INTERIOR OF THE NORTH TRANSEPT
The north transept is called the Statesman's Aisle, and is filled with the statues of ministers of State and of other politicians; besides these we find lawyers, soldiers, and sailors. From this point there is a good view of Sir Robert Peel's statue in the right foreground, with Gladstone and Beaconsfield prominent behind him. We look down the aisle and see the rose window, which was filled with painted glass in the eighteenth century under Dean Atterbury's rule, and the fine early wall arcadings below. In the spandrels are two beautiful stone angels, which are just visible in the illustration.
Beyond are the tombs of the first and third Dukes of Newcastle. The first, William Cavendish, was a loyal supporter of Charles I., in whose service he lost his estates and fortune, but he returned to prosperity after the Restoration. His wife shared his troubles and his rewards. Her reputation as a literary woman and an authoress is marked by the pen and inkhorn beside her effigy; in her hands is an open book. The third Duke, John Holles, married their grand-daughter, and was reputed the richest subject in the kingdom by his contemporaries. He lived in the reign of Queen Anne, when the standard of wealth was far less high than it is in these days. One of the slender columns in St. Michael's Chapel behind still retains the original polish, and gives us some idea what the whole church looked like before our London atmosphere had corroded and blurred the surface of the Purbeck marble. Statues of the three Cannings stand between these two tombs. The nearest to our generation, he died in 1880, is Stratford Canning, better known by his title of the Viscount de Redcliffe, who was for fifty years British Ambassador in the East. His cousin, Earl Canning, Viceroy of India during the Mutiny, was succeeded in that post, after the outbreak was quelled, by Lord Lawrence, whose grave and bust we saw in the nave. From the third statue, that of George Canning, Prime Minister in 1827, we look across the transept to his colleague in his last Cabinet, Lord Palmerston, a statesman who must ever be associated with our foreign policy for the first half of Queen Victoria's reign. Further to the left we see another Tory politician, Viscount Castlereagh, with whom George Canning once actually fought a duel; but the two men made up their quarrel, and Canning afterwards succeeded his former foe at the Foreign Office. Castlereagh was unfortunate in his end and unpopular during his life. He committed suicide while temporarily insane, and his burial here was the occasion of a great outburst of feeling, when the indignant mob outside hammered on the doors of the church while the funeral service proceeded inside. The huge monument, which fills up the last arch on the western side, was erected by Parliament, at the cost of 6000 pounds, as a tribute to the fame of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham. Bacon was guilty of this enormity, while Westmacott perpetrated the equally tasteless allegorical group over the west door, which commemorates the younger Pitt. Father and son lie together in this aisle. Not far from theirs are the graves of two other statesmen, Henry Grattan, the eloquent Irish orator, and his dear friend, Charles James Fox, "near whom in death it would have been his pride to lie." We saw the monuments of Pitt and Fox on our first entrance into the nave. Chatham's name must ever recall the severance of the United States from the Mother Country, while his son, "the great Commoner," is associated with our struggle to break the power of Napoleon, whose downfall Pitt did not live to see. Between the last columns further south is the statue of Chatham's brilliant legal adversary, Lord Mansfield. Behind him stands another distinguished lawyer, who belonged to a later generation, Sir William Webb Follett, Attorney-General in Peel's last Ministry. Before turning the corner into the western aisle it is impossible not to notice the two Admirals, Vernon and Wager, whose memorials unfortunately cover the wall arcading on either side of the north door. Their very names are unknown to the average person nowadays, but they did good service on the high seas for England's glory in their own time, the eighteenth century. Vernon owes a posthumous fame amongst sea-faring men to the fact that the sailor's drink, a mixture of rum and water first introduced by the Admiral, was called grog in his honour; he was familiarly known as "Old Grog" on board ship, a nickname inspired by his grogram boat-cloak.
