It is not for such remains as any of the above that a plea is needed; they have powerful friends, and perhaps no enemies. But there is another class of architecture that is fast fading away, and that a class which has brightened many a landscape and figured cheerfully in many a tale. Ruskin, in his Oxford Lectures on Art, has said of the architecture of old streets in towns and cities that “it is passing away like a dream, without any serious attempt having been made to preserve it, or indeed even to delineate it.” Old blocks of buildings have yielded to the modern innovator in numberless cases where a little ingenuity and care would have adapted them to their new requirements; and, as Ruskin has eloquently said, “it is difficult to understand the contempt and envy with which future generations will look upon us who had such things and allowed them to perish.”
Since commencing these pages, not less than three street scenes have been destroyed, which would otherwise now figure among our illustrations. One of them contained four houses that dated back to the reign of Richard III., and these houses have been destroyed, though in an admirable state of solidity, and replaced by others that, as far even as convenience is concerned, have little advantage, and for every other consideration are not to be named in comparison.
The wealth of England, however, in ancient remains of all kinds is still very great, and nothing illustrates this more strikingly than the fact that for all the changes and improvements that go on in ancient cities like Chester, Shrewsbury, or Salisbury, we still find the antique character left, even if several years have elapsed since our last visit.
The superior beauty of ancient street architecture has already arrested the attention of many landowners. Gabled cottages with tall chimneys, in a style superior to that which has been often called, not inappropriately, “Cockney Gothic,” are built, and the problem of making small cheap dwellings picturesque is gradually being solved, a problem that was well understood by our forefathers. This will be dwelt on at greater length in the last chapter of the book.
Perhaps no more suitable starting-point than Chester could be found for our researches. It is tolerably well known to most Englishmen either by description or personal inspection. The distinguishing features of Chester are “The Rows” as they are called. These are long covered arcades of unknown origin and antiquity. In familiar language, they resemble such a space as would be formed by removing the storey over the ground floor of a row of buildings through the entire length of the street, and supporting the upper chambers with columns or piers at irregular distances. They differ entirely from those in Berne, or indeed anywhere else, in their form and purpose, and also from the covered passages outside the city, of which an example is here given. These, indeed, resemble similar structures at Berne, Totness, and other places.
Speaking of them, Colonel Egerton Leigh, one of the members of Parliament for Cheshire, has well remarked in a paper read before the Chester Archæological Society: “I really think it would improve the quaint look of the city if the projection of the second floor, supported on pillars (either of wood, brick, or stone) over the pavement, were, under certain necessary regulations and restrictions, encouraged on the Boughton, Hanbridge, and
Northgate approaches to Chester. There are several examples of this style remaining in the suburbs, and they are a curious and characteristic introduction to the Rows inside the city.” The illustration is taken from the Boughton approach to Chester. One peculiarity may be noticed: the nearest pier of the arcade is enlarged into a kind of buttress capacious enough to accommodate a barber with his stock in trade; and this is not the only example in the city, there are similar establishments in Bridge Street, Watergate Street, Northgate Street, and in the piers of the arcades.
According to Webb, the Rows were built as a refuge to the citizens during any sudden attack of the Welsh, though the mode of building in the more northerly part of England would seem to have been better adapted for any such emergency. However, let Webb tell his own story: “And because these conflicts continued a long time, it was needful for them to build a space before the doors of their upper buildings, upon which they might stand in safety from the violence of their enemies’ horses, and withal defend their houses from spoyl, and stand with advantage to encounter their enemies when they made incursions.” Pennant, on the contrary, says: “These Rows appear to me to have been the same with the ancient vestibules, and to have been a form of building preserved from the time the city was possessed by the Romans. They were built before the doors, midway between the streets and houses, and were the places where dependents waited for the coming out of their patrons, and under which they might walk away the tedious minutes of expectation. Plautus, in the third act of his Mostella, describes both their station and use:—