Alas! as I look through these arches to the grassy enclosure, I see some small tombstones to the memory of boys not destined even to feel the disappointments of life. The rosebud has fallen upon the sod! The thought is too melancholy, let us change to something cheerful—and look at those young girls on the sward, sketching the little old chapel which stands in the centre with all its pristine beauty. It dates from 1430. There is a fine stained east window in it which has old figures in the lower part. Over the chapel—intended for private masses—is an apartment, now used for a library. The whole is a little bijou.
The large schoolroom, built by Warden Nicholas in 1687, is now used merely for concerts and other entertainments. But the great grim signboard still remains, warning the festive company that they must learn, leave, or be whipped! This unpleasant notification is impressed by a representation of a sword, and something which looks alarmingly like a pitchfork, but is really meant for a rod. In these days of competitive examinations, it seems strange to be told that the army is to be the last refuge for dunces. This work of art is older than the building; its scholastic designer remains among the great unknown. Prominent here among other names, is that of Herbert Stewart, painted with ink in letters of heroic size.[58]
The height of the Hall gives it a magnificent appearance, while the old oak in the panelling, benches, tables, and roof, make it sombre and venerable. Some old pieces of wood, about six inches square, were shown us, which are still used by the foundation boys for plates at breakfast and supper. In early times the hall was warmed by a fire in the centre.
The Portraits.
Over the high table there is a full-length portrait of William of Wykeham. It is on oak, but scarcely looks as old as the days of Holbein. All we can hope is that there was some likeness of Wykeham of which it is a copy. There is also here a picture of Bishop Morley with rosy cheeks, pointed beard, and a somewhat cynical expression. He was in exile with Charles II., and returned with him, and, to judge by the carmine here freely used, had shared in his master’s good living. Beneath this, by way of contrast, I suppose, hangs the lantern face of Bishop Fox—dark, close-shaven, ascetic—not altogether unlike his patron Henry VII. He was the man who collected the bones out of the crypt, and placed them in the chests.
On the wall of the passage to the kitchen there is the picture of the “Trusty Servant,” almost as well known as the College itself. The Latin verse dates from 1560; the figure, from Queen Anne.
“I remember that at first sight I thought it was intended for the devil,” said Mr. Hertford, “and I am not sure that the designer was not a plagiarist in this respect. I have seen valentines like it.”
“But when we read the lines,” I replied, “we find the intention is to represent virtues, not vices. The cloven feet are to signify celerity, not bestiality; the ‘porker’s snout’ contentment, not greediness; and the donkey’s head patience, not stupidity; the formidable weapons and bundle of implements he carries are for defensive and industrial purposes. This combination of man and beast has a moral as well as a comic side, and has much taken the public fancy.”