Читать книгу Picturesque London - Fitzgerald Percy Hetherington - Страница 9

People often lament that the old Cathedrals, both in England and abroad, are so crowded up, and incrusted by mean buildings and streets; but do they gain when these are cleared away? One of the most picturesque glimpses of the Abbey is to be obtained from a point vis-à-vis to the Peers’ entrance, near the equestrian statue. There is a perfect old-world charm over this little corner, at the end of which the great arched buttress of the Chapter House—a happy bit of restoration—shows itself. The air of repose and tranquillity is extraordinary. You would think you were in an old rural town.

We are so familiar with the great Westminster group of buildings, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Hall, that we scarcely can appreciate the imposing magnificence of the site and disposition. But foreigners are often struck with astonishment and admiration at the vast elaborate workmanship and detail; and certainly for a modern work the Parliament House is singularly successful in the effort to reproduce the old Gothic. The irregularity and originality of the treatment of the two towers, the flèche, etc., is worthy of all praise. Of course faults may be detected, and it is said there is a monotony in the repetition of the panelling, which suggests wood-carving, as though wrought by machinery. When the plans were discussed it was proposed to raise the platform on the river side to the full level of the ground in Palace Square, or rather to that of the Bridge, and this would certainly have had an imposing effect. But the difficulty was what to do with Westminster Hall. There was an angry controversy between Pugin and Sir Charles Barry, and between those who represented them, as to their respective shares in the design, a point which the impartial spectator will have little difficulty in deciding. Pugin’s spirit is to be recognized everywhere and in all the details, and it was impossible that so pervading an influence should not have its effect in the constructive portions also. Barry’s other works offer nothing like this—nothing so free or fanciful. The luxuriance of florid details is indeed extraordinary, and the lavish profusion of ornament seems to belong to some gem of a private chapel rather than to the surfaces of so vast a building. But it is melancholy to note the evidence of decay, and this delicate tracery, though apparently preserving its shape and form, is mouldering away. Any “under-cutting” in this climate is doomed. The general decay of the main stone-work which caused such alarm many years ago has happily been arrested; a vast quantity of the decayed material has been cut out and renewed. But there is a constant repair going on, and little “crow’s nests” are to be always seen crusted round one or other of the delicate “finials.”

Some palpable mistakes, due to economy, can be detected at once. The intention of the architect in designing so long and so low a structure was to relieve it by the two Towers, which were to “carry up” the eye—like spires. The great Victoria Tower, whose enormous proportions can only be appreciated when we are close to it, seems as vast and massive as the Tower of the Town Hall at Ypres—that wonder of the world. Yet the whole idea of its imposing height has been sacrificed: it is indeed difficult to believe that it is as high as the dome of St. Paul’s. As Fergusson says, “the Victoria Tower partly dwarfs the portion of the building near it. Yet in the original design it was intended to be six stories in height, which increase would have lessened the sense of breadth, making it more airy. Unfortunately the architect had the weakness of often changing his original purpose, consequently the entrance, instead of being only of the height of two stories of the building as at first proposed, now runs through and makes the adjacent House of Lords ridiculous. If the size of the gate is appropriate the Lords are pigmies. Worse than this, at the back of the great arch is a little one, one fourth its height, through which everything must pass. The counterpart of all this is the House, which looks much smaller than it really is.”

The fact is, that when the Tower was approaching completion the House of Commons, in a fit of economy, interposed and refused to allow it to be carried to its proper height. It is now therefore some thirty or forty feet too short. Its proportions seem clumsy and stinted, and it is really unpleasant to contemplate. The flèche that rises from the centre of the building is really beautiful and elegant, covering (which few would suspect) the great central Hall, and, with these various towers and spires forms a charming assemblage, to which the Abbey unhappily does not contribute, for its central tower ought to be furnished with a flèche, or an octagonal lantern, like the one at St. Ouen at Rouen. Wren, it is known, prepared a design, which however was laid aside.

