Wren was twenty-four when he became professor of astronomy at Gresham College, and made the acquaintance of Richard Claypole, husband of Cromwell’s favourite daughter, Elizabeth. At their dinner table Wren became a frequent guest, the more welcome because Elizabeth Claypole remained a devout Church of England woman. One day Cromwell strode in and sat down to dinner, and fixing his eye on Christopher, said: “Your uncle has been long confined to the Tower.” To Wren’s reply, “He has so, sir, but he bears his afflictions with great patience and resignation,” the Protector made the astonishing reply: “He may come out an he will.”
When Christopher asked if he might take that message to Bishop Matthew from the Lord Protector’s own mouth, he got the answer: “Yes, you may.”
But when the young man hurried off to the Tower with his message, the Bishop roundly refused to deal with the usurper on terms which meant submission, and preferred to tarry the Lord’s leisure and owe his deliverance to Him alone. A loyal race, the Wrens.
In 1656, not long before this incident, Dean Wren had died at Bletchingdon, where his son-in-law, Dr. Holder, had been parson for some years, and was buried in the chancel of the church.
It was there that Christopher must have met Faith, daughter of Sir Thomas Coghill of Bletchingdon, Oxon. Born in 1636, she was four years younger than Wren, who is likely to have known her since his childhood.
We know extremely little of the intimate side of Wren’s life. The only document, but that a very precious one, is the autograph love-letter in the heirloom Parentalia written by him to Faith. It is as follows:
Madam,
The Artificer having never before mett with a drowned watch; like an ignorant physician has been soe long about the cure, that he hath made me very unquiet that your comands should be soe long deferred: however I have sent the watch at last, and envie the felicity of it, that it should be soe neer your side, and soe often enjoy your Eye, and be consulted by you how your time shall passe while you employ your hand in your excellent workes. But have a care of it, for I have put such a Spell into it; that every Beating of the Ballance will tell you, ’tis the pulse of my Heart, which labours as much to serve you and more trewly than the watch; for the watch I believe will sometimes lie, and sometimes perhaps be idle and unwilling to goe, having received soe much injury by being drenched in that briny bath, that I dispair it should ever be a trew Servant to you more: But as for me (unless you drown me too in my teares) you may be confident I shall never cease to be
Your most affectionate humble servant
Chr: Wren.
June 14.