WREN’S CHURCHES.
Few who pass through the City or travel by the river pause to think and
compare the innumerable spires and towers that rise in all directions,
and lend a Flemish grace to the prose of City life. The most conspicuous
are the work of Sir Christopher Wren. No little charm, it may be said,
is found in the effective grey of the Portland stone, with its black
staining in the shadows--due to deposits of London smoke. But while all
praise is due to Wren for his excellence and versatility, it must be
remembered that no architect has ever received such a commission as the
building of some forty great churches--everyone having an important
tower or spire, and situated in every conceivable and favouring
locality. To crown all, this lucky artist was intrusted with the rearing
of one of the most famous cathedrals in Europe. The variety is shown in
the different materials he uses, there being nine steeples of stone,
nineteen spires of timber and lead, with twelve solid towers of stone.
The great secret of their excellence is the admirable workmanship and
system of construction. It is declared, on architectural authority, that
they are now as sound as in the year they were erected; and, certainly,
no one ever sees them under repair. The mixture of square tower and
tapering spire is most original, and the junction between the two is
varied in the most pleasing manner. The most famous are Bow Church, or
St. Mary-le-Bow, Cheapside, and St. Bride’s, in Fleet Street. These are,
however, meant to be rich and elaborate, as being in busy and important
thoroughfares. Those in more retired places, lanes and alleys, are not a
whit less effective, though not so pretentious. A favourite pattern with
Wren is the contrasting of a very plain, square tower with a short stone
campanile of two or three little stories, with most graceful results.
Other good specimens are St. Michael, College Hill; St. James’s, Garlick
Hill; and St. Stephen, Walbrook. Some steeples soar aloft from the
towers--full-fledged spires--while there are some fantastic, which seem
unworthy, and, indeed, difficult to conceive in a man of such genius.
The spire of the well-known Piccadilly church, St. James’s, is
attenuated; St. Edmund’s, in Lombard Street, St. Swithin’s, St.
Martin’s Ludgate, St. Mary Abchurch, and a few more are of this rather
poor pattern. The fashions of his towers are very familiar--having,
generally, four rich pinnacles, or rather towerlets, rising from the
ground at each corner. Mr. Taylor, the architect, has written a very
pleasing book on Wren’s towers and spires, with airy sketches of each,
so that the reader can compare for himself.
How admirably situated is St. Bride’s, in Fleet Street, at the end of
the recessed opening or narrow court, and where it rises with original
effect! There is an additional piquancy in this perpetual recurrence of
steeple and spire, as if suggesting the _piety_ of the City, and the
excessive devotion of London; the truth being that these are but
religious cenotaphs--survivals--having no congregations.[22]
There is a curious story associated with St. Bride’s steeple, which can
be seen from Fleet Street through the picturesque opening beside the
_Punch_ office, made within living memory. “The steeple,” Mr. Godwin
tells us, “was actually curtailed of eight feet of its height, the
alteration being made out of his own whim by a stone mason.” If we look
at it closely, we shall see how rudely and abruptly the extremity is
finished off.
[Illustration: WREN’S STEEPLES--ST. MARY-LE-BOW.]
One of the most impressive views--and least known--is that to be gained
from the top story of the new, or newest, Post Office at St.
Martin’s-le-Grand. As we look from this aerie the effect is one of
entrancing surprise and mystery. Out of the mist of the City rises
quite close to us the vast dome of St. Paul’s; below lie all the roofs,
while round, far and near, are seen dotted about the innumerable towers
and spires, on which we look _down_, instead of looking up to, as is
usual. There is nothing so grand, so vast, so full of awe as this in
London--everything seems so vast and crowded.
