PLATE IV
THE WELBECK PORTRAIT.
There were two parties on the Commission: one for mere patching and mending, another, with Wren as protagonist, for a substantial reconstruction on classical lines. Inigo Jones, when he added the great western portico, had refaced the outside of the church with big stones, part of a general scheme by which the cathedral would have been re-fronted, as happened to so many of the older churches of France and Italy. Wren’s policy was to do the same to the interior, “and it will be as easy to perform it after a good Roman manner as to follow the Gothick Rudeness of the old Design.” He favoured a new vault and cupola, not of lead-covered timber, but of “brick, if it be plaistered with Stucco, which is a harder plaister.” The essence of his proposals was, to remodel the tower and crossing. He was, in fact, proposing to remove the four great piers of the old crossing, as Alan of Walsingham had done at Ely, where the old central tower had collapsed. As Wren’s uncle was Bishop of Ely, he was familiar with this bold idea. “I cannot propose a better remedy than by cutting off the inner corners of the Cross, to reduce this middle part into a spacious Dome or Rotundo, with a Cupola or hemispherical roof, and upon the Cupola a Lantern with a spring top, to rise proportionably. By this means the Church will be rendered spacious in the middle, which may be a very proper place for a vast auditory.” Here was the germ of the St. Paul’s which we know. On August 27, 1666, there was a lively meeting of the Commission when Evelyn, as we learn from his Diary, backed Wren’s proposals against Chichele and Pratt, who were against any new-fangled notions, and wanted merely to repair the steeple on its old foundation. “But we,” writes Evelyn, “totally rejected it and persisted that it required a new foundation, not only in regard of the necessity, but for that the shape of what stood was very mean and we had a mind to build it with a noble cupola, a form of church building not as yet known in England but of wonderful grace.” It is difficult to guess why Pratt, as a pupil of Inigo Jones, resisted the idea of extending to the interior what the elder master had done outside. Perhaps Pratt resented the intrusion of Wren on some personal grounds. Alternatively it is conceivable that the Jones school were more impressed with the merits of mediæval architecture than is commonly supposed. As it turned out, Chichele and Pratt were right about the solidity of the old central piers. Contrary to experience outside London they proved very difficult to demolish. It may be that some tradition of the old Roman secret remained in London, where old walls are a byword for resistance to removal. If Wren had known as much about mortars as the old builders, much of the trouble with his St. Paul’s would have been avoided.
After much argument it was agreed the innovators should produce a plan and estimate. This design is preserved at All Souls, and shows an inner and outer dome surmounted by a lantern crowned with a huge openwork pineapple 68 feet high, of what Sir Reginald Blomfield justly calls “a monstrous and horrible design.”
But the scheme went no further. On Sunday, September 2nd, within a week of the Commission meeting, the Great Fire broke out. By the 7th Pepys saw the “miserable sight of Paul’s Church, with all the roof fallen and the body of the quire fallen into St. Faith’s.” Evelyn was there the same day and infinitely concerned: “Thus lay in ashes that most venerable Church.” The destruction was complete.
Very soon after the Fire, Wren was appointed principal architect for rebuilding the whole City, and set about fitting part of St. Paul’s ruins for temporary use in Divine Service. On January 15, 1667, the King made order to that effect, and on March 5 a sub-committee was set up to do something. They seem to have been lamentable dullards, for they still harped on the idea of patching up the ruins, and attempted to do so, despite Wren’s protests. He seems to have followed the wise course of leaving them to their tinkerings and to the Nemesis of a tottering fabric, with good and inevitable results. After the shattering experience of the Fire, the new facing of large stones could not be secured properly to the old walls. A year and some money had been wasted before Dean Sancroft wrote to Wren, then at Oxford, on April 25, 1668, to say: “What you whispered in my ear, at your last coming hither, is come to pass. Our work at the west end of St. Paul’s is fallen about our ears.” Sancroft expected worse would follow, confessed that they were helpless without Wren, and begged him to come to London. It would appear that Wren was not satisfied as to their change of heart, and thought it wiser to let them muddle along into worse trouble before he went to their aid.
They still went on patching until things got quite hopeless, when Wren received a peremptory order from the Archbishop and the other Commissioners to attend with all speed. In one thing Sancroft seems to have been wiser than Wren. He was all for the planning of a “design, handsome and noble, and suitable to all the ends of it, and to the reputation of the city and the nation, and to take it for granted that money will be had to accomplish it.” Wren wanted to know what money they would provide before he set about a design, and to delay action until men’s minds were less distracted with all the troubles that followed the Fire. After more argument Wren convinced everyone that the first business was to give up all ideas of patching and to sweep the site clear of the ruins. This task lasted until April, 1674.
The Second Design for St. Paul’s, also known as the “Rejected Design” and the “Model Design.”