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From the Ashes An analysis of the church rebuilding in London during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth century.
Yiannis Taliotis AR597 Dissertation January 2021 Kent School of Architecture Supervisor: Manolo Guerci Word Count: 8189 Student ID: 18880972
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Table of Contents Table of Contents ............................................................................................................................ 1 Abstract ........................................................................................................................................... 2 Introduction ..................................................................................................................................... 3 Rebuilding the City.......................................................................................................................... 5 St Stephen, Walbrook .................................................................................................................... 6 The City Steeples......................................................................................................................... 10 Nicholas Hawksmoor..................................................................................................................... 14 ‘The Basilica after the Primitive Christians’ ................................................................................. 16 Gothic ......................................................................................................................................... 18 St Martin-in-the-Fields ................................................................................................................. 20 Bibliography ................................................................................................................................. 26 Illustration Credits ....................................................................................................................... 28
Figure 1: Canaletto, The Thames from Somerset House terrace towards the City, c. 1750-51
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Abstract Even in Painting, the tremendous amount of devastation in which the city of London had been inundated with following the Great Fire of 1666 can be somewhat imagined. Indeed, one could simply refer to the accounts of Samuel Pepys or John Evelyn to realise that the artists did not exaggerate the severity of the fire. 1 Although the architecture of England in the next hundred or so years following the fire would come to be defined as a period of ‘several opposing currents’ 2 inasmuch as it adopted various models and principles, domestically and otherwise, to form a quintessentially eclectic British style, the role of London’s then primitive urban planning and architecture in accelerating the destruction of the fire cannot be overstated. In fact, one must be conscious of the contextual circumstances which encouraged the development of tightly packed urban blocks and narrow streets in order to truly comprehend the transformation in which the City would undergo in the decades that followed. In this investigation, I will begin by conducting a critical analysis of the City churches built under the church rebuilding commission in the late seventeenth century, focusing on the integral role of Sir Christopher Wren and the various European models which he drew upon in order to create a collective of idiosyncratic churches that defined London’s skyline for generations by reviving its legacy with spires and towers.3 The first part of this chapter will be focusing exclusively on the church of St Stephen Walbrook as a display on Wren’s masterful amalgamation of invention and intellect with key Roman models of the Renaissance which he learned in his readings and travels – on an architectural plane which, as historian John Summerson aptly describes, was ‘less formal and more experimental’.4 This will be followed by a holistic analysis of his City steeples, selecting churches which most effectively demonstrate Wren’s more pronounced articulation of the classical language, as well as his wider range of influences which illustrate his evolution in style. In the subsequent chapters, I will attempt to study the churches built in the next generation of architects following the 1711 Church Rebuilding Act, speculating initially on Nicholas Hawksmoor’s unique interest in historical models, further back and further afield than the conventions of Wren,5 and how this manifested itself in allusive references amongst his London churches, followed by an investigation on St Martin-in-the-Fields as James Gibbs’ biggest contribution to London’s ecclesiastical landscape – in the context of his individualistic approach to adopting continental models at the height of the English Baroque.
1 2 3 4 5
Whitechapel Art Gallery, Sir Christopher Wren, an exhibition, pg. 60 Emil Kaufmann, Architecture in the age of reason, pg. 3 Colin Amery, Wren’s London, pg. 8 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 192 Owen Hopkins, From the shadows: The architecture and afterlife of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pg. 61
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Introduction London had experienced a remarkable amount of growth in the 16th and 17th century. Its significance in both a social and commercial sense cemented it as the nucleus of the country (to which it remains presently) and spared it from the economic stagnation which plagued several outlying English cities.6 Inevitably, the result of an unregulated urban sprawl would manifest itself in the form of an urban tinderbox within the City. The proposals put forth by the government to regulate space around newly built houses were deemed somewhat too equivocal by the general public7, furthering the subdivision of the city into narrow winding streets in order to accommodate an ever-growing population. Despite the economic prowess of London continuing for over a century, its architecture would remain a stark contrast to the Baroque majesty of its European equivalents. In any case, the forthcoming fire presented a tremendous opportunity for the reinvention of London and the City landscape.
Sir Christopher Wren, to whom most of the rebuilding of London is owed, had submitted his sketch-plan to King Charles II on 11 September; just 6 days after the fire was more or less under control – followed by John Evelyn on the 13th ; and others in the days that followed.8 In this instance, the fervour and initiative of Wren becomes immediately apparent, though the level of forethought shown by other city fathers as well as Wren is also a clear indication of a general concern shown for the City’s appearance at large. 9 Wren would incidentally visit Paris just months before the fire – providing a profound influence on his proposal for his parish churches, as well as the new City which had scope for a greater degree of capacity and scale.10 In essence, it was designed around several nodal points which served to define the urban fabric of the City and house prominent public buildings; the largest of which was a proposed new West End civic space, just north of Victoria Embankment. The areas themselves were generally linked by grand boulevards and thoroughfares, bearing great semblance to the planning of France, particularly Henry IV’s scheme for the Place de France, which though not completed, was accessible in engravings.11 The grandeur and magnificence of the Louvre and Tuileries Palaces would have undoubtably captured the imagination of Wren during his visit to the French capital – providing him with a clear precedent through which his vision for London would be channelled.12 By 1970, the second rebuilding act had been passed which arranged for the construction of St Paul’s and the parish churches via an increase in tax on coal imports to the City.13 Wren presided over the practices of a small committee responsible for the churches, which consisted of himself, Dr Robert Hooke, and Edward Woodroffe. 14 He had established himself as one of the most esteemed architectural figures in the country, and it was through the City churches and the reimagining of London’s skyline that he would make his most profound impact.