Apropos of London towers, one of the most truly graceful and effective
is that of St. Clement Dane’s Church in the Strand, though it is
encumbered with a clumsy church behind. Often of a winter’s evening, as
you come down Holywell Street, or Booksellers’ Row, you hear its merry
chimes jangling out, growing more and more noisy and riotous as you
approach. It may be some moonlight night, when its graceful outlines are
projected against the bluish sky behind, while the tower windows, lit up
from within, show where the ringers are at work. Such a revel of
pleasant jangling, all in wildest confusion, and having quite a
Christmas tone! One is inclined to linger on, and think it some street
corner in Ghent: or else recall old Samuel Johnson, who used to repair
here many a time and oft. There is here a regular “College” of ringers,
who practise their “triple bob majors” with regularity and skill. A
tablet recently set up in the porch records how on Jubilee Day a peal
was rung of some 50,000 changes, which perforce took some hours.
It were vain, of course, to praise the matchless Bow Steeple, the best
view of which is gained from the Royal Exchange. Its originality,
solidity, and airiness are extraordinary. If a fault might be hinted at,
“the centre core behind the columns, one could have wished,” says Mr.
Taylor, “had been slightly thicker.” The tone and colour--everything is
charming. Within, however, it hardly seems to correspond. Indeed, many
of Wren’s interiors are disappointing--giving the air of some large,
gloomy hall or chamber, rather than that of a church, set off with
ponderous carvings. He had another favourite system, exhibited in St.
Stephen’s, Walbrook, and St. James’s, Piccadilly, and also imitated by
his pupils, of rows of slight pillars, dividing the interior into
aisles, and which support vaulted roofs. These are also made to do duty
in supporting the galleries.
Architects have fallen into raptures over one of Wren’s City churches,
this St. Stephen’s, Walbrook, which, externally, seems mean and
neglected. Says one: “If the exterior and belfry of this church have
uncommon grace and decorum for that age, it is the interior that
constitutes its fame. Though a simple cell inclosed by four walls, the
tameness of that form wholly disappears behind the unique and varied
arrangement of its sixteen columns. They reproduce and unite almost
every beauty of plan to be found in all the cathedrals of Europe. Now
they form the Latin cross, with its nave, transept, and chancel; anon
they divide the whole space into five aisles, regularly diminishing from
the centre to the sides; again we perceive, in the midst, a square
apartment with recesses on all its sides--a square, nay, an octagon--no,
a circle. It changes at every glance, as we view the entablature, or the
arches above it, or the all-uniting dome. With the same harmonious
variety we have every form of ceiling brought together at once--flat,
camerated, groined, pendentive, domical--yet no confusion. The fitness
to its destination is perfect; every eye can see the minister, and every
ear is within hearing distance of him in every part of the service. It
is the most beautiful of preaching-rooms; and though only a sketch, and
executed only in counterfeit building, would, if carried out in Wren’s
spirit instead of his employers’, form the most perfect of Protestant
temples.”
Of this church, Ralph, an art critic of one hundred and fifty years ago,
declared that “it was famous all over Europe, and was justly considered
Wren’s masterpiece. Perhaps Italy itself can produce no modern building
that can vie with this in taste or proportion: there is not a beauty
which this place would admit of, that is not found here in its greatest
perfection.” Architects relish the ingenuity of the arrangement; for the
whole roof and dome is supported by the columns, and are quite
independent of the main walls. It should be remembered that it was built
before the erection of the present Mansion House; which has intercepted
much of the flood of light that Wren reckoned on to set off his airy
columns and arches. The barbarous churchwardens at one time even wished
to block up the windows on one side, but were checked.
[Illustration: WREN’S STEEPLES--ST. JAMES’S.]
It is easy to interpret the impression of beauty left by the interior,
which is owing to the elegance of the cupola in the centre, which seems
to be supported airily on these grouped columns. But succeeding visits
to the church more and more betray the blemishes caused by modern
treatment and so-called improvements. The revealing of the long bases
of the columns, by clearing away the pews, leaves an impression that the
visitor is below the level of the floor. The columns now seem “lanky,”
as if the ground had been cleared away and their bases exposed. The
introducing of gaudy colouring into this and the adjoining church of St.
