At Lord Mayor's Mansion House, bombastic architecture loses out to subtler art

Location, location, location.  It's as true in the world of corporate event planning as it is in finding the right house.

Execs in most industries have a mailbox flooded with invitations.  These days they're rarely pure hospitality; that's more covert, and for existing clients.  If you're trying to sell something, from taxation services to sophisticated IT consulting, pairing an unusual venue with a good topic generally does the trick.  Sometimes, you can even get by with having just one of the two.

Which is how I found myself at London's Mansion House last night.  Though I've walked by the building a hundred times, I'd never managed to get inside.  The fact that there's no public admission adds to the allure.  This is the official residence of the the Lord Mayor of London, and you can only get in by invitation.

It is a bit of a disappointment.  At least for an architecture geek like me.  The main draw, at least according to textbooks, is the famous Egyptian Hall.,  It's the ceremonial centrepiece of the building.  I knew it wasn't going to be filled with pharaonic motifs.  It's called "Egyptian" because the architectural historian Vitruvius deemed this arrangement of columns to have originated along the Nile.  But still, I was expecting more mystery.

It is an over-blown, over-grand froth of white and gold that's trying too hard.  Eight massive columns on each side, topped with glistening gold Corinthian capitals, hold up a coffered barrel vault decorated with gold gilt bosses.  A balcony runs around the top, connecting the columns, and under that are aisles over which Greek gods, muses and the embodiments of virtues stand guard in sculptural form.  At each end are vast stained glass windows showing scenes from the history of London, and in niches under those you can see the City's silver gilt (that's silver plated in gold) on display.  Directly across from the entrance, set between two columns, is a throne-like podium that displays the Lord Mayor's processional sword and mace.  Gold again.

It appears to be the money men's riposte to the Banqueting House in Whitehall.  It is remarkably derivative.  But there's no Rubens on the ceiling to dignify things, the scale is all wrong and it's all just a bit too blingy.  As my fellow Missourian Mark Twain once wrote of it, its crass display simply brings to mind the fact that the people who funded it "played games of the sort that has given their race a unique and shady reputation among all truly good and holy peoples that be in the earth."

Other rooms are actually more gracious and worthy of more attention.  The ante rooms in the basement
put on a classy show, as does the main staircase.  The salon the stairs bring you to is, for my money, the finest part of the building, with pale peach walls, stunning chandeliers, screens of columns (Doric, better proportioned) and some truly magnificent plasterwork.  There's a fine set of ceremonial Regency chairs here and some worthy sculpture.  None of which has any explanatory labelling.  Clearly, the 230 other people who were here to hear about the future of cities and to drink Champagne didn't care much.  I would have liked to have learned as much about the interior as I did about infrastructure funding.

All of this, however, can be seen at a large handful of country houses around England, and arguably done better.  If there's just one thing that justifies making an effort to get in to the Mansion House … it turns out it's the art collection.  And that's a recent addition.

Wealthy property developer Harold Samuel spent the third quarter of the 20th century assembling one of the finest collections of Dutch old masters in private hands.  He gave it to the Mansion House when he died in 1987, ensuring that the walls of that salon are covered with exquisite landscapes, portraits and genre scenes you won't see in this quality and quantity outside of the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam.  The best of these are, oddly, on the stairs, where Frans Hals' magnificent Merry Lute Player toasts you as you arrive.  Next to the cheerful musician hangs a fascinating set by David Teniers portraying the five senses.  A grumpy gardener holding a pot of lilies for scent, a ribald piper about to blow us away with the bag beneath his arm for hearing, and so on.  It's an inspired set, dripping with humour and real life, saying all it needs to in small and humble frames.  Ironically, quite the opposite of the bombastic architecture in which it's set.

If you get an invite, by all means, go.  The catering staff is top notch and the space lends itself to a fine event.  But do try to slip away from the champagne for a few minutes to admire the plasterwork and the art.  You won't be disappointed.