Ancient Door of Bromley Church.
Ancient Door of Bromley Church.
On our visit to Bromley church, as soon as the modern outer gates of the porch were unlocked, we were struck by the venerable appearance of the old inner oak door; and, instead of taking a view of the church, of which there are several prints, Mr. Williams made a drawing of the decayed portal, from whence he executed the present [engraving]. On the hinge-side of the engraving, there is a representation of the outer edge of the door.
This door formerly hung on the western stone jamb; but, for warmth, and greater convenience, the churchwardens, under whose management the edifice was last repaired, put up a pair of folding-doors covered with crimson cloth; yet, with respectful regard, worthy of imitation in other places, they preserved this vestige of antiquity, and were even careful to display its time-worn front. For this purpose the door has been attached to the eastern jamb, so that if it were shut its ornamented side would be hidden; instead whereof, it is kept open by a slight fastening against the eastern form, or settle, within the porch.
It may be remembered by readers of the Every Day Book,[280] that, on St. Mark’s eve, our ancestors “watched the church-porch,” as they do to the present day in some parts of Yorkshire and the north of England, from eleven o’clock at night till one in the morning. This done thrice, on the third year they were supposed to have seen the ghosts of those who were to die the next year pass by into the church. When any one sickens that is thought to have been seen in this manner, it is presently whispered about that he will not recover, for that such or such an one, who watched on St. Mark’s eve, says so. This idle superstition is in such force, that if the patients themselves hear of it, they almost despair of recovery: many are said to have actually died by their imaginary fears. The like irrational belief and fond practice prevail on St. John’s eve. “I am sure,” says a writer in the “Connoisseur,” “that my own sister Hetty, who died just before Christmas, stood in the church-porch last Midsummer eve, to see all that were to die that year in our parish; and she saw her own apparition.” It is told of a company of these “watchers,” that one of them fell into a sound sleep, so that he could not be waked, and while in this state his ghost or spirit was seen by the rest of his companions knocking at the church-door.
In relation to this church-watching on St. Mark’s and St. John’s eve, there is a narrative in the “Athenian Oracle,” published by John Dunton:—“Nine others besides myself went into a church-porch, with an expectation of seeing those who should die that year; but about eleven o’clock I was so afraid that I left them, and all the nine did positively affirm to me, that about an hour after, the church-doors flying open, the minister, (who it seems was very much troubled that night in his sleep,) with such as should die that year, did appear in order: which persons they named to me, and they appeared then all very healthful; but six of them died in six weeks after, in the very same order that they appeared.”[281]
Before mention of the “church-porch,” it might have been more orderly to have noticed the “church-yard-porch.” There is one at Bromley, though more modern than the fine “lich-gate” at Beckenham already engraved and described.[282] Sir John Sinclair records of some parishioners in the county of Argyll, that “though by no means superstitious, (an observation which in the sequel seems very odd,) they still retain some opinions handed down by their ancestors, perhaps from the time of the Druids. It is believed by them, that the spirit of the last person that was buried watches round the church-yard till another is buried, to whom he delivers his charge.” Further on, in the same work,[283] is related, that “in one division of this county, where it was believed that the ghost of the person last buried kept the gate of the church-yard till relieved by the next victim of death, a singular scene occurred, when two burials were to take place in one church-yard on the same day. Both parties staggered forward as fast as possible to consign their respective friend in the first place to the dust: if they met at the gate, the dead were thrown down till the living decided, by blows, whose ghost should be condemned to porter it.”
Bromley church-door is a vestige; for on examination it will be found not perfect. It is seven feet four inches in height, and in width four feet eight inches: the width of the door-way, between the stone jambs, is two inches more; the width of the door itself, therefore, has been reduced these two inches; and hence the centre of the ornaments in relief is not in the centre of the door in its present state. It is a good specimen of the fast-decaying, and often prematurely removed, fine doors of our old churches. The lock, probably of like age with the door, and also of wood, is a massive effectual contrivance, two feet six inches long, seven inches and a half deep, and five inches thick; with a bolt an inch in height, and an inch and a half in thickness, that shoots out two inches on the application of the rude heavy key, which as to form and size is exactly [depictured] in the following page. It seemed good to introduce the engraving, both in respect to the antiquity of the original, and to the information it conveys of the devices of our ancestors for locking-up.
