“Somehow we never have time at home,” was Betty’s remark. “And I think perhaps we never really wanted to very much, either.”
“Well, you wouldn’t understand why, then, but it always reminded me of this great Smithfield Market,” went on Mrs. Pitt and then added a bit boastfully, “I’ve been to Faneuil Hall several times.”
What they saw was a large, lofty building, with a roof of glass and iron, equipped as a most thoroughly up-to-date meat-market. A street runs directly through the center, and from this, one can get a splendid idea of both halves.
“This great barren square of Smithfield was the place where they had the tournaments in the olden days, and because of that, the name was probably once ‘Smooth-field.’ Edward III held a brilliant tournament here, and also Richard II, who invited many foreign guests to be present for that important event. The processions which preceded, as well as the tournaments themselves, were most elaborate. One old writer fairly dazzles us by his description of ‘sixty horses in rich trappings, each mounted by an esquire of honor,—and sixty ladies of rank, dressed in the richest elegance of the day following on their palfreys, each leading by a silver chain a knight completely armed for tilting. Minstrels and trumpets accompanied them to Smithfield amidst the shouting population: there the Queen and her fair train received them.’ Then this same author tells at much length of the commencing of the tournament, and says ‘they tilted each other until dark. They all then adjourned to a sumptuous banquet, and dancing consumed the night.’ For several days and nights this same performance was repeated. That gives you a slight idea of the aspect Smithfield bore in the days when it was far outside the limits of the ‘City.’”
After pausing a few minutes in her talk, while they walked about the square, Mrs. Pitt proceeded:
“In 1381, after the peasant uprising, the leader, Wat Tyler, was killed here. And then, in the reigns of ‘Bloody Mary’ and of Elizabeth, this was the place of public execution. Way back in 1305, the patriot William Wallace was hanged here, and after him came a long line of sufferers,—among them Anne Askew, Rogers, Bradford, and Philpot, who were persecuted because of their adherence to the Protestant Religion. After that terrible period, Smithfield was for many years the only cattle-market in London; and here was held Bartholomew Fair, also. Don’t you agree that this square has had about as varied a history as is very well possible?”
The church of St. Bartholomew the Great, one of the oldest and most interesting in London, is reached from Smithfield by an inconspicuous arch, which leads to a narrow walk close beside brick walls. At the further end is the façade of the church, which boasts of having been erected in 1123, by Rahere, who also founded the neighboring Hospital of St. Bartholomew.
Once inside the doorway, the visitor feels as though he had actually stepped back many centuries, for, as Baedeker says, “the existing church, consisting merely of the choir, the crossing, and one bay of the nave of the original Priory Church, is mainly pure Norman work, as left by Rahere.” Here again, the visitor encounters that strange atmosphere which belongs to the place pervaded by great age.
“You see,” explained Mrs. Pitt, “the church which we see is only a very small part of the original edifice as Rahere built it. The entrance from Smithfield was probably the door to the nave, which was where the grave-yard now stands. It’s curious, isn’t it, how the centuries alter things! Now, step over here, out of the way of the door, and let me tell you a bit about this old church and its founder. This Rahere was the King’s jester, who came to see the error of his ways, grew very religious, and went on a pilgrimage. While on his journey back, he became seriously ill, and turned to St. Bartholomew for healing, promising to build a hospital for poor men if his petition were granted. He was cured, and on his return to London, he built the hospital and also this church, in which he is himself buried.”
They were all delighted with this story, and went immediately to find Rahere’s tomb, of which the ancient effigy is covered by a fine canopy of much later date. One other tomb is that of Sir Walter Mildmay, who was Chancellor of the Exchequer to Queen Elizabeth, and founder of Emmanuel College, Oxford. John discovered the following quaint epitaph, which greatly amused the entire party: