had crept along the parapets, sending faint clouds of smoke
upwards, as if more forcibly marking the course of destruction.
Then came the crackling, hissing sounds of timber yielding to the
fire, and soon a great sheet of lead which covered the roof, and
was said to measure six acres, melting by degrees, down came on
every side a terrible rain of liquid fire that seamed and burned
the ground, and carried destruction with it in its swift course
towards the Thames.
And now, by reason of the fearful heat, great projections of
Portland stone, cornices, and capitals of columns, flew off
before the fire had time to reach them.
Pages:
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262