© 2021 Happened Here. All Rights Reserved.

Inigo Jones’s Covent Garden, Part 3,

By Hamish Roberts

One week later, Inigo Jones is back in the Earl’s office, a roll of parchment held somewhat

protectively against his chest. The idea came to him fully formed; he had only to place it down

on the page. Explaining it to others, however, may prove more complicated.

“Inigo,” says the Earl, “What do you have?”

Inigo delicately places the scroll on the Earl’s desk and undoes its binds. The Earl gazes,

uncomprehending, at the neat lines and curves of black ink as they unfurl beneath him.

“What’s this?” he asks, “this square?” He glances at the scale Inigo has included in the

bottom left corner. “What is it, four hundred feet across? You can’t mean to build a house as

big as this?”

“Oh, no, my Lord,” Inigo answers, supressing a smile, “These…” he points to a series of

smaller rectangles on the sides of the square… “these are houses. This is just the space between

them.”

“Space?” the Earl repeats uncertainly. “For what?

Inigo hesitates.

“For anything, my Lord.”

“Anything?”

“Or nothing. London has everything, save space.”

The Earl shakes his head. “But Inigo, I have hired you to fill my land, not empty it.”

Inigo is silent. How to explain? “It will have a column here in the centre, my Lord. Such

spaces are common in Italy, in Florence and Venice, though my plan is actually more firmly

based on ancient Roman designs. The space is proportioned pleasingly, like a man, its corners

spread like the widest extent of his hands and feet.”

This last point has only confused the Earl. Inigo must change tack.
 © 2021 Happened Here. All Rights Reserved.

“My lord, how often are you in London?”

“For weeks, here and there, master-builder. Sometimes a month.”

“Quite noisy, isn’t it? I imagine that, as business drags on, you long for your country

residences, your hunting grounds. For a sky that stretches out before you, for birdsong and

silence. This square of open space that I propose, it may teem with life upon occasion, on holy

days, perhaps. But it will also empty, when the city goes to work or to rest; it will be emptier

than London’s narrow streets ever are. The gentlemen who live in the adjacent houses, they

will have a respite from the city’s busy corridors, on their doorstep. They will have a sky that

stretches out before them, a silence to rest their minds in. They’ll pay a most handsome rent

for it, I assure you. There are also those can never leave London, who work here year-round.

Labourers and servants — they may wander into this square too, and find space to think, to

pray, to talk to loved ones. That could be your gift to London.”

The Earl sits in thought for a while. Finally, he says, “That would give me much

pleasure,”— Inigo’s heart rises. The Earl points to the top of the drawing. “And this? This is

no house either?”

“No, my Lord,” Inigo answers, “A church, its steps leading onto the square, just as roman

temples once did.”

“Yes, there should be a church, I suppose. These were once monastic lands. But it needn’t

be much better than a barn.”

“My lord,” Inigo says, “You shall have the handsomest barn in Europe.”