ASHBURNHAM HOUSE--THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT, ETC.
Passing from Dean’s Yard, through a Gothic arch which leads through the
Canons’ houses, we find ourselves in a large court, round which run the
old buildings of the Westminster School and its familiar dormitory.
Facing the school is a low building, within an inclosure, known as
Ashburnham House, an old Tudor structure of much interest, which a few
years ago was in serious peril. The valuable ground was coveted, and it
was proposed to level it and erect large modern buildings in its stead.
Happily public interest was aroused, pictures and sketches appeared in
the illustrated papers, and the plan was arrested. The interest lay in
the beautiful and elegant design of its interior, which though of modest
scale is so exquisitely laid out and designed as to suggest an air of
spaciousness. There is no doubt that it is the work of Inigo Jones, who
is also credited with having designed the older dormitory of the school.
On entering, a low hall presents itself, with a door facing us, through
which can be seen a glimpse of the old garden behind.
Standing in the airy hall, which though of small size yet appears
spacious, and is panelled round with delicately indicated mouldings, we
see on the left a low arch over a slightly inclined stair of three or
four steps, and beyond which the regular stair with its balustrade is
seen. This of itself offers a highly original effect. The staircase
itself has the most gentle ascent. The walls, generally white, are
broken up by delicate mouldings and pilasters crowned at the top by an
oval lantern of elegant shape, and there is a general architectural
effect produced of the most pleasing kind. Neither is there anything
elaborate, nor are the surfaces too much loaded. We feel that the
groundwork is panelling, and therefore only suited to the lightest
treatment. With the mouldings are combined stucco tracery of the best
school.
In the same spirit are the two beautifully proportioned rooms treated,
door cases presenting rich borderings and the ceilings rich
embroideries of stucco. Even the shape of the windows is worthy of
study, as they let in the proper amount of light, and no more, and are
exactly proportioned.
[Illustration:
The Staircase in
Ashburnham House.
_From a Drawing by_ HERBERT RAILTON.]
The exquisite proportion of the lines, and the general air of space and
room, the rich, elaborate stucco and carving, all displayed in its
proper place, and yet not too rich, will give delight to the trained
architectural mind. One feature is the simple, unadorned panelling
exhibited near the ground, and which contrasts with the decoration on
the higher portions. The rich swelling stucco border of the oval lantern
at once recalls that of the room in the Barbers’ Hall, which is
confessedly from the same hand. The whole is really a gem, and again
suggests the strange failing of modern architects, who, in our day, seem
to neglect the laws of classical proportion which lent such a grace to
works of architecture at so late a period as one hundred years ago. As
for stucco, it seems hopeless to look for any comprehension of its
principle. The latest elaborate expression is seen on the ceilings of
the new Constitutional Club, which offers a mass of heavy details,
suggesting such contours as the familiar “porridge” assumes on cooling.
The charming way in which the few remaining rooms--all that are
left--open off the landing, is another of the attractions of this gem,
about whose future one feels a little anxious. There is no doubt it is
in a precarious state, if not rickety, and is unsuited for the
requirements of the school which is carried on there. The landing might
be a room itself, so airily is it treated; quite in keeping, too, is the
view from the windows, original in its way, unsuspected perhaps by those
familiar with the ordinary aspect of the old Abbey; for there rises
before us the grim old and much-neglected flank of the fane, with its
mouldering buttresses and decayed windows, which the restorers have,
fortunately, not thought worthy of their attention, as being too retired
to meet the public eye. Some judicious restoring, cleaning, and
repairing might be expended on the old house, which has an air of slight
dilapidation. The present general tone of white certainly adds to the
effect of lightness, and it is questionable whether the effect would be
improved by exposing the old oak panelling.
On passing out at the other end of Dean’s Yard, we find ourselves in a
tranquil, old-fashioned street, College Street. This might be a portion
of a close in an old cathedral, so placid and silent is it; the houses
being of that small, unpretending order in which canons and choristers
might reside. There are carved doorways, there is cheerful red brick,
while a few houses are overgrown from top to bottom with a rich clothing
of greenery. At the end we have a glimpse of the river and barges
passing lazily by. In front stretches the old cobble wall of the Abbey
gardens, full of old trees: the iron-grey walls of the schoolhouse,
capped with the old richly-cut cornice, are seen within, Lord
Burlington’s work--while over all rises the huge and solemn tower, the
great Victoria--offering quite a suggestion of Canterbury Cathedral. In
the wall are little unassuming portals, with the name of a canon or two
inscribed on them, and cart or carriage rarely disturbs the solitude. In
short there is scarcely anything in town more grateful, or more in tone
with the Abbey itself than this little street, or indeed the region in
which it is. Taken with the Cloisters, the old houses and little courts
in the Dean’s Yard, and the School Square and Ashburnham House, all is
perfectly in keeping.
