The architectural skill and superiority of this illustrious man were most conspicuously displayed in the age which his rich genius adorned. A multitude of buildings bore honorable testimony to the fertility of his brain, and the success of his undertakings, at a time when a terrible devastation had rendered such services as he rendered to his country peculiarly necessary; and later generations have confessed with high pride and admiration, that the inscription, “Si quÆris monumentum circumspice,” has lost none of its point.

The pious architect of so many churches was closely connected by birth with the ecclesiastical establishment, whose edifices he did so much to improve and beautify. The family to which he belonged was of Danish extraction, but had been settled on English ground long ere it produced the most famous representative of the name. From a branch planted in Warwickshire came Sir Christopher’s grandfather, who traded and flourished as a mercer in the city of London, and left two sons. The elder obtained the bishopric of Ely, suffered and survived persecution, and went down to the grave in peace, after many trials and vicissitudes. The ambition of the other was seemingly less lofty in degree, and his existence less checkered. However, he became a royal chaplain, dean of Windsor, and rector of Knoyle, in Wiltshire, and had the good fortune to marry one of those young ladies known and sighed for as heiresses. In due time, on the 20th of October, 1632, Christopher Wren was born at East Knoyle.

Like many destined to eminence, the future architect was an exceedingly weak, small, and delicate child; and more than ordinary care was required in rearing him. From this cause he was for several years educated by a domestic tutor in his father’s house, which at this period received in its oak hall the Elector Palatine. Wren took care to recall to memory the pretty long visit, when he afterward addressed to that prince a rather high-flown epistle, calling attention to some of his youthful inventions, among which were the instrument for writing with two pens and the machine for sowing corn. The boy showed much fondness for classical learning, and was sent to Westminster School to pursue his studies for a while, under the auspices of Dr. Busby. There he exhibited his remarkable powers of mind, as well as a strong liking for the pursuits of mathematics and astronomy, rather than the useful art with which his name was afterward associated. But his father was a man of talent and ingenuity, and of such architectural taste as to have attracted the notice of Charles the First, to whom he was chaplain in ordinary. This circumstance, in all probability, gave Wren’s mind a bias toward the profession in which he achieved the triumphs on which his fame chiefly rests, and led to his raising up, in the face of the world, visible and enduring monuments of his greatness. Every step of his juvenile career, however, was marked by the vigor, prudence, and intelligence befitting one destined for European celebrity.

At the age of fourteen Wren was removed to Oxford and entered at Wadham College, where he was speedily recognized as “a rare and early prodigy of universal science,” and distinguished by much attention. He proved his mathematical knowledge by writing on spherical trigonometry; he invented several instruments; he translated Oughtred’s “Geometrical Dialling” into Latin; and at the instance of Sir Charles Scarborough, a celebrated physician and mathematician, he formed some admirable architectural models from pasteboard. In his eighteenth year he took the degree of Bachelor of Arts, and soon after published an algebraical tract relating to the Julian period. While he was thus achieving academic distinction, Wren’s pillow was visited by a dream, which Aubrey deemed not unworthy of being chronicled and recorded. He was staying at his father’s residence in Wiltshire, in the year 1651; and one night, among the visions which his brain conjured up in sleep, he saw a great battle in a market-place unknown to him. He marked the bloody strife for victory, the rapid flight for safety, and the keen pursuit for vengeance; and among those who sought to escape the cruel carnage he perceived a young cousin of his own, who had formerly gone with the king into Scotland. Probably, on waking, he thought little more of the matter; but next evening, the kinsman, whose retreating form had been so strangely presented to his sleeping fancy, appeared unexpectedly, after dusk, at the rectory-house, and surprised its inmates with the startling news of the king’s forces having sustained a defeat at Worcester, where he had been. Surprise was, of course, depicted on the fair and intelligent countenance of the Oxford scholar, at an occurrence which seemed so natural a sequel to his dream of the previous night.

But Wren wasted not much time in musing over dreams. He was so busy and enthusiastic in the pursuit of knowledge, and so dexterous in turning it to account, that he was spoken of as a “miracle of a youth.” He soon took the degree of Master of Arts, and was elected a Fellow of All Souls. He was exemplary in his conduct, and regular and temperate in his habits.

