Another invention Wren describes as a ‘weather clock.’ It consisted of a clock affixed to a weather cock that moved a rundle covered with paper, upon which the clock moved a black-lead pencil, so that the observer, by the traces of the pencil on the paper, might certainly conclude what winds had blown in his absence for twelve hours’ space. The ‘Parentalia’ contains a careful drawing in pen and sepia of this invention elaborately worked out and remarkable for the truth and finish of the drawing. Some of these designs, and an instrument for sowing corn, nearly identical with a modern ‘drill,’ he dedicated in a quaintly formal letter to his father’s friend, the Prince Palatine. He appeared before the Prince in another character, due probably to his Westminster training. A play was performed (about 1652) at Oxford before the Prince, Dr. Seth Ward,[57] and several others, entitled ‘Hey for Honesty, down with Knavery,’ translated by Thomas Randolph from the Plutus of Aristophanes, in which Christopher sustained the part of Neanias.[58] It is provoking to have this bare record merely, and no clue as to the success or failure of any part of the performance, especially where the young actor was concerned.
To about the same date belongs a Latin letter written by Christopher to his father, signed ‘Christophorus Regulus,’ describing in glowing terms a visit paid in the spring to a friend’s house. Some pretty touches give ‘the lofty woods with their clamorous republic of rooks, the great fountains, the placid pools—without, you might say a terrestrial paradise, but within, heaven itself.’ It may have been, though there is nothing in its favour but conjecture, that this was Bletchingdon House, and that among ‘the virgins singing holy psalms,’ whom he mentions, was his future bride Faith, (or as she spelt it, ‘ffaith’) Coghill. The letter says much, as does all that passed between them, for the warm affection existing between father and son, and the sincerely religious tone of Christopher’s mind.
BATTLE OF WORCESTER.
The desperate efforts of the Royalists shortly after this period to overthrow Cromwell’s tyranny and to put Charles II. on the throne, received a cruel check in the disastrous battle of Worcester (1651), Cromwell’s ‘crowning mercy.’ This crushed the hopes of the Royalists and obliged them to turn their every effort and thought to effecting the escape of their prince. He must have passed very near Knoyle Hill, when he crossed Salisbury Plain and met at Stonehenge the friends who at last succeeded in conveying him to the coast. Knoyle Hill had its own fugitive to shelter.
Aubrey, the Wiltshire Antiquary, gives the account of a vivid dream which Christopher Wren had, when staying, in the autumn of 1651, with Dean Wren at Knoyle. He
‘dreamed he saw a fight in a great market-place, which he knew not, where some were flying and others pursuing; and among those who fled, he saw a kinsman of his, who went into Scotland with the King’s army. They heard in the country that the King was come into England, but whereabouts he was they could not tell. The next night came his kinsman to Knoyle Hill, and brought with him the disastrous news of Charles II.’s defeat at Worcester.’[59]
It seems likely that this ‘kinsman’ was Bishop Wren’s son Matthew, who afterwards went to the Hague. There also, when his escape had been with great difficulty contrived, went King Charles, as his brother-in-law, the Prince of Orange, was his steady friend. In the hope of utterly putting down the Cavaliers, the greatest severity was shown at this time to all who had helped the King, and even to those who merely boasted of their good will towards him. Among those who suffered was Inigo Jones, who had been architect to James I. and to Charles I., had been steadily loyal to the Stuarts, and was therefore an object of suspicion. He lived to see what was thought the utter downfall of the monarchy, and following upon this the desecration and ruin of the finest churches in England. S. Paul’s, on which he had spent much labour and skill, was, as being connected with Archbishop Laud, an object of special hatred to the Puritans. It suffered every possible injury. The fine portico designed by Inigo Jones was filled with stalls, blocked up by booths, and used as a market-place. The year after the battle of Worcester, Inigo Jones died, poor and lonely, in a lodging close to the defaced cathedral. He and Christopher Wren must probably have met. Wren had a sincere admiration for his predecessor’s skill, and spoke of the S. Paul’s portico as ‘an exquisite piece in itself.’
MAKING HIMSELF.
In the autumn of 1653, Wren, then just twenty-one, was elected to a fellowship at All Souls, and happy in the comparative tranquillity of Oxford, pursued the various studies which he loved. All this time he was ‘making himself,’ as was said of Sir Walter Scott in his childhood on the Scotch hills, though perhaps at the time no one could have guessed the particular manner in which he would distinguish himself.
In the following summer he made acquaintance with John Evelyn, who had come up to Oxford to hear the ‘Philosophy Act.’ Evelyn mentioned that after a dinner at All Souls he ‘visited that miracle of a youth Mr. Christopher Wren, nephew to the Bishop of Ely.’[60]