6 7 8 9
Nikolas Pevsner and Simon Bradley, London. 1, The City of London, pg. 57 Nikolas Pevsner and Simon Bradley, London. 1, The City of London, pg. 57 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 187 Whitechapel Art Gallery, Sir Christopher Wren, an exhibition, pg. 60
10 11 12 13 14
Nikolas Pevsner and Simon Bradley, London. 1, The City of London, pg. 67 Margaret Whinney, Wren, Pg. 39 Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 9 Doreen Yarwood, The architecture of England: From prehistoric times to the present day, pg. 231 Margaret Whinney, Wren, Pg. 45
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Figure 2: Engraving of the Place de France, Paris, 1609, Claude Châtillion (left) and Figure 3: Wren's plan for the City (right)
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Rebuilding the City: “Lector, si monumentum requiris, circumspice” (“Reader, if you seek a monument, look around you”). Such are the words engraved on the memorial tablet of Sir Christopher Wren in the crypt of St Paul’s15 and no more appropriate words could have been written to honour the accomplishments of Wren. Indeed, much of the historic legacy of the City of London is beholden to him, through the design of his Universities, Royal Palaces, and ecclesiastical buildings within the City. In the span of Wren’s ninety-one-year life, England saw the paradigm of architectural principle shift liberally; a notable contrast to the model in Italy and Central Europe which saw Baroque remain the standard for several generations; subsisting well into the mid-18th century. Even in France, a historical succession of the Baroque can be inferred, even though it had a shorter stay and was ‘limited in form’.16 As the centuries past however, Wren’s presence in the consciousness of the public would diminish and one may argue that currently, his reputation rests for the most part upon one single building: St Paul’s Cathedral. His parish churches on the other hand, ranging from the Gothic to his own conception of Classicism, remain far more enigmatic in their legacy, and serve to define one of Wren’s most esoteric periods of his multifarious career – as far as his architectural method is concerned. Moreover, time has not been kind to the Wren Churches. Of the fiftythree which Wren saw to completion, only a handful remain intact in their original form. Over the centuries, the majority have fallen victim to renovation, the devastation of The Blitz and ‘ecclesiastical philistinism’.17 That is not to say it is not possible to hold a certain level of affinity towards some of Wren’s churches. They do in fact receive some acclaim as modest contributors to London’s picturesque skyline, even if they fall short of being regarded as individual masterpieces in their own right.18 In reality, the context in which the City churches were built are an essential component in understanding why the Wren churches look the way they do. The rebuilding of the City, though a formidable task, had a demand to be completed as swiftly as possible, as to retain the City’s economic and social vitality. In fact, the rebuilding of the City itself was subsequently carried out on the old medieval street plan.19 Often constrained by the demands of the vestry, the size and funds of parishes, and the limitations of the site itself20; Wren, as Surveyor-General, was forced to work within the parameters he was set and very few churches, if any, do a better job in providing an insight into the architectural method of Wren, as well as offer a basis through which we can understand his evolution, than St Stephen Walbrook. It stands as an enduring symbol of the City’s resilience as well as Wren’s own blueprint through which his creative and intellectual assurance would come to fruition.
15 16 17 18 19 20
Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 1 Kerry Downes, English Baroque architecture, pg. 1 Colin Amery, Wren’s London, pg. 7 Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 55 Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 11 Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 1
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St Stephen Walbrook: St Stephen Walbrook perhaps represents Wren’s most creative articulation of geometric forms. The relationship between the rectilinear plan and the dome is the ‘central motif’ of the church and is conceived in a similar vein in which St Paul’s would be, albeit at a smaller scale. In effect, the restrained façade hardly hints at the majestic interior of the church21 and it is only upon entry, after climbing a flight of steps, that the visitor is enchanted by the richness of the church. As was the case with many of the churches, limited funds and awkward site geometry meant that they were for the most part designed to be appreciated from the inside - presenting an opportunity for the newly reformed Anglican Church to convey its identity through furnishing and craftsmanship in a classical manner. In fact, this idea of the centralised plan is a reoccurring theme amongst many of Wren’s churches. The geometric problem of a square or cross within a longidudinal plan likely appealed to Wren’s critical instincts and was the basis for some of his smaller domes. 22 Despite this, the majority of his churches show signs of being a hall-type Basilica. For example, St Magnus the Martyr is one of many churches which have a longitudinal plan with a continuous barrel-vaulted ceiling. Its north and south aisles are enclosed by ionic columns which leads the procession directly towards the chancel. Once formulated, wren’s concepts for the churches did not for the most part deviate23, and the differences we see in plan owe more to practicality and the state of the previous medieval church plan than Wren’s own experimentation.
Figure 4: St Stephen Walbrook plan (left) and Figure 5: St Magnus the Martyr plan (right)
21 22 23
Nikolas Pevsner and Simon Bradley, London. 1, The City of London, pg. 262 Colin Amery, Wren’s London, pg. 11 Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 57
7|Page Within this cross–dome arrangement at St Stephen, the interaction between the axial paths (the nave, aisles, and transepts) and the central domed space is where the true mastery of this building lies – demonstrating Wren’s ‘spatial ingenuity’24 as well as his technical assuredness. He was after all, a rational scientist at heart. Wren’s goal, as with most of his churches, was to create what he called ‘Auditories’25, so the audibility and visibility of the preacher was paramount to the success of the congregation.26 As it were, such a church would exist less than two miles west from St Stephen’s site - providing an invaluable precedent for Wren to look to: Inigo Jones’ St Paul’s, Covent Garden.
