London

St. Paul's.

Si quaeris monumentum, circumspice.

No epitaph more noble and impressive can have possibly been conceived

than the simple Latin inscription placed upon the modest tomb of

Christopher Wren: "If ye seek my monument, look around." When building

this magnificent structure, the great architect was preparing a glorious

sepulchre to receive his remains. Some thirty-five years it took Wren to

realise this great achievement--an achievement the more astounding when

we learn that he was actively engaged throughout the whole time in the

planning and personal superintendence of some thirty churches in London,

no two of which are alike. Daily he walked around jotting down a sketch

of the next detail to be worked upon, deciding, as the work progressed,

and maturing his plans, throwing out one day a course, another day

realising an idea that had just occurred to him. Thus the fabric rose

higher day by day, month by month, year by year. He adhered to no

carefully prepared plans; he entrusted nothing to his subordinates; he

hugged the entire responsibility. They did not know what phase of work

the morrow would bring. On the day each workman would receive a rough

section and plan jotted down on the spot, accompanied with verbal

instructions. If, even when finished according to his directions, Wren

was dissatisfied with this gem of his brain, down it had to come, to be

substituted by some other improved idea. Of course Wren had in the first

place to submit plans for the proposed cathedral. It is not likely that

any committee would engage in anything so important blindfolded. But

these plans only formed the shell on which to peg any new suggestions

that might crop up in the progress of the work, very much after the

fashion of a plastic sketch submitted by the sculptor to a committee,

who look wise and generally make foolish comments. The sketch is merely

an indication of what is to come after, and is intended as some

guarantee. Without this no conscientious committee would commit

themselves to any agreement. They control the expenditure of the public

subscriptions. If the finished work does not come up to the promised

standard of excellence, the committee can fall back upon the sketch and

get exonerated of all culpable blame. The artist gets the abuse for the

failure or departure from the original. When such necessarily rough

sketches are faithfully carried out, they often are failures; for what

look well in a rough sketch often become serious blemishes in the

completed work. The true artist is never satisfied--that is, that

extraordinary being who has a greater love for art than for mere

coin--and will alter and improve upon his original design at every

suggestion (and they crowd thick upon him) that makes itself manifest,

with a total disregard to his own pocket and that punctuality so

essential to the successful city man. He has got his ideal, and he is

determined to reach it if he has to go through a brick wall.

Very much in the same way, we may be sure, Wren was actuated. His pay

was no inducement. He received only L200 a year throughout the whole

time of building, and then at one time a certain portion of this

miserable pittance was withheld by order of Parliament, because his

detractors accused him of delaying the final completion of the work from

corrupt motives. Wren's clerk of the works, by name Nicholas Hawksmoor,

who afterwards became famous as the builder of several London churches,

was paid only twenty pence a day. Tijou, his ironworker, and Grinling

Gibbons, the famous carver in wood, were all actuated by the same ideal

when they helped to give expression to their master's genius. However,

in one or two particulars, which will be mentioned later on, Wren's

superior judgment was overruled by his committee. Much to his intense

and lasting mortification they carried the day and stamped themselves as

incompetent judges. This process of realisation, this seeking after an

ideal, sometimes led Wren into strange architectural difficulties, only

to be overcome in a masterly way. By discovering these little

inconsistencies, the architect's skilfulness in taking advantage of

accidents, in turning what appeared an irremediable blunder into a great

success, shows what a complete understanding he had in that great branch

of art--architecture--and endorses more than ever the great position he

will always be accorded.

An example will serve to illustrate his ingenuity.

How many people, when climbing up the stairs that lead to the whispering

gallery and elsewhere, have ever noticed any peculiarity about them? Yet

there is one. When first they were being built each step was meant to be

of the same height, but as they mounted higher, Wren suddenly discovered

that the top one would be an ugly tall one to ascend. To avoid this

meant one of two things, either to demolish what had already been

completed and start afresh, or to turn this accident to good account.

The latter alternative was chosen. By gradually reducing the height of

the remaining steps, he contrived to overcome the difficulty so

successfully that he has tricked the eye and foot, so slight is the

difference of each tread. They appear to be equidistant as the ones

lower down, and the illusion can only be dispelled by measurement.

If any one is observant on reaching the top of Ludgate Hill, one

peculiarity of the great building will strike him. It is that the great

west facade does not squarely face Ludgate Hill, but bears considerably

to the right. In fact its axis does not run due east and west.