As we look up at the Clock Tower, it suggests some curious recollections—first, associated with the “Big Ben” within, which has its history. Few may recollect that it was so named after Sir Benjamin Hall, then Commissioner of Works. Unnoticed too, perhaps, by the incurious is the fact that “Big Ben” has long been cracked, but has done his work effectively for years. Yet the hoarse, rather jarring tone betrays this damage hourly. Forgotten also that it was designed by a bell amateur, Mr. Becket Denison, and that there was a controversy and discussion which long raged fiercely about the bell. It could not be even settled what note it uttered. It is astonishing to think that the large hand of the clock is over fourteen feet long. From the elaborate open-work character of the “cap,” or head, of the clock-tower, as well as from its function of holding a number of bells large and small, for which there is no room save in the body of the tower itself, it was intended that the whole should be pierced, and have an airy, open treatment like a church spire. This was actually the architect’s design, as will be seen from the slits that run all the way up. These, however, he was forced to “glaze,” and fill in with windows, which gives the whole a heavy, clumsy air, instead of a lightness and elegance. The system of lighting the dials is elaborate, and the cost enormous. There is quite a fire-chamber behind. Offenders against Parliamentary discipline have been consigned to the Clock Tower for custody; and, as may be imagined, the chief portion of their sufferings, night and day, must have been the alarming booming of the bells, which were quite close to their ears.

The great embarrassment for the architect of the Houses of Parliament was Westminster Hall, which stood in the way and seemed really irreconcilable. If left detached, with a space between it and the new building, there would be little room for the latter between it and the river; if combined with it, it was incongruous, being of a totally different style. The latter course was adopted, and it was turned into a sort of vestibule or entrance hall to the two Houses. On æsthetic grounds this was a blunder, for it has lost its significance as a separate work, and has always been in protest, as it were, against its degradation. From the outside everyone may conclude that here are two distinct buildings, yet on entering it is found to be merely a passage or approach for the other. Barry was so sensible of this that he determined to hide or screen it altogether, and he left designs for a building to be carried in front, and which was to go round the whole yard. There was to be a grand imposing tower, with arched entrance gate at the corner, facing Parliament Street. This costly scheme was never carried out, and instead, the Hall has been taken in hand by Mr. Pearson, fitted with a cloister and buttress, battlements, etc., after its own style. This of course only imparts a more general discrepancy, for its general plainness and rudeness of treatment make the details of the new building appear trivial; while in return their minuteness and delicacy causes the Westminster Hall to appear yet more rude and rough.

What shall be said of the magnificent interior of the Hall, its unique open and bewildering roof, a marvel of construction, with its history and traditions and trials? But it is curious, as we walk through it, to see how completely the effect has been destroyed. By opening out the end and adding ascending steps, with a passage beyond, its purpose has been changed, and the sense of space and size abolished. You merely pass through it, instead of entering it and staying there. It is no longer a great chamber. There is a handsome stained glass window seen beyond, of the style called “Perpendicular,” a portion of which, strange to say, is cut off by the beams of the roof. It was, however, Barry’s intention to raise the roof all through by hydraulic machinery—an intention that never will be carried out, and so the blunder or eyesore remains.

It is curious what uncertainty exists as to the roof of this fine Hall. It is generally supposed to be made of Irish oak, as stated by Macaulay in his account of the trial of Warren Hastings. Others maintain that it is of Normandy chestnut, others again that the roof alone is of chestnut and the ribs of oak.

Everyone is familiar with the two Chambers, with their fine and gorgeous decorations, enriched brass and iron work, carvings, paintings, etc. The House of Commons originally had an elegant open roof, elaborate to a degree, and furnishing the leading “note” of the chamber. It was found at once that the speeches were inaudible, and the architect was allotted the ungrateful office of destroying his own work—having to set up a flat panelled ceiling many feet below his tracery and Gothic work. This has answered perfectly, and the space between is utilized for lighting purposes. It may be added that when it was determined not to proceed further with Barry’s designs, the Palace was completed by his son, a low colonnade being added, the ornamental details of the Clock Tower being continued to the ground. The grilles and railings which were also added seem like the colonnade, but have not the same elegance as the building, and offer a different treatment.

The Gothic clock-face caused the architect a vast deal of thought, and it was only after many experiments that the existing mode of attaching it to the tower was devised. It is considered very successful. Prince Albert, it is said, insisted that the whole upper portion should be of metal. The tower has, within the last few years, been turned into a sort of beacon or gigantic lamp-post—not, indeed, to give light or a warning of danger—but to announce to whom it may concern that the House is not up. This acts as a pernicious schoolmaster, and insensibly preaches what is mean and degrading. The tower was a useful and faithful servant, “Big Ben” booming out—albeit a little hoarse and cracked—the hours by day, the huge illuminated dial telling the hour by night. But a gap was made in the fretwork over the dial, and an ugly semicircular lantern thrust out, which gives out a fierce glare while the House is sitting. The handsome Clock Tower is now present to our minds as a sort of gigantic candlestick, with the associations of smoke, fierce heat, flare, and glare. The light is not hung out from the tower beacon-wise, but the tower itself is the beacon.