Inigo Jones (1573 – 1652), to whom much is owed for the integration of classicism and Renaissance models into England’s architectural palette, was the first true English architect to articulate Vitruvian principles of order in his works.27 Jones had embarked on a sojourn of Italy in the early years of the 17 th century and was consequently exposed to the antiquity of Cinquecento Italianate architecture – in particular: the works of Andrea Palladio. Although historical theory and the architectural progression which both preceded and followed the Wren years may lead us to believe that Jones was a strict exponent of Palladian traditions, his influence must be viewed in the wider scope of expressing the antiquarian principles of Vitruvius, particularly via the formulation of his models by the likes of Alberti, Serlio, and other Renaissance masters.28 Jones’ St Paul’s, with its salient yet primitive use of the Tuscan order and geometrical forms, is a clear embodiment of Vitruvian principles at their most fundamental level29 as well as a model which echoes the archaeological principles of Andrea Palladio. This is not to say that Wren did not have a proficient understanding of the classical language himself through his collection of engravings (though it was inevitably enhanced by the influence of Jones), for a clear understanding of it was a prerequisite in the creation of sophisticated Baroque forms by Wren and in time: his disciples. Even before Jones’ time, tinges of Renaissance symbolism can be seen in late Tudor and Jacobean English architecture. Figure 6 shows Hardwick Hall designed by Robert Smythson in the late 16th century. This is a prime example of English Renaissance architecture in its infancy, demonstrating a level of Mannerist excess fused with Elizabethan sovereignty. With that being said, the English interpretation of the Italian Renaissance seen in Prodigy houses can be understood as less pure, seeing as it was introduced in a derivative form from Central Europe, France, and the Low Countries.30 It would take at least two generations for the English Renaissance to fully come of age.
24 25 26 27 28 29 30
Colin Amery, Wren’s London, pg. 7 Parentalia, 320 https://ststephenwalbrook.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/st-stephen-history-booklet.pdf Vaughan Hart, Inigo Jones: The architect of kings Giles Worsley, Inigo Jones and the European classicist tradition, pg. 1 John Summerson, The classical language of architecture, pg. 13 David Watkins, English Architecture, pg. 82
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Figure 6: Hardwick Hall, Derbyshire, 1590 – 7, Robert Smythson (left) and Figure 7: Wollaton Hall, Nottinghamshire, 1580 – 8, Sir Francis Willoughby (right)
At St Stephen, the use of classical elements is immediately apparent. The central nave is articulated at first by two iterations of slim Corinthian columns on either side of the narthex, with a further two behind them. The central dome is fundamentally supported by eight arches: four primary ones which rest on each pair of columns of the nave, chancel, and transept; and four diagonal ones which rest on individual columns to form a perfect square. Wren’s puzzle of building a dome structure on a rectilinear plan, without the support of piers or the outer walls themselves, had seemingly been solved, if not for the awkward inclusion of clerestoried groin vault behind the diagonal arch.31 This problem would be one which Wren encountered again at St Paul’s Cathedral; therefore, we can assume St Stephen to be a structural ‘rehearsal’ for St Paul’s, given that they were on the drawing board at the same time as each other. The church at first seems to be primarily leaning towards a classical model - one which mirrors the metaphysical principles of harmony of the High Renaissance. Its regular, longitudinal nature, particularly in the horizontal axis, gives the impression of order. Here, Wren draws from Rome and the models of Italian Basilicas. The Church of the Gesù for instance, also places emphasis on clear hearing and sight in its plan 32, and the design of St Stephens undoubtably shows indications of a Roman awareness of virility amongst the clergy. The procession however leads to a spectacular central space – lit by a lantern topped dome, and it is here where the fundamental dichotomy of the church presents itself by producing a second understanding. The central space is defined by the slender columns which add a sense of lightness and illumination, as well as carry the entablature. Although many of Wren’s City churches incorporate somewhat of a restrained version of the Baroque, what St Stephen possessed in its order was certainly not lost in its spirit. The light flooding in from the Cupola and the clerestoried windows bring to life the complex geometry of the interior and reveal Wren’s rhetorical intentions which superseded the ornate richness of the interior. In Rome, Borromini and others used Baroque forms to express the divinity of Catholicism in a dramatic, passionate, and often theatrical manner. For Wren, Geometry was in itself the ‘true order of the universe’ 33 and a sacred manifestation of God. ‘English’ Baroque as it were, would not have been established in the Architectural vocabulary as a style in its own right until the mature works of Wren had been completed. Nonetheless, a sophisticated awareness of Baroque qualities (undoubtably borne in part from Wren’s trip to France and education on Roman models) can in this way still be detected in the design of St Stephen.
31 32 33
John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 187 Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 60 https://ststephenwalbrook.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/st-stephen-history-booklet.pdf
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Figure 8: Sir Christopher Wren’s St Stephen Walbrook (left) and Figure 9: Francesco Borromini’s Sant'Ivo alla Sapienza (right) both make elaborate use of a central dome within a centralised plan.
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The City Steeples With Wren’s noticeably clear awareness of Italianate models, it is through the discernment of his steeples and towers that his conception of the classical language is most consummately expressed. Despite this, St Stephen is subtle in its use of classical forms on its tower. It features a bulky mass, which protrudes up past the dome and is capped by an intricate yet modest spire, presumably added by Nicholas Hawksmoor around 40 years after the church had been built.34 A much more telling instance of Wren’s classical steeples can be found at St Mary-leBow – built in quick succession to the church itself35 but just as exciting as other steeples added to their respective church’s years later.
The steeple for St Mary-le-Bow sits atop the tower on the north-west corner of the church – planted on a square base enclosed with a balustrade – in order to add a sense of softness in the transition of the square tower to a circular steeple. The balustrades are enclosed by four pinnacles, each composed of four converging scrolls: much in the spirit of the old medieval tower. Here, Wren once again demonstrates a great degree of invention. He had no precedent of a multi-storeyed classical steeple in England to work from. Moreover, one can look much further back to understand that Vitruvius himself, in his book De Architectura, did not explain the language of antiquity in relation to large, layered vertical forms, for such structures did not exist in the ancient world 36– though this problem would be tackled eventually by Alberti in his 15th century texts. Again, Wren would look to Rome for the answer. Figure 11 shows the model for Antonio De Sangallo’s St Peter’s, Rome – a clear exemplar which Wren would have likely been directly aware of. If he was not, the model almost certainly found its way to Inigo Jones, as the concept of layered classical steeples in church facades can be seen in John Webb’s ideal church drawings.37 The first order of the steeple at St Mary-le-Bow is comprised of a circular tempietto decorated by twelve Corinthian columns – with an intercolumniation of around three diameters, thus giving the steeple an air of lightness and serenity. Above this, a transition once again occurs from the circular tempietto to the even smaller square one. In this instance, Wren recalls the scroll motif used in the bows of the old Gothic tower as well as on the cornered pinnacles of the base, revealing an ingenious vertical sequence as the up-tailing scrolls create a ‘continuity of line’ via the orders.38 The upper tempietto, also composed of twelve columns, supports a pyramid structure which carries a copper dragon-type weathervane. Wren had in fact originally intended for an octagonal shaped ‘pepper-pot’ dome, resembling the Flemish styled towers of Inigo Jones’ Whitehall designs39, however this more lucid employment of the classical orders represents a much greater awareness of Renaissance canonical theories.
