The improvements which originated in the Regency of George the Fourth, and converted Swallow-street, with its filthy labyrinthine environs, into the moet picturesque avenue of the metropolis, may be considered as the first step in the march of architectural embellishment which is now visible from the western entrance to Babylon the Great, at Hyde-park-corner, to the “far east,” where sits the old lady of Threadneedle-street, rubbing her eyes and spectacles in astonishment at finding herself the heart and centre of a city of palaces.
Where has commerce such a mart,
So rich, so thronged, so drained, and so supplied,
As LONDON—opulent, enlarged, and still
Increasing London? Babylon of old
Not more the glory of the earth than she,
A more accomplished world’s chief glory now!
Writing in 1842, we may fearlessly affirm that, taking the improvements effected and in progress, the capital of the British empire contains a greater variety of grand and tasteful objects for graphic delineation than any other city in Europe. Nevertheless, except as adding to the general effect, our new churches, it must be confessed, do not exhibit favourable specimens of the architectural abilities of the nineteenth century. With one or two pleasing exceptions, they are certainly flat, jejune, incongruous, or grotesque, and serve but as foils to the edifices of Wren, Hawksmoor, and Gibbs. This may appear a sweeping censure, but its unpleasant truth few will dispute; yet, viewing them in conjunction with the
Stately streets, and squares that court the breeze,
which rose simultaneously with them on the site of pestilential alleys and squalid hovels, the spectator must be churlish indeed who would not overlook trifling defects where the amount of positive improvement is so large. But our business is now with the Church of All Souls, and to it we will devote ourselves.
Place yourself by our side, reader, as, standing at the south eastern corner of Langham-place, we take a pleased survey of the singular originality of the church before us. Our position here, if the carriages of the ambassadors will permit it (for it is the last drawing-room of the season, and the wealth, the splendour, the chivalry, and the aristocracy of Europe are rolling towards the palace to pay homage to the beloved and bright Queen of the Isles) is of the best for seeing.
The circular peristyle of Mr. Nash’s whimsical Ionic portico, the capitals of which are composed of cherubim, whose heads peer between the volutes with which their wings are intermingling, have a good effect from where we stand. True it is that they have been likened by a critic to owls displayed as trophies on the posts of a Dutch barn; nevertheless, they are original, and their effect is good—which is much to say of anything in these days of plagiarism. The circular tower within it, that pierces the sofit of the portico, is solid and effective, and where it rises above the crowning balustrade of the cornice into a circular stybolate to the bell-tower, it is really beautiful, both in form and proportion. And now we have accustomed our eye to the daring novelty we can look with complacency on the impaling spire, or spike, and at the whole tower, which some, with more wit than charity, have compared to a flat candlestick, surmounted by a thick candle, crowned with a little misfitting extinguisher.
We cannot always have elegancies on the model of the steeple of Bow or St. Bride’s. Such objects, however commendable in themselves, would cloy and become offensive, if stuck all over an extensive city: we therefore hold it unfair to deny a large amount of credit to Mr. Nash for the bold originality of this singular tower and spire; really possessing much intrinsic beauty of form, and standing forth an ornament of no mean pretensions at the apparent terminus of a vista of elegant architectural detail—the boundary of the commercial portion of Regent-street.
Having inspected the tower, let us now turn to the body of the church. This is plain even to meagreness. It has a smooth-shaven, factory, or rather packing-case look, which gives one the idea of an elevation for the board-room of a committee of New Poor Law Guardians. It is of Portland-stone; and the best that Mr. Elmes, the laudator of Mr. Nash’s doings in brick, stone, plaster, and stucco, could say for it, when lecturing on “Metropolitan Improvements,” was, ” that it seems rather designed for accommodation than ornament!” This is “damning with faint praise” with a vengeance. There is, however, one consolation—one mitigation of this architectural offence—namely, that from the angular recess in which the church stands, the body of the building is out of sight, in the best points of view for seeing the other parts of the structure and the surrounding erections. Its absolute want of harmony with the ornamented tower and porch is therefore less offensive to the judicious eye; unless the nakedness of its deformity come upon him from some other point of view.
The ground on which All Souls’, Langham-place, stands, formed part of the site of Lord Foley’s mansion, which, with several adjacent houses, was removed to complete this end of Regent-street. The church is situate at the angle where Portland-place may be said to commence, presenting a fine termination to the view from the end of the Quadrant, at Vigo-street.
The manufactory of Messrs. Marks, the coach-builders, on the south side of the church, would have been admired in the plain days of the Portman-square architects, even as a mansion, but it is now lost among the magnificence of the new metropolis in the nineteenth century. The facade to the fronts of the row of stables fronting the coachmaker’s, is a skilful contrivance to conceal an obvious defect, and is creditable to Mr. Nash’s taste; the little continuous portico of Doric order to the front of the dead wall is a happy thought, and—— But we must not stand here, obstructing the way, and wasting a day in architectural criticism; see the sweep yonder splendid carriage, with the armed heyduke behind it, was compelled to make, to avoid macadamizing Langham-place with our bones! That is Prince Esterhazy’s; and contains diamonds enough to purchase an Austrian province. The crowd yonder is waiting to see the splendid cortège of the ambassador of the King of the French. The Spanish Ambassador is his near neighbour; while the representatives of Leopold and William of Holland, each in equipages of no small beauty, roll southward to pay their court to her who sits throned in the hearts of her subjects—the amiable, the lovely Queen of Britain. These men, in the council or the field, in bygone years, waged, with us, or with each other, wars of devastation and bloodshed; but now, thank Heaven, our only rivalry is in the arts of peace-in commerce, in literature, in the fine arts, in science, and in all the elegancies that adorn and dignify social and civilized man.
The Illustrated London News, London, England, Week Ending September 24, 1842