The great abilities and scientific acquirements of the Wiltshire miracle becoming widely known, he was, about his twenty-fifth year, appointed Professor of Astronomy in the Gresham College. About the time of his entrance upon its duties, this blushing youth, as he frankly described himself in one of his lectures, had a memorable interview with Cromwell, whose son-in-law, being fond of mathematics, had sought the learned professor’s acquaintance, and cultivated it by frequent invitations to his house. While dining there one day, he suddenly found himself face to face with the mighty Protector, who stalked in without ceremony, and took his place at table. After a while he fixed his eyes on the future architect to the kings of the house of Stuart.

“Your uncle has long been confined to the Tower,” he remarked after a pause, during which he keenly surveyed the short but dignified person of the youth.

“He has,” replied Wren, with some stateliness; “but he bears his affliction with patience and resignation.”

“He may come out, if he will,” said Cromwell.

“Will your highness permit me to tell him so?” asked Wren, with eagerness.

“Yes, you may,” said the Lord Protector.

Wren seized an early opportunity of retiring, and, with something of boyish delight, hurried to his venerable relative with the glad tidings; but the imprisoned prelate disdained the thought of obtaining liberty from the great usurper, and, after denouncing the proposal with ardent indignation, declared that he was determined to tarry the Lord’s leisure, and owe deliverance to Him only. The Restoration soon after set him free.

Wren resigned his chair at Gresham College when promoted to the Savilian Professorship of Astronomy at Oxford, where had for years existed the club out of which arose the Royal Society, of which he became a member, and afterward president. His reputation as a successful cultivator of the sciences had already extended his reputation to foreign lands, when he gloriously proved his possession of a very different and more popular kind of accomplishment. He had previously attracted the attention of the king, who must have been aware that the youth had been unostentatiously storing his mind with that minute knowledge of architecture which proved his source of power; and at the age of twenty-eight he was summoned to Whitehall, and informed that the time had arrived for putting his powers to the proof. He was appointed to assist at the public works then contemplated: namely, the building of a new palace at Greenwich, the embellishment of Windsor Castle, and the completion of old St. Paul’s, whose interior had been used as a stable by Cromwell’s troopers, and its beautiful pillars defaced and applied to the most sordid purposes. The Government were in no haste to commence operations. Perhaps

At all events, Wren remained unemployed for two long years; and at the end of that period, delay having done its work, and there appearing no prospect of his talents being in requisition, he manifested symptoms of impatience. Under such circumstances ambitious spirits are not seldom troublesome, and Wren, no doubt, bore himself like other people; but his complaints were cut short by the offer of an office at Tangier, whither he was requested to go and direct the defenses of the harbor and citadel. The young architect did not pause long to consider the course he should pursue: an ample salary was indeed rather tempting; but, with characteristic decision, he declined the appointment, and returned to Oxford.

The condition of St. Paul’s, however, was such as could not be altogether disregarded. Soldiers had converted the body of the ancient church into quarters for their horses; the beautiful pillars of Inigo Jones’s portico had been hewed and broken down, and large portions of the roof had fallen in. The spectacle it presented was woeful in the extreme, and could no longer be overlooked; and, accordingly, Wren was commissioned to survey the building and furnish plans for its complete restoration.

While preparing designs with that view, he made a tour to France for the purpose of widening and improving his conception of architecture, and visited the most admired works of the greatest professors of his art in that country. In Paris he viewed, and made drawings of, the various edifices, and took due notice of every thing likely to elevate his ideas and improve his taste. He had, moreover, the distinction of being introduced to Bernini, the celebrated sculptor.

“I would have given my skin for Bernini’s design of the Louvre,” said Wren, with becoming ardor; “but the old reserved Italian gave me but a few minutes’ view. It was five little designs in paper, for which he had received as many thousand pistoles. I had only time to copy it in my fancy and memory.”

He strove to make himself acquainted with the most esteemed buildings in the city and its vicinity. With a mind refreshed by travel, and an eye impressed with the fabrics it had gazed on, Wren gladly enough returned to England, having, as he stated, surveyed and brought with him “almost all France on paper.” He was now enthusiastically intent on proceeding with the restoration of St. Paul’s; but there had arisen among the commissioners disputes, which effectually checked his eagerness. Public works are, in their progress, too frequently victims of private whims; and Wren now found so, to his dismay. Those who had been intrusted with the management of the business formed themselves into two parties. One of these obstinately contended that the church should be merely “patched up” to the best advantage; while the other were zealous for the full and complete restoration proposed by Wren. The architect, whose fortitude and patience were ever remarkable, reasoned with them in that calm tone which he ever adhered to under all annoyances; but he argued in vain. Suddenly the Great Fire not only put a period to the strife, but opened up a large stage for the genius and energy of this truly great Englishman, whose schemes speedily became the talk of Europe.