34 35 36 37 38 39
Stephen Wheatley, The real Wren churches, pg. 34 Margaret Whinney, Wren, Pg. 67 Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 82 Margaret Whinney, Wren, Pg. 67 Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 82 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 198
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Figure 10: North elevation of Wren’s St Mary-le-Bow (left) and Figure 11: Antonio da Sangallo's model for St Peter's, Rome (right)
In fact, it is precisely these theories which gave way to the formation of the English Baroque at the turn of the eighteenth century. Though the climax of the English Baroque was to be seen in the generation after Wren (most notably in the works of John Vanbrugh and Nicholas Hawksmoor) the architecture of England at the time evolved sporadically and as we have seen in the instance of St Stephen Walbrook, Wren was truly aware of the outstanding qualities and rhetorical capabilities of the Baroque. As far as any steeples and towers, St Vedast Foster Lane is arguably the greatest embodiment of the Baroque spirit amongst any of Wren’s City steeples 40 - rivalled only by the West towers of St Paul’s. The body of the church contains all the traditional elements one would expect of an Anglican church - albeit in a modest capacity - whilst also making resourceful use of the lasting medieval fabric of the church. 41 A conservative use of the Tuscan order on the south aisle arcade is defined by an exceptionally large stained-glass window illustrating the life of the Frankish Saint amongst other things and flanked by smaller round-headed windows. As with the majority of the Wren churches however, the primary allure of St Vedast is the striking steeple which sits in the southwest corner of the church and overlooks Cheapside. In most cases, Wren’s churches were designed with only a single show façade in which most investment and aesthetic forethought was put towards.42 It is for this reason that the towers and steeples of Wren’s churches were his biggest architectural expression. At St Vedast, a group of tightly packed diagonal composite pilasters form concave walls above the Doric frieze of the tower. Above this lies a second diminished layer of convex and concave walls which seem to almost absorb the plain pilasters, much like the composite ones below. Figure 12 shows the result: a series of swinging curves and bends on two separate stages of the steeple, a curious deviance from Wren’s usual tendencies rooted in a post-Palladian classicism and order of antiquity,43 but nonetheless reminiscent of the sensuous, flamboyant surface play of Borromini’s oratory of St Philip Neri in Rome 44 or even his church of San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane. Furthermore, the rectangular openings punched into each face make intricate play of the light and shadow arrangements, adding a further sense of drama to an otherwise unassuming church. In any
40 41 42 43 44
Nikolas Pevsner and Simon Bradley, London. 1, The City of London, pg. 265 Nikolas Pevsner and Simon Bradley, London. 1, The City of London, pg. 265 Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 64 http://romananglican.blogspot.com/2019/08/baroque-rebirth-and-birth-of-anglican.html John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 200
12 | P a g e case, St Vedast serves as an endearing reminder to us that although Wren’s eclectic City churches can be seen to lack the ‘passionate intensity’ seen in the works of Borromini and the like, they are nonetheless a great indication of his invention, creative pragmatism, and ability to compromise with a clergy that could hardly grasp the classicism of the continent, much less the excess of the Roman Baroque.45
Figure 12: St Vedast, Foster Lane, Steeple (left) and Figure 13: Engraving of Borromini’s oratory of St Philip Neri, Rome (right)
The last of Wren’s main steeple types was those which showcased his own interpretation of Gothic principles. Examples of Wren’s Gothic conception can be seen in some of his church steeples such as those of St Mary, Aldermary and St Alban, Wood Street. Even St Mary-le-Bow for instance, whilst being rooted in Wren’s classicism, certainly has elements of a Gothic allusion in the reversed scrolls of the tower. 46 St Dunstan-in-theEast, however, is Wren’s strongest example of a Gothic revivalist City church in its purest form. One must not forget that the rebuilding of the City was undertaken on the old medieval street plan. As we have seen, Wren’s initial plan for London was considered too utopian and unrealistic,47 hence the medieval spirit of the pre-fire City was likely to be retained to a degree when the City was rebuilt from the ashes in the second half of the seventeenth century. In the case of St Dunstan (as with other churches), Wren was tasked by the Parish to repair the partly damaged Gothic structure of the pre-fire church as well as add a new steeple. 48 Wren, who in his writings had expressed his preference of the ‘better’ (Classical) to the dated Gothic style, was obliged to be flexible in his approach to the design. Indeed, it seems a far cry from the unassuming Renaissance classicism of his first few
45 46 47 48
Colin Amery, Wren’s London, pg. 8 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 199 Colin Amery, Wren’s London, pg. 6 Doreen Yarwood, The architecture of England: From prehistoric times to the present day, pg. 233
13 | P a g e churches to the ogees and spire-like pinnacles of the tower at St Dunstan’s; one which bears much more of a semblance to the cathedrals and abbeys of the Tudor period than anything Vitruvius or Serlio would have approved of. Unfortunately, the church currently only exists in a fragmented state, as a result of the blitz in 1941, and serves more as a tranquil garden within the City, though the tower itself was restored to a respectable state in the twentieth century. For the steeple, Wren drew freely from lasting Gothic cathedrals in the north (Most notably St Nicholas, Newcastle) incorporating parabolic arches which converge inwards from the four cornered pinnacles into a platform supporting a spirelet, in keeping with the medieval practice of having converging flying buttresses. 49 Even so, a key theme which must be recognised is Wren’s austere use of Gothic forms, again demonstrating his inclination towards simple geometry and proportion, as opposed to a fixation on creating ‘customary beauties’ 50 - especially on an occasion where he was “oblig’d to deviate from a better style”. Even though Gothic motifs such as the ogee were used when and where appropriate, even the mouldings and tracery patters, like the ones at his other Gothic buildings, are rather conventional. St Dunstan’s purposefully lacks the Medieval animation of Decorated Norman churches for example, as it is not intended to express a call back to the Middle ages, but rather have a whimsical character of its own.
