Percy Fitzgerald

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.

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.

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.

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]

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.