Ancient Key of Bromley Church.
Keys varied in their form according to the age wherein they were made, and the purposes for which they were used. Anciently, the figure of the key of the west door of the church was put in the register. This was mostly done on the delivery of the church keys to the “ostiarii,” who were officers, created with much ceremony, to whom the keys were intrusted: the bishops themselves delivered the keys, and the deacons the doors of the respective churches.[284]
While W. drew the door of Bromley church I had ample opportunity to make measurements and look about; and I particularly noticed a capital large umbrella of old construction, which I brought out and set up in the church-yard: with its wooden handle, fixed into a movable shaft, shod with an iron point at the bottom, and struck into the ground, it stood seven feet high; the awning is of a green oiled-canvass, such as common umbrellas were made of forty years ago, and is stretched on ribs of cane. It opens to a diameter of five feet, and forms a decent and capacious covering for the minister while engaged in the burial-service at the grave. It is in every respect a more fitting exhibition than the watchbox sort of vehicle devised for the same purpose, and in some church-yards trundled from grave to grave, wherein the minister and clerk stand, like the ordinary of Newgate and a dying malefactor at the new drop in the Old Bailey. An unseemly thing of this description is used at St. George’s in the Borough.
The church of Bromley, an ancient spacious edifice with a square tower, has been much modernised, yet to the credit of the inhabitants it retains its old Norman font. It is remarkable, that it is uncertain to what saint it was dedicated: some ascribe it to St. Peter and St. Paul; others to St. Blaise; but it is certain that Browne Willis, with all his industry and erudite research, was unable to determine the point. This I affirm from a MS. memorandum before me in his hand-writing. It abounds with monuments, though none are of very old standing. There was formerly a tomb to Water de Henche, “persone de Bromleghe, 1360.”[285] Among the mural tablets are the names of Elizabeth, wife to “the great moralist” Dr. Johnson; Dr. Hawkesworth, a resident in Bromley, popular by his “Adventurer;” and Dr. Zachary Pearce. The latter was successively rector of St. Bartholomew’s by the Royal Exchange, vicar of St. Martin’s in the Fields, dean of Winchester, bishop of Bangor, dean of Westminster, and bishop of Rochester. His principal literary labours were editorial—“Longinus de Sublimitate,” “Cicero de Officiis,” and “Cicero de Oratore.” He wrote in the “Spectator,” No. 572, upon “Quacks,” and No. 633 upon “Eloquence;” and No. 121 in the “Guardian,” signed “Ned Mum.” The chief of this prelate’s other works were Sermons. There is a cenotaph to him in Westminster Abbey; a distinction he was entitled to by his learning and virtues.
Dr. Zachary Pearce is remarkable for having desired to resign his deanery and bishopric. In 1763, being then seventy-three years old, he told his majesty in his closet that he found the business of his stations too much for him; that he was afraid it would grow more so as he advanced in years, and desired to retire, that he might spend more time in his devotions and studies. Afterwards, one of the law lords doubted the practicability of resigning a bishopric, but on further consideration the difficulty disappeared. The king then gave his consent, and the bishop kissed hands upon it; but lord Bath requesting the bishopric and deanery of the king for Dr. Newton, then bishop of Bristol, the ministry thought that no church dignities should pass from the crown but through their hands, and opposed the resignation, as the shortest way of keeping the bishopric from being disposed of otherwise than they liked. On this occasion the law lord, earl Mansfield, who had been doubtful, and who soon after had seen clear, doubted again, and Dr. Pearce was told by the king he must think no more about resigning the bishopric. In 1768 he resigned the deanery of Westminster, and wrote
THE WISH.
From all Decanal cares at last set free,
(O could that freedom still more perfect be)
My sun’s meridian hour, long past and gone;
Dim night, unfit for work, comes hast’ning on;
In life’s late ev’ning, thro’ a length of day,
I find me gently tending to decay:
How shall I then my fated exit make?
How best secure my great eternal stake?