Figure 14: Wren's clock tower and Gothic needle spire (left) and Figure 15: One of the Gothic-style windows which remain on the north wall (right)
49 50
John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 201 Kerry Downes, The architecture of Wren, pg. 89
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Nicholas Hawksmoor Nicholas Hawksmoor was forty-nine when the 1711 Act for Building Fifty New Churches was passed. Between the time of Wren and Hawksmoor, little ground was broken in the field of Church buildings, with the few churches that were put up being more or less simply reflections of Wren’s City churches. Nonetheless, two churches are of significant importance during this period, insofar as they steer a clearly contrived course between the post-fire City churches and the churches which were borne from the 1711 act: All Saints, Oxford by Henry Aldrich and St Philip, Birmingham by Thomas Archer.51 The architects of these churches were quite different - Aldrich was a classical scholar, almost of wren’s generation, whilst Archer was well-travelled ‘gentleman’s architect’ 52 - Yet both of their churches demonstrate a unique instance of emphasis on the principle orders and homage to the rhetoric of antiquity (e.g. the Borromini-like forms of St Philip’s tower)53, foreshadowing a change in precedent which would be combined with Wren’s shrewd level of invention to alter the course of Church design. Of course, this change was due in large part to a difference in circumstances – with a greater degree of funds and openness on sites within London’s suburbs than was available to Wren. Indeed, even the hasty approach to the rebuilding of the City by parishes and business owners was undoubtably to the detriment of Wren’s creative capabilities, but in any case, the act of 1711 ultimately launched a new episode in church building, just as the Great fire of 1666 did for Wren, and formed a canvas on which Hawksmoor’s powerful and often radical architectural imagination as well as the spirit of the English Baroque would well forth. Hawksmoor, who by the turn of the century had become an invaluable second hand to the works of Wren and Vanbrugh,54 was the only member of the commission to remain in their respective posts until the works were more or less seen to completion by 1733, 55 and this service to the commission would culminate in his own collection of idiosyncratic churches which pushed his insatiable creativity to its limit.
Figure 16: All Saints, Oxford, Henry Aldrich, 1706 – 10 (left) and Figure 17: St Philip, Birmingham, Thomas Archer, 1709 - 15
51 52 53 54 55
John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 278 Marcus Whiffen, Thomas Archer: architect of the English Baroque, pg. 10 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 279 Dennis Sharp, The illustrated encyclopaedia of architects and architecture, pg. 75 Owen Hopkins, From the shadows: The architecture and afterlife of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pg. 60
15 | P a g e Highly regarded as Hawksmoor’s most important body of work, his six London churches built in the span of twenty years are far more enigmatic than any built by his contemporaries, or indeed than Wren’s own City churches a generation prior. Although principally they can be understood as highly individual, albeit extravagant interpretations of Wren’s classicism, in viewing these imposing, abstract pieces of architecture in person we often forget the primacy in Hawksmoor’s own duty to inform the needs of the urban environment as well as the churches’ role in a liturgical sense; a conflict which is most discernible in their plan.56 As we have seen with Wren’s churches, a conscious focus on the involvement of the congregation was a key Anglican idea which subsisted through the turn of the century. Hence, a stipulation was made for the new churches, by virtue of their insular, free standing nature, to have an east-west orientation with key features such as chancels and lecterns consciously positioned at the east end and main body of the church, respectively. The centralised plan as it were, which became a reoccurring theme amongst many of the commissions unexecuted churches including that of St Martin-in-the-Fields by Gibbs,57 was essentially ruled out, giving way for Hawksmoor’s first degree of experimentation: the cross-axis plan. Likely an interpretation of Wren’s attempt to design a cross-plan, there was in fact experimentation with this motif in all of Hawksmoor’s churches in one way or another – even in his first churches which were less elegant in their ability to invoke a sense of a centrality within a linier plan but integrated, nonetheless.58 By the time he got onto designing his last church of St George’s Bloomsbury, Hawksmoor’s use of space and light increased in both sophistication as well as elegance. Figure 18 shows its plan, in which we see an obvious spatial ambiguity. The necessity for entrances from both the south and via the Bloomsbury estates to the north as well as the deep, narrow nature of the site itself had severe architectural implications for the church.59 Upon entering, one interprets the space ‘almost as a cube’, which is illuminated by clearstory windows.
