Philip soon pointed to a little alley-way on their left, and said, “The Cheshire Cheese is in a little court back of there. You can’t think how many buildings, courts, and alleys are hidden in behind all of these shops. Some of the old inns, or coffee-houses, which were famous are (or were) there. Now, here’s Ludgate Hill, and in a minute you’ll have a view of St. Paul’s.”
St. Paul’s Cathedral stands on a hill, and because of its position and huge dome it is the most conspicuous of London’s landmarks. But, because of the closely surrounding buildings, it is much hidden from near view. As the bus mounted Ludgate Hill, having passed under the railroad-bridge, they suddenly saw the tremendous cathedral looming up before them.
They paused for a moment by the statue of Queen Anne, in front of the main entrance, while Mrs. Pitt, following her delightful habit, reminded them of certain notable facts.
“No one knows exactly how long there has been a church upon this site,” she began, beckoning them closer to her, as the noise of the traffic was so great, “but Bede, the oldest historian, says that a chapel was built here by a Saxon king, before the time of the Romans. When Sir Christopher Wren, the architect, built this present edifice, after the great fire of 1666, he found relics of three periods,—the Saxon, the British, and the Roman. St. Paul’s has been burned five times. The last fire (the one of which I just spoke) destroyed the church which we know as ‘old St. Paul’s.’ Now, let’s go in, for there is much to be seen.”
Next to St. Peter’s at Rome, St. Paul’s in London is the largest church, in the world. The first impression a person gets is one of great vastness and bareness, for, unlike Westminster Abbey, here one does not encounter at every step famous statues, memorials, and graves. The nave is tremendous in width and in length. Chapels open from both sides, but they seem far off and shadowy. Way in the distance is the choir, the altar, and the group of chairs used at services. Everything is quiet, empty, and bare.
“I never imagined such a huge church!” said Betty, much impressed. “I feel lost and cold, somehow. What are you thinking, Mrs. Pitt? I’m sure we’d all like to hear.”
“I was just picturing, as I always do when I come here, the scenes the nave of old St. Paul’s presented in Henry VIII’s time. Would you like to hear? Well, in the sixteenth century, this nave was called ‘Paul’s Walke,’ and it was a place of business. Yes,” she assured them, as John and Betty exclaimed, “down these aisles were booths where merchants of all kinds sold their wares. Counters were built around the pillars, and even the font was used by the vendors. Pack-horses laden with merchandise streamed always in and out, and crowds of people elbowed their way about, shouting and gesticulating excitedly.”
“But didn’t they have any services at all in St. Paul’s Cathedral?” asked Betty wonderingly.
“Oh, yes!” continued Mrs. Pitt, “the services went on just the same. The people were used to the noise and confusion. Here came the tailors to look at the fine new clothes which the young dandies wore when they took their morning promenades. All the latest books and poems were always to be found on sale here. Bishop Earle wrote ‘Paul’s Walke—you may cal—the lesser Ile of Great Brittaine. The noyse in it is like that of Bees, in strange hummings, or buzze, mixt of walking, tongues, and feet; it is a kind of still roare, or loud whisper.’
“I am glad to be able to say, however,” she continued, “that before that dreadful period, there was a time when the cathedral was not so dishonored. Once these walls were covered with valuable shrines, pictures, and tapestries, and costly jewels glittered everywhere. There was one huge emerald which was said to cure diseases of the eyes. Here came John Wycliffe, the great reformer, at the summons of the Archbishop of Canterbury, to answer for the publication of his new doctrines. Here, Henry of Bolingbroke prayed for his successful seizure of the throne, and here he also wept over the grave of his father, John of Gaunt. Sir Philip Sidney was buried here, and his father-in-law, Sir Francis Walsingham, Queen Elizabeth’s secretary; and there was a magnificent monument to Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord Chancellor, but these were all destroyed by the Great Fire.”