This my prime wish, to see thy glorious face,
O gracious God, in some more happy place;
Till then to spend my short remains of time
In thoughts, which raise the soul to truths sublime;
To live with innocence, with peace and love,
As do those saints who dwell in bliss above:
By prayers, the wings which faith to reason lends,
O now my soul to Heav’n’s high throne ascends:
While here on earth, thus on my bended knee,
O Power divine, I supplicate to thee;
May I meet Death, when his approach is made,
Not fend of life, nor of his dart afraid;
Feel that my gain, which I esteem’d a loss:
Heav’n is the gold refin’d, earth but the dross.
Bishop Pearce lived and laboured till June 29, 1774, when he died in the eighty-fourth year of his age.
There is a neat monument by Nollekens over the north gallery of the church, with a remarkable inscription:—“Sacred to the memory of Thomas Chase, Esq. formerly of this parish, born in the city of Lisbon the 1st of November, 1729; and buried under the ruins of the same house where he first saw the light in the ever-memorable and terrible earthquake which befell that city the 1st of November, 1755: when after a most wonderful escape, he by degrees recovered from a very deplorable condition, and lived till the 20th of Nov 1788, aged 59 years.”
On the outside of the church a monumental stone, fixed in the wall, records a memorable and affecting instance of gratitude in noble terms:—
Near this Place lies the Body of
ELIZABETH MONK,
Who departed this Life
On the 27th Day of August, 1753,
Aged 101:
She was the Widow of John Monk, late of this
Parish, Blacksmith,
Her second Husband,
To whom she had been a wife near fifty Years,
By whom she had no Children;
And of the Issue of the first Marriage none lived
to the second;
But VIRTUE
Would not suffer her to be Childless:
An Infant, to whom, and to whose Father and
Mother she had been Nurse
(Such is the Uncertainty of temporal Prosperity)
Became dependent upon Strangers
for the Necessaries of Life:
To him she afforded the Protection of a Mother.
This parental Charity
Was returned with filial Affection;
And she was supported, in the Feebleness of Age,
by him whom she had cherished in
the Helplessness of Infancy.
LET IT BE REMEMBERED,
That there is no Station in which Industry will
not obtain Power to be liberal,
Nor any Character on which Liberality will not
confer Honor
[II-105,
II-106] She had been long prepared, by a simple and
unaffected Piety,
For that awful moment, which, however delayed,
Is universally sure.
How few are allowed an equal Time of Probation!
How many, by their Lives,
appear to presume upon more!
To preserve the memory of this person; and yet more, to perpetuate the lesson of her life, this stone was erected by voluntary contribution.
An intelligent inhabitant of Bromley, in the year 1747, mentions a discovery, with some accompanying remarks, appropriate to the present notice:—
“In the year 1733, the present clerk of the parish church of Bromley in Kent, by his digging a grave in that church-yard, close to the east end of the chancel wall, dug up a funeral crown, or garland, which is most artificially wrought in fillagree work with gold and silver wire, in resemblance of myrtle, (with which plant the funebrial garlands of the ancients were composed,[286]) whose leaves are fastened to hoops of larger wire of iron, now something corroded with rust, but both the gold and silver remain to this time very little different from their original splendour. It was also lined with cloth of silver, a piece of which, together with part of this curious garland, I keep as a choice relic of antiquity.
“Besides these crowns, (which were buried with deceased virgins,) the ancients had also their depository garlands, the use of which was continued even till of late years (and perhaps are still retained in many parts of this nation, for my own knowledge of these matters extends not above twenty or thirty miles round London,) which garlands, at the funerals of the deceased, were carried solemnly before the corpse by two maids, and afterwards hung up in some conspicuous place within the church, in memorial of the departed person, and were (at least all that I have seen) made after the following manner, viz. the lower rim or circlet was a broad hoop of wood, whereunto was fixed, at the sides thereof, part of two other hoops crossing each other at the top, at right angles, which formed the upper part, being about one-third longer than the width; these hoops were wholly covered with artificial flowers of paper, dyed horn, or silk, and more or less beauteous, according to the skill or ingenuity of the performer. In the vacancy of the inside, from the top, hung white paper, cut in form of gloves, whereon was wrote the deceased’s name, age, &c. together with long slips of various coloured paper or ribbons. These were many times intermixed with gilded or painted empty shells of blown eggs, as farther ornaments; or, it may be, as emblems of the bubbles or bitterness of this life; whilst other garlands had only a solitary hour-glass hanging therein, as a more significant symbol of mortality.