Figure 18: St George’s, Bloomsbury plan (left) and Figure 19: St George’s, Bloomsbury interior (right)
56 57 58 59
Owen Hopkins, From the shadows: The architecture and afterlife of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pg. 73 Kerry Downes, English Baroque architecture, pg. 106 Owen Hopkins, From the shadows: The architecture and afterlife of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pg. 75 Kerry Downes, English Baroque architecture, pg. 103
16 | P a g e The overall effect is an interior architecture which profoundly alters the atmospheric nature of the church in order to create an effect of rich spatial tension60, by placing the entrance at the south whilst accommodating the alter at the east. In this way, we can understand Hawksmoor’s churches to be, in both appearance and configuration, a visceral response to his brief as opposed to a typical Wren church which was more than anything; an intellectual solution.61
‘The Basilica after the Primitive Christians’ In contrast to the interiors which perhaps establish a more reticent degree of “Englishness” amongst the churches, the possibilities for Hawksmoor’s design of the exteriors were left far more open, barring the specification of material use and scale of steeples and porticos stipulated by the commission; and encouraged by Vanbrugh who stated that they ought to have a ‘High and Bold’ towers in order to become ‘Ornaments to the Towne, and a Credit to the Nation.’62 In fact, it is in this free rein that Hawksmoor’s fascination with both Gothic and exotic motifs, as well as his almost fervent obsession with all things pertaining to primitivism and archaeology is most easily observed. The syncretism we see in his oeuvre as a whole is aptly described by architectural historian Colvin Howard as “schizophrenic”, insofar as whilst his buildings are conceived in their fullest sympathy in classical terms, as in the Clarendon Building, his Mausoleum at Castle Howard or even St George’s itself, his tendency for somewhat of a bipolar stylistic approach raises more questions than it answers. Moreover, the question still remains for many historians as to why the Basilicas of the primitive Christians in particular had such a profound influence on his buildings. This notion, as alluded to by Pierre du Prey, can most easily be traced back to a wider idea of the time that English Anglicanism should strive to create links with primitive Christianity,63 and was championed in particular by Protestant theologian Edward Stillingfleet and Reverend George Hickes - who argued that the Anglican churches themselves should emulate the pure, sober forms of the early Christians in attempt to recapture the sacred purity which was lost in Popery.64
60 61 62 63 64
Owen Hopkins, From the shadows: The architecture and afterlife of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pg. 79 Owen Hopkins, From the shadows: The architecture and afterlife of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pg. 61 Vanbrugh, ‘Proposals’, pg. 257 Pierre de la Ruffinière Du Prey, Hawksmoor's London churches: architecture and theology, pg. 47 - 80 Vaughan Hart, Nicholas Hawksmoor: Rebuilding Ancient Wonders, pg. 140
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Figure 20: Hawksmoor’s preliminary elevation for St George-in-the-East (left) and Figure 21: preliminary plan for St George-inthe-East, c. 1714 – 20 (right)
Through his vast observation of engravings and texts such as An Account of the Churches, or Places of Assembly of the Primitive Christians by Hickes (who Hawksmoor likely had a close working relationship with), Hawksmoor was undoubtably influenced by such speculative models and sought to recall the spirit of the early Christians with a ‘Primitivist’ approach. Figure 20 is an illustration of Hawksmoor’s preliminary south elevation for St Georgein-the-East, in which we can see a pyramid structure that is likely an interpretation of the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus – a motif, which was fully realised at St George’s Bloomsbury, with its famous stepped pyramidal spire. St George’s also quotes the spolia elements and imposing Corinthian order of The Temple of Bacchus to make a link to the ancient wonders of the Near East. 65 Ultimately, one can begin to more accurately speculate on some of the peculiar forms which characterise Hawksmoor’s churches to a greater degree when viewing them though a ‘Primitivist’ lens,66 realising that he used such allusions, licenced by the Baroque’s intrinsic inclination towards illusionism and ‘disordering the orders’, to create an eclectic architecture which calls back to the ancient and Medieval past.
Figure 22: Steeple at St George’s, Bloomsbury (left), Figure 23: Hawksmoor’s entrance at Christchurch, Spitalfields (centre) contain allusions to ancient structures, most explicitly to the Basilica of Maxentius – Figure 24 (right)
65 66
John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 283 Owen Hopkins, From the shadows: The architecture and afterlife of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pg. 79
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Gothic Hawksmoor’s interest with past architectural beliefs crucially manifested itself in the form of native medieval traditions as well as ancient wonders – forming a truly virtuoso synthesis of styles unique to Hawksmoor. His best display of Gothic design can perhaps be seen in his non-ecclesiastical buildings, most notably at Westminster Abbey and All Souls, Oxford, though the prevailing classical style prevented him from designing entirely new buildings in this way.67 Furthermore, the concept of the ‘Gothic’ itself was at the time more synonymous with, as John Evelyn states, the destruction of Roman civilization itself than any proportion, use, or beauty 68 - making its adoption by Hawksmoor all the more intriguing given that his churches allude to the medieval past more in atmosphere and mood than overt use of ogees and pointed arches for instance. It is clear that Hawksmoor, especially in his schemes for All Souls, Oxford, understood the Gothic’s resonant and creative potential, and more often than not almost tried to create Gothic forms, expressed in classical terms.69 The spire at St George-in-theEast is perhaps Hawksmoor’s most sophisticated allusion to the Gothic style amongst any of the London Churches, inasmuch as the relation here is concerned more with the arrangement of mass and volume than an explicit use of forms. At St George’s, we see an octagonal lantern sit atop a bulky tower, along with four smaller pepper-pot towers on the north and south sides – an arrangement whose sources can most likely be found at Ely Cathedral in that it too features an octagonal tower with subsidiary towers on the south transept.70
Figure 25: South from of St George-in-the-East (left) and Figure 26: Early Gothic south end of Ely Cathedral (right)
67 68 69 70
Owen Hopkins, From the shadows: The architecture and afterlife of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pg. 89 John Evelyn, Account of architects and architecture, together, with an historical, etymological explanation of certain terms, particularly affected by architects, pg. 9 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 280 Owen Hopkins, From the shadows: The architecture and afterlife of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pg. 95