The district round seems to partake of this conventual and retiring
character. Going on a little farther we come to the massive, curious
church which stands in Smith Square, the houses running round being of
an odd, old fashion, unlike anything in London. It might be in a country
town. This quarter, too, is one of those which has a distinct character,
even in its squalor. But it is still pervaded by the ecclesiastical,
cathedral flavour of the Abbey adjoining.
We scarcely expect to find lessons in art among the slums and squalid
streets of Westminster, nor could we hope to light on much in
[Illustration: GARDEN OF ASHBURNHAM HOUSE (_page_ 18)]
[Illustration:
THE
Blewcoat School
Built in the Year
1700
]
the way of antique survival. Yet here we come on at least three
interesting old edifices--almshouses and schools--which in their aspect
and surroundings offer a charming sort of surprise. Passing out of
Victoria Street, where there is much crush and noise at “The Stores,”
and down a small alley, we come to a little gem of its kind, as it will
seem to the true artist, a small charity school, standing in its walled
inclosure. It is of Queen Anne date and pattern, and is no more than a
simple square little hall. But how quaint and varied is it! how
admirably are its surfaces broken! while every side offers a different
pattern. The honest brick is of a fine plum colour; the wall is daintily
divided by pilasters; delicate, unobtrusive cornices run around; the
windows are shaped in proportion, and the four doorways are of such
varied elegance that it is difficult to decide between them. The whole
approach in front, the gateway and its piers, iron work, the flight of
steps, the door itself--all strike one as being the work of a tasteful
artist. Over the door is the pleasantly rococo figure of “The Blew Coat
Boy” in his niche. There is a little garden behind, with steps leading
down, and a sort of _dédendance_ attached, similar in style, but acting
as a kind of foil. There is a charm about the little unpretentious
building that is extraordinary. Unhappily it needs repair and
restoration, though it is not dilapidated. No one, however, seems to
care for it, and a builder has been allowed to construct a sort of
“_lean to shed_” beside it. By-and-by it is likely enough to pass away
and to be swept off so coveted a piece of ground. All who appreciate the
grace and charm of architecture must admire it.
Passing by this interesting structure and walking down a little farther
in the direction of James Street, we come to a bit of almost rural
life--a perfect picture, which few would suspect could be found so close
to the busy haunts of men. This is a group of old almshouses known as
Lady Dacre’s--a large square, covered on three sides by the buildings.
They are exactly of the pattern that would have delighted the late
Frederick Walker, and might be found in the outskirts of some old
country town. In front there is a high railing of good old florid iron,
with a handsome gateway in the middle. Through the rails we can see the
forlorn garden, offering an air of “large desolation” and neglect, with
a look of tranquil abandonment. In the centre there is a low block of
buildings with a quaint cupola, or lantern, rising over a pediment
filled with decayed sculptures. At the side are two pretty little gates
by which you can enter and walk round, and play “the contemplative man,”
past the low doorways, over each of which are faint characters with the
name of a parish. A dim-faced clock gives hoarse and wheezy note of
time; but there is no one to be seen.
Retracing our steps and crossing Victoria Street by “The Stores,” we
pass into Rochester Row. Near the Westminster end we come to a large old
house of a delightful pattern, with vast inclosed gardens or grounds
behind. This is the “Grey Coat” School, with its fine tiled roof,
central block, and wings. Nothing can be better than the rare solid
brick-work and the air of solidity and comfort. Some directing Goths
have, however, erected a barbarous sort of colonnade or passage exactly
before the door of entrance, thus spoiling the effect of the façade.
Everything is in excellent keeping, even to the high substantial wall
round it. But the fair expanse of ground behind is coveted, and already
a slice has been taken off for a large factory.
In front there used to stand, not long since, another group of
almshouses, which the worthy Palmer and Emery Hill, erst citizens of
Westminster, had erected. These were pulled down, and an attempt has
been made to erect something of the same _genre_, but with indifferent
success.
As we survey the so-called improvements of London, the thought often
recurs--how much a little more taste would have beautified the changes!
But we seem helpless in this matter. No one appears to have a conception
of what the requirements or opportunities are of a particular situation.
There is, for instance, a statue of Cœur de Lion, by Marochetti, before
the House of Lords--which is _flamboyant_ enough to be effective--yet
how feebly disposed is it! It seems to shrink, or to be huddled away in
a corner. We have so few equestrian statues, we ought to make the most
display we can with them. Note the poorish pedestal, only a few feet
high. This statue ought to be in the centre of a _place_, on a high
commanding pedestal; and there, would really have effect.
