CHAPTER XXIV.
MODERN CHURCHES.
AFTER passing in review these stately fanes, centuries old, we turn to survey what the genius of modern architecture has contributed in this way to the adornment of London. The contrast is extraordinary. In the churches built within a century or so, we find little expression or meaning; nothing that tempts us to linger—their builders seem uninspired. There are indeed but two or three that have any pretension. One, ambitious and vast, is Sir Gilbert Scott’s gigantic Gothic temple at Kensington, which replaced a quaint old-fashioned church. In spite of its cost and size, it is singularly bald and unsatisfactory. The tower and spire are of unusual proportions; but the whole is inexpressive and cold. So awkwardly placed is it, that the door cannot be reached without an exposed walk through the inclosure, and on weddings and such festive occasions a long covered way has to be erected to enable the parties to reach their carriages under shelter. We may also turn to the remarkable church of All Saints, in Margaret Street, the work of an architect of much feeling and ability, Mr. Butterfield. We should note how on a small patch of ground he has grouped his church and presbytery, so as to convey the idea of space and of something imposing. The mixture of black and dull red bricks is very happy and successful, and the beauty of the lines of the spire, seen from many quarters, is remarkable. We always look upon this pile with interest, as carrying out with perfect success the aims intended. The little inclosure in front is cleverly disposed, and, though next the street, has quite a monastic air. Within, the effect of gorgeous and rich details is quite overpowering, the walls being one mass of costly marble, fresco paintings, pictures wrought in encaustic tiles of delicate hues, and painted windows. The defect, however, is the excessive darkness—“inspissated gloom,” Dr. Johnson would call it. Nothing in mediæval work can exceed the magnificence of the reredos and the wall that rises above it, disposed in arches and tiers, and set off with painted figures and mosaics. The workmanship everywhere cannot be surpassed—iron work, gilding, carvings, all are of the best. The beautiful lines of the lancet-shaped arches should be noted, with the sharp and delicate carvings of the capitals. Nothing, indeed, has been spared on this great and costly work. Many of the houses opposite are given up to pious works, and occupied by large communities of Sisters, who are seen at every hour flitting through the neighbouring streets.
The churches erected by Roman Catholics display far more variety and architectural graces. The Catholic chapels of fifty years ago were chiefly foreign, sheltered by the various Embassies. Such was the little French chapel close to Baker Street; those in Spanish Place, near Manchester Square; the Bavarian in Warwick Street, and the Sardinian Chapel in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. This latter building was sacked and burnt by the mob in the fury of the Gordon Riots. The same fate befel the still more modest chapel in Warwick Street, Golden Square. These Embassy chapels have still a foreign air in their interior arrangement, displaying a faded gaudiness and old-fashioned elaboration. Passing Warwick Street Chapel we may note its shabby exterior, suggesting some struggling conventicle; but this unobtrusiveness was designed purposely, in the hope of its not again attracting the notice of the “religious” mobs. Fifty years ago the place was in the highest vogue, for here the most eminent singers used to lend their voices to the services, and the late Mr. Braham flourished off, and made the old rafters ring again with his stentorian notes. Not far away, just out of Soho Square, is to be seen another grimed and neglected-looking edifice, a stretch of gloomy brickwork, with rows of windows, having the general air of a disused Assembly room. This, curious to say, was actually its original function. For, over a hundred and twenty years ago, it was the well-known “Mrs. Cornelys’,” where her masquerades and ridottos, the most brilliant in London, were held. Mrs. Cornelys, after being patronized by all “the nobility and gentry,” came at last to “selling asses’ milk” in the suburbs, and died in a wretched way. Her “rooms” after some vicissitudes were “converted” into a chapel.[24]
The chapel in Soho Square is not the only instance, by-the-way, in London of a building converted from profane to pious uses. There are several in London which, after serving to entertain frivolous audiences, changed hands, and gathered congregations of a more serious kind. Even the late Court Theatre had done duty as a Methodist conventicle, and the balcony which used to hold the worshippers merely changed its name to the “Dress Circle.” Many will recall a floating legend of their childhood, how, after one church or chapel had been thus “converted,” and a masquerade was given in the sacred precincts, a mysterious figure of Satan, whom no one could identify as a mortal, had been seen flitting about.
Within twenty years or so an extraordinary change, and even revolution, has taken place. Though these old fanes still linger on, a number of handsome and imposing churches have risen, some spacious, others magnificent in their decorations, most of them excellent in design; not a few, in attraction and interest, are superior to modern Protestant structures. The most distinguished of these contributors to the glories of London are the Pugins, father and son, Hansom, Scholes, Clutton, Bentley, and Herbert Gribble; the last, designer of the Oratory. The name of Hansom is recalled to the Londoner at almost every hour, as the one who has most increased the “public stock of harmless pleasure” and convenience, being the inventor of the famous vehicle so poetically named by Mr. Disraeli, “the gondola of London.”
In the grandiose and ambitious style there are the three great cathedrals of St. George’s, Southwark, the Pro-cathedral, Kensington, and the Oratory. Next in order may be placed the Jesuits’ Church in Farm Street, and that of the Carmelites at Kensington. Then there is the great church at Moorfields, with the handsome and spacious Italian Cathedral in Hatton Garden.
Crossing the river we pass into the Southwark district and come to a tongue of land close to the Kennington Road. Here, nearly fifty years ago, the elder Pugin obtained, as he fancied, the one great chance of his life, that of rearing a grand Metropolitan Cathedral after his own unfettered designs and aspirations. But never was there to be so piteous a tale of hope deferred and frustrated. The structure was conceived on the most costly and ambitious scale, and would have taken a quarter of a century and perhaps a quarter of a million to complete. It was wonderful, however, that in those early and straitened days so much could have been accomplished. The builder of our day, who surveys this pile, will be astonished to learn that it cost but the bagatelle of £30,000. It could hardly be erected now for double that sum. Its length is some 240 feet, its width about 70.
The committee of prelates and influential laymen who undertook the work had conceived the idea of a fine agglomeration, consisting of a great Cathedral, with a presbytery, convent and schools attached. Pugin was called on to supply a complete plan, which he prepared, as may be conceived, with enthusiasm. On an appointed day it is related that he attended, and submitted a series of his always beautiful drawings, a cathedral, chapter house, cloisters, convent, etc., forming a vast and picturesque pile of buildings. These were received with admiration, when a practical member of the company put some questions as to the cost. Another followed with a question as to the time necessary for carrying out the ambitious design. The architect, without directly replying, quietly contrived to get back all his drawings into his hands, rolled them up, took his hat, and walked away from the astonished committee without a word!