“About forty years ago these garlands grew much out of repute, and were thought by many as very unbecoming decorations for so sacred a place as the church; and at the reparation or new beautifying several churches where I have been concerned, I was obliged, by order of the minister and churchwardens, to take the garlands down, and the inhabitants were strictly forbidden to hang up any more for the future. Yet notwithstanding, several people, unwilling to forsake their ancient and delightful custom, continued still the making of them, and they were carried at the funerals, as before, to the grave, and put therein upon the coffin over the face of the dead; this I have seen done in many places.”[287]
[280] See the Every Day-Book, on St. John’s eve, &c.
[281] Brand.
[283] Statistical Account of Scotland.
[284] Fosbroke’s Ency. of Antiquities.
[285] Weever.
[286] Sir Thomas Brown’s Misc. Tracts, p. 29.
[287] Gentleman’s Magazine.
Garrick Plays.
No. XXVII.
[From the “Gentleman of Venice,” a Tragi-Comedy by James Shirley, 1655.]
Giovanni, of noble extraction, but brought up a Gardener, and ignorant of any greater birth, loves Bellaura, a Princess; and is beloved again.
Bellaura. Giovanni.
Bell. How now, Giovanni;
What, with a sword! You were not used to appear
Thus arm’d. Your weapon is a spade, I take it.
Gio. It did become my late profession, Madam:
But I am changed—
Bell. Not to a soldier?
Gio. It is a title, Madam, will much grace me;
And with the best collection of my thoughts
I have ambition to the wars.
Bell. You have?
Gio. O ’tis a brave profession and rewards
All loss we meet, with double weight in glory;
A calling, Princes still are proud to own;
And some do willingly forget their crowns,
To be commanded. ’Tis the spring of all
We here entitle fame to; Emperors,
And all degrees of honours, owing all
Their names to this employment; in her vast
And circular embraces holding Kings,
And making them; and yet so kind as not
To exclude such private things as I, who may
Learn and commence in her great arts.—My life
Hath been too useless to my self and country;
’Tis time I should employ it, to deserve
A name within their registry, that bring
The wealth, the harvest, home of well-bought honour.
Bell. Yet I can see
Through all this revolution, Giovanni,
’Tis something else has wrought this violent change.
Pray let me be of counsel with your thoughts,
And know the serious motive; come, be clear.
I am no enemy, and can assist
Where I allow the cause.
Gio. You may be angry,
Madam, and chide it as a saucy pride
In me to name or look at honour; nor
Can I but know what small addition
Is my unskilful arm to aid a country.
Bell. I may therefore justly suspect there is
Something of other force, that moves you to
The wars. Enlarge my knowledge with the secret.
Gio. At this command I open my heart. Madam,
I must confess there is another cause,
Which I dare not in my obedience
Obscure, since you will call it forth; and yet
I know you will laugh at me—
Bell. It would ill
Become my breeding, Giovanni—
Gio. Then,
Know, Madam, I am in love.
Bell. In love with whom?
Gio. With one I dare not name, she is so much
Above my birth and fortunes.
Bell. I commend
Your flight. But does she know it?
Gio. I durst never
Appear with so much boldness to discover
My heart’s so great ambition; it is here still
A strange and busy guest.
Bell. And you think absence
May cure this wound—
Gio. Or death—
Bell. I may presume
You think she’s fair—
Gio. I dare as soon question your beauty, Madam,
The only ornament and star of Venice,
Pardon the bold comparison; yet there is
Something in you, resembles my great Mistress.
She blushes—(aside).
Such very beams disperseth her bright eye,
Powerful to restore decrepit nature;
But when she frowns, and changes from her sweet
Aspect, (as in my fears I see you now,
Offended at my boldness), she does blast
Poor Giovanni thus, and thus I wither
At heart, and wish myself a thing lost in
My own forgotten dust.
C. L.