The only other important instance I recollect in London of the earlier portion of our style is the chapel at Lambeth—a very good Early English chapel, though somewhat dishonoured by plaster vaulting, the ribs of which I myself saw being prepared for by a core of spikes and tar-cord. Let us hope that this is the last instance of such construction, especially of its introduction in a time-honoured building like this!
We now come to one of the noblest of England’s temples—the Abbey Church of Westminster; and you will readily excuse me from dishonouring this truly glorious temple by attempting its description in the course of a hasty catalogue like that I am now giving. As you all know, it was commenced in 1245 by King Henry III., and the eastern portions finished about 1269. This makes it contemporary, in a certain sense, with Amiens; for though the latter was commenced in 1220, it was not completed till 1288. There can be no doubt that the cathedral at Amiens was, at the time of its erection, viewed as the most perfect development of the style; for it is clear that it was made, in many instances, the model on which the designs of other churches were formed.
Cologne Cathedral, for instance, was commenced in 1248, during the erection of that at Amiens, and is manifestly a free copy of it so far as concerns its earlier portions;[45] and though Westminster Abbey is by no means built on the model of Amiens, it was probably influenced by it. That prodigious pile, carried forward through so long a series of years, would be a great object of interest to all contemporary church-builders; and Henry, who was much in France, would naturally send the architect of his own sacred mausoleum to see the great work of his day.
Westminster Abbey is a church built on a French ideal, but with English detail—a great French thought expressed in excellent English.
The windows are of the perfected bar tracery, which had not yet been much used in England; but in other respects I cannot find a distinctively French detail—or scarcely any—in the building, excepting the work of a single French foliage carver. Even the plan, which is purely French in idea, is carried out in a manner quite different from that of any French church I have seen.
In the architecture the union of the manners of the two nations is most happy. The pillars are nearly like those of the great French cathedral, but the side shafts, instead of being attached, are separate shafts of Purbeck marble, the nucleus and the capitals and bases being all of the same beautiful material. The use of this hard stone led to that of moulded unfoliated capitals, in which they lose in effect when compared with those at Amiens; but the nobler material would more than compensate for this.
The triforium is far superior to that at Amiens both in design and detail, and the whole internal design, though inferior in size and altitude, is to my eye far more pleasing; and when its varied materials retained their colour, and the Purbeck marble, which pervades every part, preserved its polish, there cannot be a doubt as to the superior magnificence of its effect.
The parts, too, are much better proportioned, with perhaps, the one exception of the too acute form of the main arches; the wall arcading is much more beautiful, and the details generally more richly moulded. We have, then, here, at our doors, a building whose interior is equal to that of any existing Gothic building, and we have no excuse if we do not avail ourselves of so noble an opportunity of study.
Of the exterior I will say nothing. All its old features had perished by the end of the seventeenth century, when they were vilely renewed, and this base restoration is now in its turn decayed.
The chapter-house is a splendid but melancholy relic, little more than a ruin, and that not like those ruins which seem to do honour to the memory of their bygone glory by the picturesque loveliness which graces their decay. It is choked up with presses, chests, galleries, huge sacks of parchment, and every possible obstruction and disfigurement. Its beautiful windows—which filled the entire width of its sides—are walled up, and its elegant vaulting destroyed. Just enough remains to render its restoration practicable. I have, with great labour, traced out all the old details, and only wish for the chance of restoring it in some degree to its pristine beauty.[46] I should mention that the splendid encaustic floor is still perfect, and that very fine specimens of wall painting still remain. The vestibule and staircase by which it is approached are beautifully designed, and the doorway from the cloister is among the most splendid relics of English art. The latter is in a dreadful state of decay, but I am happy to say that it has just been stereotyped in its present state by the application of an invisible solution, which will prevent the further progress of disintegration, and which has set and hardened the crumbling particles, which the gentlest touch would have before displaced.