On the advancement of Wren to be principal architect, he was not only

commissioned to erect the Cathedral, but was to rebuild the city. His

scheme was very thorough. It comprised the widening of the streets; the

complete insulation of all important churches; the public buildings were

to have good frontages; and the halls of the City Guilds were to form a

quadrangle around the Guildhall. To carry these improvements into

effect, Government issued orders that none except Wren's rebuilding

would be recognised. Unfortunately much valuable time was wasted in an

attempt at the restoration of the old cathedral, insisted upon by the

committee, against Wren's wishes, and it was only when a portion of the

nave fell down that Dean Sancroft was able to obtain the consent of the

committee to raze the old walls to the ground and to allow Wren to build

from the very foundations. The delay of this decision had in the

meanwhile given opportunity to individuals to erect buildings much as

they pleased upon their own properties in spite of Government

prohibition, with the result that to a great extent streets and

boundaries, which existed before the Great Fire, were reproduced. It

also caused the loss of a far more spacious frontage than now exists,

which we may be sure formed an important item in Wren's design for the

Cathedral. The architect, however, by receding the west front from the

old site now occupied by the statue of Queen Ann, has cleverly spaced

out a noble frontage. Another consideration that determined Wren to

alter the axis of the Cathedral was his great aversion to utilising the

old foundations. His great ambition was to strike out for himself and to

be dependent on no one else's work. In order to realise this he laid the

axis of the new work to a point farther north of that of the old

cathedral, and the plan by this projection has in a marvellous way

covered practically the same ground, whilst at the same time Wren

managed to secure fresh ground for his foundations almost throughout the

whole church. The plan of St. Paul's is a Latin cross, and is based upon

classical lines. The principal front, the west, is composed of a double

portico of Corinthian fluted pillars, with two flights of steps leading

down to the road-level. In fact the entire body of the ground floor is

above the elevation of the street. Overhead is a large pediment, with

its panel sculptured in high relief. On either side the west front is

flanked by a campanile tower, composed at the summit of grouped circular

pillars. Just inside, on the left, is the Morning Chapel, whilst

straight on the opposite side lies the Chapel of the Order of St.

Michael and St. George. Proceeding eastwards, the nave is flanked by

three massive and imposing arches. Then comes the dome or cupola, rising

to a height of 365 feet, or 404 feet to the top of the cross. Viewed

from the interior the inner dome is 225 feet, and rests at the

intersection of the cross. The transepts are carried one arch to the

north and one to the south, each of which are bound by semi-circular

rows of Corinthian pillars.

Continuing again towards the east, a couple of steps mark the

commencement of the choir leading from the dome, and is carried forward

by three arches on either side. Behind the altar the colossal building

terminates in the apsidal Chapel of Jesus. Throughout the entire length

and breadth of the building is the crypt below. There under the choir,

the nearest to the south wall in the crypt chapel, is the modest slab

that covers the remains of the great architect of the grand edifice.

Next to him lies the body of Lord Leighton, the greatest president the

Royal Academy has ever had. Just in the one corner are buried some of

the most eminent of England's painters, sculptors, and musicians. Those

more generally known are Sir Joshua Reynolds, the first president of the

Royal Academy; Benjamin West, who succeeded him in office; Sir Thomas

Lawrence, who next filled it, and Sir John Millais, who held the dignity

only a few months after Leighton's death. The remains of J. M. W.

Turner, James Barry, John Foley, Sir Edwin Landseer, and Sir Arthur

Sullivan, musician, who are also some of the many great builders of art,

have all been accorded a little plot of ground close to their very great

brother-artist and predecessor, Sir Christopher Wren. In the centre of

the crypt, or rather right underneath the dome, is a noble mausoleum

containing the body of England's greatest admiral, Viscount Horatio

Nelson, whilst just close to him between the crypt chapel and the dome

is the massive sarcophagus of granite, encased in which is the body of

the Duke of Wellington. The monument of this hero of Waterloo is the

chief feature of the plastic art that attracts the visitor on looking up

the nave. It is the great artistic expression of Stevens, the sculptor,

and dwarfs all other monuments in its immediate neighbourhood. We would

like to enumerate the names of all the great men that lie in the mighty

shadow of St. Paul's, and pay some tribute to the many artists who have,

through their monuments, endeavoured their best to honour the memories

of those who have so worthily upheld the traditions of the great empire;

but any such attempt we feel we must relinquish, and devote all the

space we can to Wren's work and to that of his predecessors.