Mary Woolnoth has much impaired the architectual effect, multiplying
details and destroying the simplicity of the whole. It is clear that a
uniform tone, a suggestion of stone colour, is what is required. This
charming fabric has further attraction in the monumental and florid
organ, with its gallery and doorway below forming one structure, all of
the darkest and most solid oak, suggesting what is to be seen in some
Flemish church.
[Illustration: ST. STEPHEN’S, WALBROOK.]
As we stand by the Mansion House we see beside us an elegant-looking
church of Italian pattern, and situated picturesquely at the corner of
two streets. We enter, and find ourselves in a beautifully proportioned
square chamber, richly decorated with cornices, pilasters, and oak
carvings. The rector and churchwardens claim, indeed, that it is “the
most striking and original in the metropolis, and without a prototype
in England.” So beautiful did it appear to the French architect,
Servandoni, that when planning his famous church of St. Sulpice, in
Paris, he reproduced in facsimile this façade. It will be noted that it
is of a curious kind--a sort of double tower--and has impressed many
with the admiration which its enthusiastic rector and churchwardens feel
for it.[23]
[Illustration: ST. MARY WOOLNOTH.]
This really original church has been described as “an exquisite example
of the Italian style. The interior is no more than a gracefully designed
chamber, after the pattern of the Roman _atrium_, with twelve coupled
and richly-decorated columns running round.” “It is impossible,” says an
enthusiast, “to leave the description of this _delightful interior_
without noticing the galleries; they are so designed that, though
prominent, they do not interfere with the general effect, nor destroy
the simplicity and elegance of the design.” As we have said, the variety
exhibited in Wren’s churches is always extraordinary. Nothing can be
more original and graceful than the interior of St. Swithin’s, opposite
the station in Cannon Street, with its elegant cupola painted by Sir J.
Thornhill. The most charming exterior in its unpretending way, from its
just proportions, is that of the church on Ludgate Hill. It will be
noted how delicate and yet efficient are the mouldings and ornaments,
and the perfect grace of the spire--so airy, and yet so exactly suited
to the plain building below.
It may be added here that there are some curious and interesting things
to be seen in a pilgrimage round the London churches. As in the grim
All-hallows Barking, there is the font, elaborately carved with
grotesque figures by Grinling Gibbons, and in St. Alban’s church, Wood
Street, on a pillar over the pulpit, an hour-glass in a brass frame--no
bad hint for preachers _de longue haleine_. Under Bow Church, in busy
Cheapside, we may see the genuine old Norman arches and vaultings; few
know that a court used to have its sittings here, and hence took the
name of the Court of Arches.
Perhaps the most singular and eccentric specimen of a steeple to be
found in London is that of St. Luke’s, near Clerkenwell. This is an
enormous, ponderous obelisk, some thirty or forty feet high, with its
plinth and steps, perched on the top of a heavy tower. There are also
other freaks in this direction which excite our astonishment.
There is a stately old church--the work of Hawkesmoor--in Hart Street,
close to the British Museum. It is well grimed and blackened over, but
there is something imposing in its Pantheon-like portico, and above all
its extraordinary, and possibly unique, steeple. This is of a very
daring and original pattern, and consists of a pillared lantern, on
which rises a sort of heavy, massive stone pyramid that ascends in
graduated steps. Carried to a great height, it terminates in a circular
pedestal, with a garland running round it, and on the pedestal is--what?
The reader is little likely to guess. A gigantic statue in Roman guise
of His Majesty George I.! There is something quaint and exceptional in
this form of steeple. And yet, so judicious and effective is the
architecture of the whole, so impressive, that there is really nothing
grotesque in the result. During a short interval lately the adjoining
houses were levelled and the whole of the church exposed to view, with
excellent effect. Many who have never noticed it before have been struck
by its originality and dignified air. But now the builders are erecting
hoardings, so this glimpse will have been but a temporary one, and
by-and-by the church will be shut out once more.