Photo by Chris Naffziger
I have to admit to some negligence for not having more closely examined St. Francis Xavier College Church before this week. Sitting at the bustling corner of two of the most heavily trafficked arteries in the city, Grand and Lindell boulevards, perhaps the Church has become part of the scenery, the backdrop to countless images of Midtown or Saint Louis University. But no more. I have come to realize that this Roman Catholic church is one of the great treasures of the city, and well worth exploring in greater depth.
Its current location, sitting high up on a hill looking down towards downtown, was known as Piety Hill back in the 19th century, due to its abundance of churches. But before the Civil War, this site was “out in the country,” and across what’s now Grand Boulevard, the Camp Jackson Affair unfolded in Lindell Grove in 1861.
The Jesuits founded the original St. Francis Xavier College Church in 1840 at what is now Lucas and 9th streets downtown, by the old location of their college, now Saint Louis University. But after the Civil War, the farm fields and groves of trees around Grand and Lindell became prime real estate, and the Jesuits packed their bags and moved both university and church to their present location.
St. Francis Xavier is a logical name for a church staffed by the Jesuits (whose order’s official name is the Society of Jesus). I wrote about the old Most Holy Name of Jesus Roman Catholic Church on North Grand Boulevard a couple of months ago; Il Gesù, the home church of the Jesuits in Rome, serves as the architectural model for that St. Louis house of worship. Inside the Gesù’s two transepts are massive twin altars dedicated to the two founders of the order, St. Ignatius Loyola on the left, and to the right, St. Francis Xavier. The College Church’s namesake was born in Navarre, in what is now Spain, and became one of the first of the Jesuits working with St. Ignatius Loyola. He was canonized a saint in 1619 by Pope Gregory XV, a famous patron of the Baroque sculptor Gianlorenzo Bernini, who was also closely associated with the Jesuit order.
In keeping with the Jesuits’ long tradition of assiduously patronizing the best architects and artists of their time, they commissioned Thomas Waryng Walsh to design the new church. Walsh’s imprint on St. Louis architecture is strong: He designed the famed Four Courts downtown as well as DuBourg Hall (which sits behind St. Francis Xavier), and his son would go on to become part of the influential brewery architecture firm of Widmann, Walsh and Boisselier. Foundation work began in 1883, with the basement being complete by 1884. But Walsh died in 1890, so his preliminary plans were turned over for completion by Henry Switzer of Chicago.
Photo by Chris Naffziger
According to tradition, Father Henry Bronsgeest requested that the church take after St. Colman in Cobh, Ireland, designed by prominent English Gothic Revival architect Edward Welby Pugin. I’ve written recently about how architectural tastes had turned towards revival styles in the 1800s, and the Gothic style in particular meshed well with the American public’s tastes, even moreso, it seems, in St. Louis. In a 2009 article, architectural historian David Simmons casts some doubt on the influence of St. Colman on the design of St. Francis Xavier, but I have to disagree; there are clear similarities between the designs. What’s most intriguing about St. Colman’s influence is that it makes St. Francis Xavier one of the few major Gothic Revival churches in St. Louis influenced by a European Gothic Revival church. Also, interestingly, the spire of St. Francis Xavier was topped out in 1914; St. Colman’s was not finally consecrated until 1919. In other words, our church bears the interesting distinction of being completed before its European prototype.
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Photo by Chris Naffziger
View from the south aisle through the nave
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Photo by Chris Naffziger
St. Francis Xavier bears all the elements of American Gothic Revival that I enjoy so much. It mixes French and English influences in a city where the German is often so omnipresent, with little concern for breaking the “rules” of the Medieval style. The most striking features of the interior are the solid pink Missouri granite columns that seem to effortlessly hold up the weight of the walls of the nave, the central worship space of the church. Above the soaring Gothic pointed arches, the triforium, or balcony, anchors circular quatrefoil, “four-leafed” stained glass windows. There are no flying buttresses in this church, so the windows of the clerestory are small, like those of most St. Louis churches. It works effectively in St. Francis Xavier.
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Photo by Chris Naffziger
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Photo by Chris Naffziger
College Church south aisle
The weightlessness of the walls is aided by the soaring groin vaulting, which is one of the most elegant examples in St. Louis. As in most churches here, the vaulting is wood, not stone, so the load on the walls is lighter, looking like hull of a huge ship from the top side. But the fan vaulting, done in a style known as tiercerons, inserts more ribs between the expanses of stone or wood, thereby making the structure stronger. Gilding on the ribs emphasizes the way the building functions structurally, a favorite trick of Gothic architects.
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Photo by Chris Naffziger
Emil Frei stained glass in the College Church
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Photo by Chris Naffziger
Filling those large windows, particularly the giant lancet windows behind the reredos in the apse behind the high altar, are more of the beautiful creations of Emil Frei and Associates. Inspired by the rich colors, particularly the blues, of Chartres Cathedral’s windows, the stained glass represents a fascinating moment in the history of the famed German American company. In particular, because the windows were created between the 1920s and 1930s, we see a critical moment in the evolution of Emil Frei and Associates from the traditional Munich School to the Modern era. As I wrote before at St. Francis de Sales, Frei had mastered the traditional compositions which glow at that Southside institution, but as the 1930s dawned, Modernism began to influence the designs, which culminated in the masterpieces of the 1950s and ’60s at buildings such as the Church of the Resurrection on Meramec Avenue. It is wonderful to see how these artisans were adapting to the times in that transitional period.
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Photo by Chris Naffziger
The Death of St. Joseph
The Death of St. Joseph
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Detail of the Altar of the Virgin Mary
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Detail of the face of the Virgin and Child
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Altar of St. Joseph
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Altar of the Virgin Mary
Likewise, in what might be the best-kept secret in St. Louis, the two relief sculptures by the German American sculptor Joseph Sibbel. Training in Cincinnati under the Italian American sculptor Louis Rebisso, Sibbel absorbed the influences of the Renaissance and Baroque, which he then applied to his work in St. Francis Xavier and other Roman Catholic churches around America. The relief sculptures anchor the ends of the aisles flanking the reredos of the high altar, the left entitled Our Lady, Comforter of the Afflicted (The Virgin Mary), and the right The Death of St. Joseph, both believed to be carved out of Carrara marble from Italy. Sibbel’s handling of the marble is impressive, showing an understanding of Bernini, the Jesuits’ sculptor friend from the 17th century, but also a sensitivity that dampens any Baroque flamboyance. The Virgin’s shroud is sculpted delicately enough to be translucent, with light shining through ever so slightly.
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Photo by Chris Naffziger
The apse and reredos
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Photo by Chris Naffziger
The church underwent a renovation in 1990, partly because of the normal needs of a century-old church but also to bring it into line with the dictates of the Second Vatican Council. I was impressed with the sensitivity and skill of the changes to high altar. In the aftermath of World War II, more than a few European churches had severely botched renovations that spoiled the beauty of their interiors. When I visited on Tuesday, the church was receiving regular visitors, and it seems like every time I drive by, another wedding party is entering or exiting; there is always a bustle of activity around those stone and stained-glass walls.
Perhaps that is St. Francis Xavier’s greatest ornament of all.