[Illustration:
Emanuel
Hospital
Hume Nisbet
]
People often lament that the old Cathedrals, both in England and abroad,
are so crowded up, and incrusted by mean buildings and streets; but do
they gain when these are cleared away? One of the most picturesque
glimpses of the Abbey is to be obtained from a point _vis-à-vis_ to the
Peers’ entrance, near the equestrian statue. There is a perfect
old-world charm over this little corner, at the end of which the great
arched buttress of the Chapter House--a happy bit of restoration--shows
itself. The air of repose and tranquillity is extraordinary. You would
think you were in an old rural town.
We are so familiar with the great Westminster group of buildings, the
Houses of Parliament and Westminster Hall, that we scarcely can
appreciate the imposing magnificence of the site and disposition. But
foreigners are often struck with astonishment and admiration at the vast
elaborate workmanship and detail; and certainly for a modern work the
Parliament House is singularly successful in the effort to reproduce the
old Gothic. The irregularity and originality of the treatment of the two
towers, the _flèche_, etc., is worthy of all praise. Of course faults
may be detected, and it is said there is a monotony in the repetition of
the panelling, which suggests wood-carving, as though wrought by
machinery. When the plans were discussed it was proposed to raise the
platform on the river side to the full level of the ground in Palace
Square, or rather to that of the Bridge, and this would certainly have
had an imposing effect. But the difficulty was what to do with
Westminster Hall. There was an angry controversy between Pugin and Sir
Charles Barry, and between those who represented them, as to their
respective shares in the design, a point which the impartial spectator
will have little difficulty in deciding. Pugin’s spirit is to be
recognized everywhere and in all the details, and it was impossible that
so pervading an influence should not have its effect in the constructive
portions also. Barry’s other works offer nothing like this--nothing so
free or fanciful. The luxuriance of florid details is indeed
extraordinary, and the lavish profusion of ornament seems to belong to
some gem of a private chapel rather than to the surfaces of so vast a
building. But it is melancholy to note the evidence of decay, and this
delicate tracery, though apparently preserving its shape and form, is
mouldering away. Any “under-cutting” in this climate is doomed. The
_general_ decay of the main stone-work which caused such alarm many
years ago has happily been arrested; a vast quantity of the decayed
material has been cut out and renewed. But there is a constant repair
going on, and little “crow’s nests” are to be always seen crusted round
one or other of the delicate “finials.”
Some palpable mistakes, due to economy, can be detected at once. The
intention of the architect in designing so long and so low a structure
was to relieve it by the two Towers, which were to “carry up” the
eye--like spires. The great Victoria Tower, whose enormous proportions
can only be appreciated when we are close to it, seems as vast and
massive as the Tower of the Town Hall at Ypres--that wonder of the
world. Yet the whole idea of its imposing height has been sacrificed: it
is indeed difficult to believe that it is as high as the dome of St.
Paul’s. As Fergusson says, “the Victoria Tower partly dwarfs the portion
of the building near it. Yet in the original design it was intended to
be six stories in height, which increase would have lessened the sense
of breadth, making it more airy. Unfortunately the architect had the
weakness of often changing his original purpose, consequently the
entrance, instead of being only of the height of two stories of the
building as at first proposed, now runs through and makes the adjacent
House of Lords ridiculous. If the size of the gate is appropriate the
Lords are pigmies. Worse than this, at the back of the great arch is a
little one, one fourth its height, through which everything must pass.
The counterpart of all this is the House, which looks much smaller than
it really is.”
The fact is, that when the Tower was approaching completion the House of
Commons, in a fit of economy, interposed and refused to allow it to be
carried to its proper height. It is now therefore some thirty or forty
feet too short. Its proportions seem clumsy and stinted, and it is
really unpleasant to contemplate. The _flèche_ that rises from the
centre of the building is really beautiful and elegant, covering (which
few would suspect) the great central Hall, and, with these various
towers and spires forms a charming assemblage, to which the Abbey
unhappily does not contribute, for its central tower ought to be
furnished with a _flèche_, or an octagonal lantern, like the one at St.
Ouen at Rouen. Wren, it is known, prepared a design, which however was
laid aside.