19 | P a g e Ultimately, the effect in which Hawksmoor’s visual ambiguity created was totally unique. Built in an urban context which quickly saw Georgian classical architecture filter down the social ranks and become more prevalent by housing developers like Nicholas Barbon,71 the amalgamation of Gothic and Primitivist concepts with the classical canon allowed Hawksmoor to create powerful and historically authoritative architecture which sought to withstand the test of time. As Peter Borsay correctly argues, Hawksmoor’s familiar Baroque style, in an urban context, would have bordered ‘entering the realms of aesthetically ridiculous’, given its diminishing ostentation and the forthcoming emergence of Palladianism in the mid-1710’s, though the creative flame which Vanbrugh ignited within Hawksmoor during the peak of the English Baroque was certainly not in vain. It is therefore through this way that we should attempt to understand Hawksmoor’s churches – creating architecture which is imbued with the past to aim at eternity.72
71 72
Peter Borsay, The English urban renaissance: Culture and society in the provincial town 1660-1770, pg. 305 Owen Hopkins, From the shadows: The architecture and afterlife of Nicholas Hawksmoor, pg. 104
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St Martin-in-the-Fields: Wren’s role as Surveyor-General of the King’s works from 1669 until 1718 meant that he had managed to preside in office during four significant changes of parliament and monarch. 73 His period of control over the national architectural patronage had lasted nearly half a century and the ubiquitous English Baroque, now bestowed upon Hawksmoor, Vanbrugh, and Talman, had tightened its sway on England’s architectural landscape. In 1710, when the Tories returned to power, an Act of Parliament was passed which organised for the building of fifty new churches “of stone and other proper materials” to facilitate the expansion of London’s suburbs. 74 Amongst the group of esteemed architects within the commission was James Gibbs, who after a few years of working under the tutelage of Baroque architect Carlo Fontana in Rome,75 had returned back to England at the height of the Vanbrugh – Hawksmoor school, and was eager to make his own lasting contribution to the English Baroque by marrying native elements of Wren’s work with fresh Seicento ideas he had acquired in his training. Gibbs, unlike many of his contemporaries, did not exclusively belong to any camp of architectural practice. His training in Rome had afforded him an education on Italian Mannerist and Baroque models. He was also a lifelong Catholic and Tory (which had a substantial impact on the fate of his working relationship with the commission), with his rise to prominence coming at a time just before the ascension of the Whigs and the Palladianism of Colen Campbell that followed it. In reality, Gibbs’ work demonstrated above all else, a professional technique and skill in the proficiency of architectonic design and in many ways, is simply the realisation of Wren’s ideas. 76 By 1713, after having replaced William Dickinson as surveyor of the church building commission, Gibbs had developed a close working relationship to Wren and set himself apart from the Baroque school, opting instead to draw from the fundamental ideas of Wren’s early City churches, as well as individual traits from Palladio and Jones.77 St Martinin-the-Fields, which though not officially part of the original 1711 commission, is perhaps Gibbs’ greatest fulfilment of these ideas. As for the proposed fifty new churches themselves (of which only 12 were subsequently built), Wren’s St James, Piccadilly served as the principal prototype church for the commission, though many of the proposed plans deviated significantly from this and are therefore much more complex and peculiar. 78 Gibbs’ own St-Mary-le-Strand, a fitting prelude to St Martin’s, is more synonymous with both domestic sources and Italian Mannerism, than anything Baroque.
Figure 27: St Martin-in-the-Fields, ground plan (left), Figure 28: St Martin-in-the-Fields, west end, (centre) and Figure 29: Royal coat of arms, St Martin-in-the Fields (right)
73 74 75 76 77 78
Steven Parissien, Palladian style, pg. 57 Kerry Downes, English Baroque architecture, pg. 98 Terry Friedman, James Gibbs, pg. 6 Doreen Yarwood, The architecture of England: From prehistoric times to the present day, pg. 282 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 325 Kerry Downes, English Baroque architecture, pg. 99
21 | P a g e James Gibbs’ St Martin-in-the-Fields, completed in 1726, can be argued to be one of the most significant ecclesiastical buildings of the eighteenth century, having a profound impact on the English-speaking world as it became a prototype for an Anglican parish church.79 It is clear that whilst Wren’s models invariably had a clear influence on Gibbs’ work, in this instance he was also able to synthesise his Baroque training into a design which satisfied his patrons. With the Whig party now back in Parliament, England soon saw the denouncement of the Baroque style in favour of a simpler Palladian approach. Fellow Scotsman Colen Campbell had infamously criticised the “excessive ornaments” of Bernini, Fontana, and Borromini in his 1715 Vitruvius Britannicus,80 and was instrumental in shifting the English architectural paradigm from Wren’s monopolistic stewardship of royal commissions to a new, more honest school of Palladianism; hence Gibbs, who was key in steering the path between the Baroque and Palladianism,81 was obliged to keep the use of his more inclined Baroque style to a minimum.
Figure 30 and 31: Andrea Pozzo’s scenic alter designs for the Church of the Gesù and Trompe-l'oeil Dome
His initial plan for St Martin’s was that of a rotunda-like circular church comprised of twelve columns within a concentric gallery,82 which seems to have inspired by Italian Baroque illusionist painter Andrea Pozzo’s treatise on perspective. The circular arcade of this plan however does not appear in Pozzo, and it is possible that Gibbs took inspiration from Wren’s masterfully executed centralised plan at St Stephen, Walbrook.83 Nevertheless, Such a vision was rare in English church design and the primary link back to Wren was probably that of his 1673 Great Model for St Paul’s Cathedral which was based on the Greek cross and had similarities with Gibbs’ unexecuted ‘capacious and convenient’ plan for St Martin-in-the-Fields, indicative of Gibbs’ awareness of Wren’s liturgical
79 80 81 82 83
Terry Friedman, James Gibbs, pg. 55 Emil Kaufmann, Architecture in the age of reason, pg. 15 John Harris, The Palladians, pg. 70 Kerry Downes, English Baroque architecture, pg. 106 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 327
22 | P a g e concern of having large congregations. Gibbs’ round designs for St Martin’s were ultimately rejected on ‘account of the expensiveness of executing them’.84 Nonetheless, the Baroque feel in which the interior of the church still predicates itself upon cannot be overstated. The barrel-vaulted nave is adorned with intricate plasterwork of cherubs and scrolls (work of Italian Plasterers Giovanni Bagutti and Giuseppe Artari), creating an exceptionally unique combination of richness, delicacy, and workmanship in a show of rococo ornamentation hardly seen in any of Wren’s City churches. Another striking application of Baroque rhetoric can be seen on the exterior of the church; both in the portico pediment as well as at the altar: a carving of the Royal Coat of Arms which serve as a prominent symbol of Anglican glory and royalty.