The dreadful conflagration had destroyed the principal part of St. Paul’s, while helplessly damaging the remainder; and Wren, perceiving that any efficient repair was now utterly impracticable, conceived the idea of associating his name with a grand ecclesiastical structure worthy of the capital of royal England. His path, however, was not yet quite clear; for the hearts of the commissioners, “untraveled, still returned” to the old building, and another effort was made to reconstruct it. The rubbish was removed, and the enterprise entered on; but the fall of a pillar soon indicated how vain and futile such an attempt really was.

Wren was on a visit at Oxford, when he received the intelligence of this disaster; and perhaps he felt that his day of triumph had at length arrived. He forthwith wrote and recommended a total removal of the ruins of the former church, and the erection, from the foundation, of a cathedral that should exhibit the taste and dignity of the country. Nevertheless, so perverse is human nature, when a change of opinion involves a confession of error, that the system of “patching up any how” was persisted in till the middle of 1668, when it was resolved that a new cathedral should be built. Wren now applied himself to the production of several designs and models for the contemplated structure, and, in due time, they were laid before the proper authorities. It appears that, whatever credit pertains to the rejection of the best and adoption of the worst plans, must be assigned to that royal duke whose insane bigotry and superstition afterward cost him the proudest crown in Christendom. The architect’s temper did not give way; but he shed tears at the injudicious selection.

Operations were forthwith commenced in earnest, but though there was practiced none of the tardiness which had characterized the preliminary arrangements, the gigantic magnitude of the work occasioned a delay of years; and it was not till the third quarter of the eventful century had passed that the scorched ruins were altogether removed, and the first stone laid by the great architect, under whose superintendence it was completed in the comparatively brief space of thirty-five years. Previously to the work being entered on, Wren had the honor of knighthood conferred on him; and about the same period he married a lady of Oxfordshire; though he had reached his forty-second year—an age at which men are generally rather disinclined to relinquish their freedom. He was speedily blessed with a son, who, in 1700, laid the last and highest stone of the cathedral, in presence of the principal persons employed in the building. Wren subsequently planned no fewer than fifty new ecclesiastical edifices for the metropolis; and no man, however high in that art, which is half a science, and therefore requires mathematical knowledge in its votaries, ever imitated with so much success the churches of Italy. His mind was vigorous, his judgment accurate, and he excelled in unity and elegance.

In July, 1669, he had experienced the satisfaction of seeing the first of his architectural designs realized. This was the theatre at Oxford, founded by Archbishop Sheldon. It was opened with great and imposing solemnity; and the munificent founder marked his appreciation of the skill displayed in the building by presenting Wren with a golden cup, and appointing him one of the curators for life.

Meantime the plague of London had drawn public attention to the defective state of its architecture, and the great conflagration had afforded an opportunity of introducing extensive improvements. Wren then stood forth as an architect capable of making a new and extensive city arise, phoenix-like, from the ashes. He earnestly desired to give beauty and dignity to a capital of whose greatness, in other respects, he spoke in language of enthusiasm. His proposal was to run a spacious street, in a direct line, from St. Paul’s to the Exchange, another to the Tower, and a third westward to Piccadilly. The bank of the river was to be adorned with a terrace, and there he proposed to place the halls of the twelve great city companies. This scheme, which had the warm support of the king and his ministers, was all but frustrated by the citizens, who found that it unfortunately interfered too much with the rights and property of private individuals to be realized to any satisfactory extent.

About this period he was sauntering with Charles the Second through the hunting-lodge at Newmarket, in reference to which his majesty remarked—

“These rooms are too low.”

“An’ please your majesty, I think them high enough,” said Wren, as he walked up, carrying his figure, which was the reverse of tall, with much of the stateliness of those cavaliers whom, in boyish days, he had seen at his father’s deanery. Charles, with a merry twinkle of his eye, squatted down to Wren’s height, saying, as he did so—

“Ay, Sir Christopher, on second thoughts I think they are high enough, too.”