As we look up at the Clock Tower, it suggests some curious
recollections--first, associated with the “Big Ben” within, which has
its history. Few may recollect that it was so named after Sir Benjamin
Hall, then Commissioner of Works. Unnoticed too, perhaps, by the
incurious is the fact that “Big Ben” has long been cracked, but has done
his work effectively for years. Yet the hoarse, rather jarring tone
betrays this damage hourly. Forgotten also that it was designed by a
bell amateur, Mr. Becket Denison, and that there was a controversy and
discussion which long raged fiercely about the bell. It could not be
even settled what note it uttered. It is astonishing to think that the
large hand of the clock is over fourteen feet long. From the elaborate
open-work character of the “cap,” or head, of the clock-tower, as well
as from its function of holding a number of bells large and small, for
which there is no room save in the body of the tower itself, it was
intended that the whole should be pierced, and have an airy, open
treatment like a church spire. This was actually the architect’s design,
as will be seen from the slits that run all the way up. These, however,
he was forced to “glaze,” and fill in with windows, which gives the
whole a heavy, clumsy air, instead of a lightness and elegance. The
system of lighting the dials is elaborate, and the cost enormous. There
is quite a fire-chamber behind. Offenders against Parliamentary
discipline have been consigned to the Clock Tower for custody; and, as
may be imagined, the chief portion of their sufferings, night and day,
must have been the alarming booming of the bells, which were quite close
to their ears.
The great embarrassment for the architect of the Houses of Parliament
was Westminster Hall, which stood in the way and seemed really
irreconcilable. If left detached, with a space between it and the new
building, there would be little room for the latter between it and the
river; if combined with it, it was incongruous, being of a totally
different style. The latter course was adopted, and it was turned into a
sort of vestibule or entrance hall to the two Houses. On æsthetic
grounds this was a blunder, for it has lost its significance as a
separate work, and has always been in protest, as it were, against its
degradation. From the outside everyone may conclude that here are two
distinct buildings, yet on entering it is found to be merely a passage
or approach for the other. Barry was so sensible of this that he
determined to hide or screen it altogether, and he left designs for a
building to be carried in front, and which was to go round the whole
yard. There was to be a grand imposing tower, with arched entrance gate
at the corner, facing Parliament Street. This costly scheme was never
carried out, and instead, the Hall has been taken in hand by Mr.
Pearson, fitted with a cloister and buttress, battlements, etc., after
its own style. This of course only imparts a more general discrepancy,
for its general plainness and rudeness of treatment make the details of
the new building appear trivial; while in return their minuteness and
delicacy causes the Westminster Hall to appear yet more rude and rough.
What shall be said of the magnificent interior of the Hall, its unique
open and bewildering roof, a marvel of construction, with its history
and traditions and trials? But it is curious, as we walk through it, to
see how completely the effect has been destroyed. By opening out the end
and adding ascending steps, with a passage beyond, its purpose has been
changed, and the sense of space and size abolished. You merely pass
through it, instead of entering it and staying there. It is no longer a
great chamber. There is a handsome stained glass window seen beyond, of
the style called “Perpendicular,” a portion of which, strange to say, is
cut off by the beams of the roof. It was, however, Barry’s intention to
raise the roof all through by hydraulic machinery--an intention that
never will be carried out, and so the blunder or eyesore remains.
It is curious what uncertainty exists as to the roof of this fine Hall.
It is generally supposed to be made of Irish oak, as stated by Macaulay
in his account of the trial of Warren Hastings. Others maintain that it
is of Normandy chestnut, others again that the roof alone is of chestnut
and the ribs of oak.
Everyone is familiar with the two Chambers, with their fine and gorgeous
decorations, enriched brass and iron work, carvings, paintings, etc. The
House of Commons originally had an elegant open roof, elaborate to a
degree, and furnishing the leading “note” of the chamber. It was found
at once that the speeches were inaudible, and the architect was allotted
the ungrateful office of destroying his own work--having to set up a
flat panelled ceiling many feet below his tracery and Gothic work. This
has answered perfectly, and the space between is utilized for lighting
purposes. It may be added that when it was determined not to proceed
further with Barry’s designs, the Palace was completed by his son, a low
colonnade being added, the ornamental details of the Clock Tower being
continued to the ground. The _grilles_ and railings which were also
added seem like the colonnade, but have not the same elegance as the
building, and offer a different treatment.
The Gothic clock-face caused the architect a vast deal of thought, and
it was only after many experiments that the existing mode of attaching
it to the tower was devised. It is considered very successful. Prince
Albert, it is said, insisted that the whole upper portion should be of
metal. The tower has, within the last few years, been turned into a sort
of beacon or gigantic lamp-post--not, indeed, to give light or a warning
of danger--but to announce to whom it may concern that the House is
_not_ up. This acts as a pernicious schoolmaster, and insensibly
preaches what is mean and degrading. The tower was a useful and faithful
servant, “Big Ben” booming out--albeit a little hoarse and cracked--the
hours by day, the huge illuminated dial telling the hour by night. But a
gap was made in the fretwork over the dial, and an ugly semicircular
lantern thrust out, which gives out a fierce glare while the House is
sitting. The handsome Clock Tower is now present to our minds as a sort
of gigantic candlestick, with the associations of smoke, fierce heat,
flare, and glare. The light is not hung out from the tower beacon-wise,
but the tower itself is the beacon.