Furthermore, the subtle influence of Palladio and Inigo Jones on the design of St Martin’s must also be noted – particularly in the east elevation of the church which places much greater emphasis on symmetry and proportion with its use of half-inlayed columns. In contrast, the front façade is dominated by an impressive Corinthian portico, conceived in a distinct Roman character. A key distinction can be detected with Hawksmoor here, who on his facades was dismissive of any uniformity and instead was more audacious in his arrangement of patterns and motifs.85 Furthermore, the repeated use of the ‘Gibbs surround’ (a method of emphasising openings with rustication) is also adopted on the exterior of the church. The origins of this motif were by no means found in Palladio; nor was Gibbs himself a strict follower of Palladianism at any point in his career, however the ‘Gibbs’ window became synonymous with the grammar of Palladianism seen in Britain and North America during the late eighteenth century.86 In this respect, St-Martin’s is certainly not the greatest example of Gibbs’ Palladian influence, inasmuch as it embodies a “sufficient variety [in style and parts] to keep the mind employed with uniformity and simplicity”,87 but the echoes of themes and precepts he drew from Inigo Jones and English Palladianism at large can still be detected - an evolution that would be expressed in its fullest capacity later in Gibbs’ career in his design of various universities, country houses and other buildings he developed to suit prevailing tastes.
Figure 32: East elevation of St Martin-in-the-Fields (left) and Figure 33: The Gibbs Surround, A Book of Architecture, 1728 – using blocks and rustication to frame an opening (right)
84 85 86 87
Terry Friedman, James Gibbs, pg. 61 Emil Kaufmann, Architecture in the age of reason, pg. 20 Steven Parissien, Palladian style, pg. 93 Emil Kaufmann, Architecture in the age of reason, pg. 8
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Figure 34: Interior of Filippo Brunelleschi’s Basilica di Santo Spirito, Florence (left) and Figure 35: interior of Gibbs’ StMartin-in-the-Fields.
The plan for St Martin’s, as we see it today, is longitudinal and forms an aisled auditorium along five bays. Interestingly enough however, at St Martin’s we do see some difference in the treatment of the galleried space and the columns which define it compared to that of a typical Wren design. At St Martin’s, the eight Corinthian columns on either side of the aisle carry their own individual entablatures as opposed to a continuous entablature which would otherwise support the arches. Gibbs’ first-hand Italian training may be to thank here as a similar motif can be seen at Brunelleschi’s rather obscure S. Spirito, Florence, which itself is likely an interpretation of Vitruvius’ Basilica at Fano. Incidentally, Gibbs’ own library contained the architectural treatise of Claude Perrault which included reconstructions of Vitruvius’ Basilica.88 Essentially, this arrangement conceals the gallery behind the columns and the nave’s barrel-vaulting,89 and creates a much more covert placement of the gallery fronts onto the columns, prioritising the appearance of the orders as opposed to the gallery space itself. The result is a series of channels and views being formed from the nave to the back of the gallery, creating a space which Gibbs regarded as ‘much better for the voice’. 90 St James, Piccadilly, a suitable comparison given its pre-eminence as a prototype to the commission for both ‘practical and economical reasons’,91 features a far more dominant gallery, with a bulkier entablature that runs from each capital to the back of the gallery. The closest comparison to Gibbs’ bold articulation of the entablature is found at St Bride’s, where Wren simply used an additional column to create an effect which anticipates Gibbs’.92
88 89 90 91 92
Terry Friedman, James Gibbs, pg. 68 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 328 John Perceval, Manuscripts of the Earl of Egmont, pg, 217-218 Kerry Downes, English Baroque architecture, pg. 99 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 330
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Figure 36: Antonio da Sangallo the elder, Church of the Madonna di S. Biagio, Montepulciano (left) and Figure 37: St. Martin-in-the-Fields - elevation, plan and section of steeple, James Gibbs (right)
In its Exterior, St Martin-in-the-Fields reveals another unique approach which undoubtedly boosted Gibbs’ reputation as an influential church designer, again a testament to his individuality.93 With state patronage introduced and a greater availably of parish funds,94 Gibbs had greater scope for remarkable elaboration in the design of the steeple. At first, we instantly notice that the steeple itself is setback from the portico of the church and is instead built inside the west-wall - a significant departure from Wren, and indeed Hawksmoor’s method of incorporating the steeple with its base planted on the ground. This has led to criticism by some, describing its insertion as incongruous and awkward. 95 The design of the steeple however is one which undoubtably embodies Wren’s fundamental Roman principles which in many cases were not fully realised in his rather lacklustre City churches. Gibbs, in true wren style, revived the Gothic spirit of the old tower in a classical vernacular in order to create a feature which serves as a triumphant landmark for the Parish of St Martin’s. Here, the initial belfry stage carries an Ionic pilaster order followed by a clock stage, before transforming into an octagonal upper stage which recalls the church’s predominate Corinthian order96, revealing a suitable theme likely taken from the tower of Antonio De Sangallo’s S. Biagio at Montepulciano. As a whole, St Martin’s is a church of extreme importance and a true testimony of Gibbs’ own skill and technical proficiency in handling the classical language. But as we have seen, Gibbs was also a unique figure in a seemingly transient architectural climate. His individuality and ability to combine characteristics from a multitude of styles set him apart from his contemporaries, and his 1728 A Book of Architecture, of which many unexecuted plans for St Martin’s are contained within,97 was a vital contributor to the evolution of English architectural design.
93 94 95 96 97
Terry Friedman, James Gibbs, pg. 72 John Summerson, Architecture in Britain: 1530 - 1830, pg. 280 David Watkins, English Architecture, pg. 123 https://www.british-history.ac.uk/survey-london/vol20/pt3/pp19-30 Terry Friedman, James Gibbs, pg. 57
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13. Kaufmann, E. (1968). Architecture in the age of reason. New York: Dover. 14. Lang, S. (1965). Vanbrugh's theory and Hawksmoor's buildings. California: University of California Press. 15. Morgan, K. O. (2010). The Oxford illustrated history of Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 16. Parissien, S. (1994). Palladian style. London: Phaidon. 17. Porter, R. (2001). London: A social history. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. 18. Service, A. (1979). The architects of London: And their buildings from 1066 to the present day. London: The Architectural Press.
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