Sir Stephen Fox, progenitor of that family which has since produced so many celebrated persons—a man who had risen from obscurity to high honors in the state—persuaded the king that a military hospital should be founded. Wren furnished designs for, and superintended, the building at Chelsea, which was not completed till the reign of William and Mary. He also prepared designs for the palace of Winchester. In 1784 he was appointed Comptroller and Principal Officer of the Works at Windsor Castle.

Wren had been born and bred among men who, from their position, took a lively interest in political affairs; and, in spite of his multifarious duties, he was far from declining such distinction in that sphere as was not likely to interfere with his professional pursuits. He was indebted to the people of Plympton—the native place of Sir Joshua Reynolds—for his first election to the House of Commons, in 1685. After the Revolution he was returned for New Windsor, and became a great favorite with that daughter of the banished king who then shared the English throne with her Dutch consort. She admired his genius, and perhaps appreciated the affection which he entertained for the kingly race whose errors had been her husband’s opportunity. Being pleased with the situation and scenery of Hampton Court, she commissioned the architect, who had done honor to the patronage of her merry uncle and her gloomy sire, to furnish designs for a splendid palace, to be connected with the pile which Cardinal Wolsey had reared and made over to the bluff Killer of Wives and Defender of the Faith. The queen was presented with several designs, and selected one which did credit to her character for taste and elegance, but the sanction of the royal Dutchman was required before she could finally decide. That great prince and soldier was a hero, though, unfortunately for his fame, one of no very scrupulous nature; and heroes are generally men of one design. If the question had been how to raise in England funds to carry on the war against France, his judgment would hardly have erred; but the construction of a palace was a different matter; and he chose and stuck by the very plan which had been prepared as a foil to the others. The queen was forced to yield, and the architect sighed at being thus obliged to erect a palace of which he disliked the plan; but regret could produce no remedy for the evil, and the work was proceeded with. He next designed Greenwich Hospital, and during the reign of Queen Anne he continued to enjoy from that royal lady a favor and protection not unworthy of a grand-daughter of Charles the First.

The distinguished architect, however, had not pursued his prosperous course without making enemies; and the time at length arrived when they could gratify their hoarded malice. When the first representative of the House of Brunswick left his delightful Electorate to ascend the throne of Great Britain, Wren was in his eighty-second year; and though so often thwarted in his designs during three reigns by citizens, and kings, and commissioners, he had done wonders, and on every side there were traces of his rare and fertile genius. The new sovereign, however, was almost as devoid of taste or capacity as he was destitute of virtue or popularity; and, from the beginning, he regarded the venerable architect with an inimical eye. After a lapse of four years the public learned, with astonishment and indignation, that Sir Christopher was dismissed from his office, and replaced by a wretched pretender, to whose undistinguished name Pope has given a somewhat unenviable notoriety.

The old knight had lived too long, and seen too much of the world, in a most eventful age, to be very deeply affected by this circumstance; though the insult touched his friends to the heart. He removed from his official residence in Scotland Yard, and betook himself to rural retirement. He had long survived his first wife; and not relishing a prolonged widowerhood, he sought and found a second bride in the daughter of a peer of Ireland. He now took a house at Hampton Court, where he passed the greater part of his remaining years in study and contemplation of the Holy Scriptures, which cheered his solitude and consoled him in his preparation for a higher state of existence. He indulged in a sleep in his easy chair after dinner, maintained the utmost serenity, and exhibited all his wonted vivacity. Gradually his limbs, which had been active, failed; and his movements thus became dependent on the assistance of others. Now and then he rejoiced in a visit to the metropolis, to inspect the repairs of Westminster Abbey, and look once more on the dome of St. Paul’s. His intellect remained unimpaired long after his bodily vigor had ceased. A journey between London and Hampton Court, then a more formidable affair to a person of advanced age than it has since become, proved more than his frame could endure, and, after a short illness, he died on the 27th of February, 1723. His corpse was consigned to the vaults of the magnificent cathedral, which stands alike the monument and the master-piece of his architectural genius, as his most appropriate epitaph is the brief inscription which has been alluded to at the commencement of this sketch. Sixty-nine years later the surrounding earth was disturbed on the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds; and the mortal remains of the illustrious painter, whose magic pencil had redeemed Englishmen from the reproach of being indebted to foreign nations for artistic skill, were, with much pomp and circumstance, laid by the side of the great architect, in the consecrated cemetery.