The wonderful wood-carving of the choir stall, and especially the

remarkable realistic floral designs of the Bishop's throne, were

executed by Grinling Gibbons, who lived between 1648 and 1720. He was

born at Rotterdam, and as a youth came over to England, and was

discovered by Evelyn, the diarist. So astonished was Evelyn by the

genius of Gibbons, who had just carved in wood a copy of Tintoretto's

"Crucifixion," that he introduced him to Wren, Pepys, and the King. With

such powerful friends and his marvellous talent he soon became the most

famous carver of his age. In viewing the great edifice one cannot help

thinking from whence came the money which enabled Wren to carry on the

work. With the exception of the Tillingham farm there were no

endowments, and people were, after the fire, far from being generous

donors. As funds were absolutely necessary, royal warrants were issued

to authorise the building committee to borrow on the security of the

coal and wine taxes. As the remuneration of Wren, Grinling Gibbons, and

Tijou was nothing to speak of, we may take it that practically the whole

of the proceeds was sunk in the materials and the workmen's wages.

Throughout the whole time of building Wren was harassed by petty

annoyances on the part of the committee, who interfered in small matters

of technical and artistic knowledge which lay quite beyond their

province. Against the architect's will they insisted upon the erection

of the heavy iron railings which fence in the Cathedral and mar the

beautiful gradations of lines from the lowest step of the transept

entrances to the summit of the dome's cross. This only serves as one of

many such instances. Finally, Wren's persecutors went so far as to

suspend his patent in the year 1718, being the forty-ninth of his

office and the eighty-sixth of his age, and William Benson was appointed

to succeed him.

This abrupt dismissal entirely upset any plan of internal decoration

which Wren might have been thinking of, though it is supposed he had

proposed to enrich and beautify St. Paul's with a scheme of colour

composed of marble and mosaic work with gold and paintings. With the

exception of the frescoes in the dome by Sir James Thornhill, nothing of

importance was done for fifty years after Wren's death. A proposal to

contribute a number of paintings from Sir Joshua Reynolds and the

members of the Royal Academy was negatived by Dr. Terrick, who was

Bishop of London at that time. In 1891 W. B. Richmond, A.R.A., was

commissioned to decorate the choir and the dome with mosaic work, it

being considered the most suitable material on account of the brilliancy

of its surface, and the easiest to clean without risk of injury to the

work. Sir William Richmond, K.C.B. (as he has since been created),

decided to depart from modern methods in favour of the ancient way of

embedding in cement cubes, so chosen and disposed to suit the various

shades of his subjects. They represent various incidents taken from the

Bible, treated most skilfully, as one would naturally expect from such

a talented artist.

The difficulties of such an undertaking, restricted within certain

limits as it must be by the nature of the material, together with the

many attendant side-issues of which the outside public have not the

faintest idea, can only be known to the artist himself, and perhaps to

some of his _confreres_.

In course of erection is the gilt iron balustrade upon the cornice that

runs round the church in continuation of that commenced by Wren at the

west end. This is the gift of Mr. Somers Clarke. He has also designed

the fittings for the installation of the electric light, which is the

generous presentation of Mr. Pierpont Morgan.

In conclusion, we cannot help recalling the incident that cheered the

closing years of Wren. Once every year the aged artist came from his

retirement at Hampton Court to London, to spend the day seated beneath

the great dome, happy to view the creation of his great intellect,

though possibly disturbed now and then by a little grain of discontent:

how much better he could do it now, if only he had youth and

opportunity--a worry that only assails the true artist.

In the natural sequence of dates we ought to have opened this account

with the earlier foundations. This we purposely disregarded, and

introduced the reader straightway to the most beautiful and impressive

building of St. Paul's that the site has ever had, leaving the others to

be dealt with until now.

The earliest known house for religious observance on the site of the

present cathedral was a temple. In accordance with the usual practice of

early founders, it is not surprising to find that the site selected for

it was upon the highest spot of ground in the city. If we follow the

accounts of old London, it would have been folly for the Romans to have

erected an important building like a temple upon a lower level, which

might have got swamped by an unusual rising of the tidal Thames. Apart

from such consideration, it was not the Roman custom to debase, but

rather to elevate as high as possible, any object they held in great

reverence. It would form also a convenient centre to rally round in

defence of any attack. In all accounts of the site of St. Paul's the

writers have plenty to say about the three churches, but seldom, if

ever, allude to the temple erected by the Romans.

