Elvet Bridge, Durham.
Elvet Bridge, Durham.
The above [engraving] is from a lithographic view, published in Durham in 1820: it was designed by Mr. Bouet, a very ingenious French gentleman, resident there, whose abilities as an artist are of a superior order.
Elvet bridge consists of nine or ten arches, and was built by the excellent bishop Pudsey, about the year 1170. It was repaired in the time of bishop Fox, who held the see of Durham from 1494 to 1502, and granted an “indulgence” to all who should contribute towards defraying the expense; an expedient frequently resorted to in Catholic times for the forwarding of great undertakings. It was again improved, by widening it to twice its breadth, in 1806.
Upon this bridge there were two chapels, dedicated respectively to St. James and St. Andrew, one of which stood on the site of the old house close to the bridge, at present inhabited by Mr. Adamson, a respectable veterinary surgeon; the other stood on the site of the new houses on the south side of the bridge, occupied by Mr. Fenwick and Mr. Hopper. About three years ago, while clearing away the rubbish, preparatory to the erection of the latter houses, some remains of the old chapel were discovered: an arch was in a very perfect state, but unfortunately no drawing was made.
It is believed by some, that another chapel stood on, or near Elvet bridge, dedicated to St. Magdalen; and the name of the flight of steps leading from Elvet bridge to Saddler-street, viz. the Maudlin, or Magdalen-steps, rather favours the supposition. On the north side of Elvet bridge is a building, erected in 1632, formerly used as the house of correction, but which, since the erection of the new gaol, was sold to the late Stephen Kemble, Esq., and is now the printing and publishing office of the Durham Chronicle. The ground cells are miserable places: some figures, still visible on many of the walls, as faces, ships, &c. show to what resources the poor fellows confined there were driven to amuse themselves. This building is said to be haunted by the restless sprite of an old piper, who, as the story is, was brought down the river by a flood, and, on being rescued from the water, became an inmate of the house of correction, where he died a few years afterwards. The credulous often hear his bagpipes at midnight. Every old bridge seems to have its legend, and this is the legend of Elvet bridge.
The buildings represented by the [engraving] in the distance are the old gaol, and a few of the adjoining houses. This gaol, which stood to the east of the castle, and contiguous to the keep, was originally the great north gateway to the castle, and was erected by bishop Langley, who held the see of Durham from 1406 to 1437. It divided Saddler-street from the North Bailey, and was a fine specimen of the architecture of the age, but, from its confined situation, in a public part of the city, it was adjudged to be a nuisance, and was accordingly destroyed in 1820. On the west side of it is erected an elegant subscription library and news-room, and on the opposite a spacious assembly-room; these form a striking contrast to the spot in the state here represented. The present county gaol is at the head of Old Elvet; it is a splendid edifice, and so it should be, considering that it cost the county 120,000l.
Of bishop Pudsey, the builder of Elvet bridge, the following account is given in Hegg’s Legend of St. Cuthbert. Speaking of St. Goodrick, of whom there are particulars in the Every-Day Book, Hegg says, “Thus after he had acted all the miracles of a legend, he ended his scene in the yeare 1170, not deserving that honour conferred on his cell by the forenamed bishop Pusar (Pudsey), who told him he should be seven yeares blind before his death, so that the bishop deferring his repentance till the tyme of his blindness, (which Goodrick meant of the eyes of his understanding) dyed unprovided for death. But if good works be satisfactorie, then died he not in debt for his sinnes, who repayred and built many of the episcopall manors, and founded the manor and church at Darlington, and two hospitals, one at Alverton, and the other at Sherburne, neare Durham. He built also Elvet bridge, with two chapels upon it, over the Weer; and, lastly, built that beautiful work the Galilee, now the bishop’s consistory, and hither translated saint Bede’s bones, which lye enterred under a tomb of black marble.”
From the above extract, as punctuated in all the printed copies I have seen, it would appear that Hegg intended to represent both the chapels as being over the Weer, whereas only one was so situated, the other being on one of the land arches. To render this passage correct, the words “with two chapels upon it” should have been inserted in a parenthesis, which would make the passage stand thus, “He built also Elvet bridge, (with two chapels upon it,) over the Weer.” Hegg, with all his humour, is frequently obscure; and his legend, which was for some time in manuscript, has suffered by the inattention of transcribers; there are three different copies in print, and all vary. The edition printed by the late Mr. Allan of Darlington, from a manuscript in the library of Corpus Christi College, Oxford, and since reprinted by Mr. Hogget of Durham, is the most correct one, and from that the above extract is taken.
Bishop Pudsey’s memory must always be dear to the inhabitants of the county of Durham, as probably no man ever conferred greater service on the county. It was he who, in order to supply the deficiency of Doomsday-book, caused a general survey to be made of all the demesne lands and possessions in his bishopric. This survey is recorded in a small folio of twenty-four pages, written in a bad hand, and called “Bolden Buke,” now in the archives at Durham. It contains inquisitions, or verdicts of all the several tenures of lands, services, and customs; all the tenants’ names of every degree; how much each of them held at that time, and what rents were reserved for the same. This book has been produced, and read in evidence on several trials at law, on the part of the succeeding bishops, in order to ascertain their property.
Garrick Plays.
No. XI.
[From “Jack Drum’s Entertainment,” a Comedy, Author unknown, 1601.]
The free humour of a Noble Housekeeper.
Fortune (a Knight). I was not born to be my cradle’s drudge,
To choke and stifle up my pleasure’s breath,
To poison with the venom’d cares of thrift
My private sweet of life: only to scrape
A heap of muck, to fatten and manure
The barren virtues of my progeny,
And make them sprout ’spite of their want of worth;
No, I do wish my girls should wish me live;
Which few do wish that have a greedy sire,
But still expect, and gape with hungry lip,
When he’ll give up his gouty stewardship.
Friend. Then I wonder,
You not aspire unto the eminence
And height of pleasing life. To Court, to Court—
There burnish, there spread, there stick in pomp,
Like a bright diamond in a Lady’s brow.
There plant your fortunes in the flowring spring,
And get the Sun before you of Respect.
There trench yourself within the people’s love,
And glitter in the eye of glorious grace.
What’s wealth without respect and mounted place?
Fortune. Worse and worse!—I am not yet distraught,
I long not to be squeez’d with my own weight,
Nor hoist up all my sails to catch the wind
Of the drunk reeling Commons. I labour not
To have an awful presence, nor be feared.
Since who is fear’d still fears to be so feared.
I care not to be like the Horeb calf,
One day adored, and next pasht all in pieces.
Nor do I envy Polyphemian puffs,
Switzers’ slopt greatness. I adore the Sun,
Yet love to live within a temperate zone.
Let who will climb ambitious glibbery rounds,
And lean upon the vulgar’s rotten love,
I’ll not corrival him. The sun will give
As great a shadow to my trunk as his;
And after death, like Chessmen having stood
In play, for Bishops some, for Knights, and Pawns,
We all together shall be tumbled up
Into one bag.
Let hush’d-calm quiet rock my life asleep;
And, being dead, my own ground press my bones;
Whilst some old Beldame, hobbling o’er my grave,
May mumble thus:
‘Here lies a Knight whose Money was his Slave.’
[From the “Changes,” a Comedy, by James Shirley, 1632.]
Excess of Epithets, enfeebling to Poetry.
Friend. Master Caperwit, before you read, pray tell me,
Have your verses any Adjectives?
Caperwit. Adjectives! would you have a poem without
Adjectives? they’re the flower, the grace of all our language.
A well-chosen Epithet doth give new soul
To fainting Poesy, and makes every verse
A Bride! With Adjectives we bait our lines,
When we do fish for Gentlewomen’s loves,
And with their sweetness catch the nibbling ear
Of amorous ladies; with the music of
These ravishing nouns we charm the silken tribe,
And make the Gallant melt with apprehension
Of the rare Word. I will maintain ’t against
A bundle of Grammarians, in Poetry
The Substantive itself cannot subsist
Without its Adjective.
Friend. But for all that,
Those words would sound more full, methinks, that are not
So larded; and if I might counsel you,
You should compose a Sonnet clean without ’em.
A row of stately Substantives would march
Like Switzers, and bear all the fields before ’em;
Carry their weight; shew fair, like Deeds Enroll’d;
Not Writs, that are first made and after fill’d.
Thence first came up the title of Blank Verse;—
You know, Sir, what Blank signifies?—when the sense,
First framed, is tied with Adjectives like points,
And could not hold together without wedges:
Hang ’t, ’tis pedantic, vulgar Poetry.
Let children, when they versify, stick here
And there these piddling words for want of matter
Poets write Masculine Numbers.
[From the “Guardian,” a Comedy, by Abraham Cowley, 1650. This was the first Draught of that which he published afterwards under the title of the “Cutter of Coleman Street;” and contains the character of a Foolish Poet, omitted in the latter. I give a few scraps of this character, both because the Edition is scarce, and as furnishing no unsuitable corollary to the Critical Admonitions in the preceding Extract.—The “Cutter” has always appeared to me the link between the Comedy of Fletcher and of Congreve. In the elegant passion of the Love Scenes it approaches the former; and Puny (the character substituted for the omitted Poet) is the Prototype of the half-witted Wits, the Brisks and Dapper Wits, of the latter.]
Doggrell, the foolish Poet, described.
Cutter. —— the very Emblem of poverty and poor poetry. The feet are worse patched of his rhymes, than of his stockings. If one line forget itself, and run out beyond his elbow, while the next keeps at home (like him), and dares not show his head, he calls that an Ode. * * *
Tabitha. Nay, they mocked and fleered at us, as we sung the Psalm the last Sunday night.
Cutter. That was that mungrel Rhymer; by this light he envies his brother poet John Sternhold, because he cannot reach his heights. * * *
Doggrell (reciting his own verses.) Thus pride doth still with beauty dwell,
And like the Baltic ocean swell.
Blade. Why the Baltic, Doggrell?
Doggrell. Why the Baltic!—this ’tis not to have
read the Poets. * * *
She looks like Niobe on the mountain’s top.
Cutter. That Niobe, Doggrell, you have used worse than Phœbus did. Not a dog looks melancholy but he’s compared to Niobe. He beat a villainous Tapster ’tother day, to make him look like Niobe.
C. L.