This is the more curious when etymologists have endeavoured to explain

the affinity of Christian symbols to those of heathenism, showing how it

was clearly impossible, and hardly to be expected, that pagan customs

should be suddenly arrested and completely abolished, and an entire set

of new observances introduced expressly for the new faith--Christianity.

Such a sudden change could not, they contend, be thrust upon a people

brought up to revere the old heathen deities and observe customs

rendered sacred through superstition and countless ages. They required a

gradual weaning, and this, so they say, was done by christianising the

pagan symbols derived from nature-worship and adapting them to meet the

requirements of the new faith,--symbols which, in course of time, became

so clothed that their original significance was lost sight of.

It would greatly astonish all devout Christians to learn that the many

objects they look up to with sacred awe and wonder of mystery, the

inverted triangles which often form an ornament in church windows, the

facing towards the east, even the derivation of the very nave they may

happen to be in, with a variety of other symbols, existed long before

Christianity was ever thought of. It may also be a little disturbing to

learn that, quite unintentionally, they are indirectly paying respect to

many of the most heathen observances cloaked under the garb of Christian

religion. It is far from our intention to advocate a return to pagan

darkness, but if this be really true, surely there is a very close

connection between the temple and the Christian church. For this very

reason, and the more so in that certain lines of their argument are not

to be refuted, we would accord a greater importance than has been

hitherto done to the Roman temple that undoubtedly first stood on the

prominent piece of land in the London of those days. We do not mean to

say that at the time this temple was erected to Diana the sufferings and

crucifixion of Our Lord had not already borne fruit, but the very

existence of the temple clearly indicates that in London, at any rate,

the new faith was very much in its infancy, if it existed at all. But

the demolition of the temple, to make room for the first Christian

church, which was in turn destroyed in 302 during the Diocletian

persecution, clearly gives evidence that there must have been growing

indications of the presence of converts and missionaries which led to

the erection of the latter from the ruins of the former.

A matter of twenty years later, in the reign of Constantine, the church

was rebuilt, and completed by 337. What the shape of the first one was

can only be conjectured. It would most probably be based upon the

temple. The second was undoubtedly Romanesque, if we can rely upon the

dates of its rebuilding. They fall conveniently between 306 and 337, a

period of marvellous development of ecclesiastical architecture based

upon classical remains, which the favourable attitude of Constantine

towards Christianity encouraged. Converts in Rome had increased to such

numbers that it was felt that some covered-in space was essential to

protect the congregation against the sun's hot rays and inclement

weather, the more especially as such a building, far from attracting

hostile attention, would serve to the furtherance of Christianity. The

form it took was the conversion of the basilica. As anything that came

from Rome was looked upon as a correct thing to copy, it is not

surprising to learn that travelling merchants and missionaries were able

to control the taste of the cities they passed through. In this way each

country adopted the basilica, though in many features they differed from

each other, consequent on customs, surroundings, and climatic

conditions. However, about the year 597, the pagan Saxons appear to have

destroyed the church. We come then to the first church of St. Paul's of

which we have authentic record. It was built by Ethelbert, King of Kent,

in 607. He had first to obtain the sanction of Sebert, who claimed

London as being in his dominion of the East Angles. To this see

Mellitus was appointed as the first bishop. He was one of the forty

monks who had accompanied Augustine in 597 to help to carry out Pope

Gregory the Great's scheme, which was to divide England into two

provinces with metropolitans of equal dignity at London and York, with

twelve suffragans to each. Since then London's see has become third,

ranking next to York. In the course of four hundred and eighty years,

607-1087, no doubt Ethelbert's church underwent considerable alteration,

probably commencing with a very humble building, perhaps chiefly of

wood, and as portions got out of repair such characteristics of stone

buildings, as learnt from travellers returning from Italy, were

introduced, thus gradually transforming the Saxon church to architecture

"in the Roman way." For after the departure of the Romans the Britons at

first appear to have returned to primitive methods of architecture. It

is only as time progressed that they gradually became initiated, through

the visits of travellers, into the working of stone, which, after the

arrival of the Normans, came into more general practice.

[Illustration: LONDON