In another place we have already dwelt at some length upon these makers of our Empire in war and peace alike, whose names may be seen upon the walls on every side. While the tariff question is the topic of the hour, and Cobden, the original champion of free trade, is constantly appealed to by our modern politicians, we must not omit to look at that statesman's bust, which will be found, with a number of other interesting memorials, at the back of Chatham's monument. Near this the tablet to Warren Hastings records a page in the history of our Indian Empire which it is best to leave unturned, for it is stained with the life-blood of a man's broken heart, a heart broken by a trial dragged out interminably till the culprit, whether he were innocent or guilty, was punished far beyond his deserts. Macaulay's famous description of Hastings's trial is well known, and we are reminded of his no less familiar essay on Lord Clive by the monuments of two men, a soldier and a sailor, who co-operated with Clive in the foundation of our Indian Empire. The East India Company is responsible for the inartistic, grotesque erections which traduce the memory of these gallant men, Admiral Watson and Sir Eyre Coote, while they also perpetrated the scarcely less offensive, although smaller monument which commemorates Major Stringer Lawrence, Clive's intimate friend and valued comrade, the hero of Trichinopoly, which is near the west end of the nave. The Admiral sits unclothed, save for a Roman toga, amongst palm-trees and allegorical figures above the ancient doorway, while his chief achievements are recorded in the inscriptions "Calcutta freed," "Ghereah," and "Chandernagore taken," with the dates 1756 and 1757. Coote expelled the French from the Coromandel coast in 1761, and twenty years later defeated them again with their ally, Hyder Ali, in the Carnatic. The General masquerades as a Roman warrior, with a native captive and a figure of Victory on either hand. Such was, in fact, the taste of the period when these preposterous groups were all the fashion. We turn from this with pleasure to the fine bust of Richard Kane, which is against the opposite wall, and single him out for a passing mention on account of his connection, as Governor, with the Island of Minorca, one of "the lost possessions" of England.
Facing us now, as we make our way westward, is the seated figure of Sir Fowell Buxton, and a little further to the left Joseph's extraordinarily vivid but unpleasing figure of William Wilberforce. Both men are indissolubly connected in our minds with the abolition of Slavery. With them are associated the pioneer of the anti-slavery agitation, Granville Sharp, and their fellow-worker, Zachary, father of Lord Macaulay. Sharp's tablet is not far from the latter's bust in the south transept, and we have already noticed the elder Macaulay in the Whigs' Corner. Between the philanthropists is Sir Stamford Raffles, the founder of Singapore, a man no less zealous than they in the struggle for the suppression of slavery. To us Londoners his name must ever be dear, for we owe the Zoological Gardens to his initiative.
We are standing now in the aisle dedicated to the memory of that great English composer, Henry Purcell, and thus often called the "Musicians' Aisle," although the memorials to musicians are comparatively few. Purcell's modest tablet with the well-known epitaph, "Here lyes Henry Purcell, Esq., who left this life, and is gone to that blessed place, where only his harmony can be exceeded," hangs against the pillar near Raffles. We passed a modern one hard by to Balfe, a composer of many popular ballads; while on the north wall are the monuments of Purcell's master, Dr. Blow, who first preceded and then succeeded his young pupil at the Abbey organ, and Dr. Croft, who followed after Blow. Stones in the floor mark the graves of Dr. Samuel Arnold, another Abbey organist, and Sterndale Bennett, who is considered by some authorities worthy to rank with Purcell as a musical composer. A tablet to Dr. Burney detains us for a moment, while we remind the lovers of literature in our party of his daughter, the novelist, Fanny Burney, and of their friendship with Dr. Johnson, whose grave we saw in Poets' Corner. Other memorials, chiefly those to sailors, are upon this wall, but we cannot tarry much longer, our friends are craving mercy for tired brains and aching limbs. Just before the iron gate the portrait medallion of Charles Darwin, which is closely companioned by tablets to three other modern scientists, Joule, Adams, and Stokes, attracts notice, and the next moment we tread upon the graves of Darwin and Herschel, all placed purposely in the vicinity of Sir Isaac Newton. Doctors of medicine as well as men of science will be found in the nave. We have already referred to the fashionable Dr. Mead, and his no less popular intimate, Dr. Freind, is also here. Freind's brother was headmaster of Westminster School, and many of the Latin inscriptions on contemporary monuments were written by him, including the one under his brother's bust; so many in fact that Pope, whose own pen was ever busy commemorating his cronies with fulsome laudations, such as those on Kneller and Craggs, wrote the following mocking lines:—
Freind, for your epitaphs I'm grieved
Where still so much is said,
One half will never be believed,
The other never read.
The jibing prophecy has been literally fulfilled, for these Latin epitaphs are most certainly never read, while Pope's verses, which are usually in English, stand a better chance. Close to us on the right-hand wall is the bust of a great modern geologist, Sir Charles Lyell, which stands above the monument of his distinguished forerunner, Woodward, who is often called the founder of English geology. Opposite is that of Dean Buckland, who was twice President of the Geological Society and a distinguished authority in that science. The windows along the north side commemorate celebrated civil engineers, Stephenson, Locke, Brunel, and Trevithick. To the genius of these men and to James Watt, whose statue we saw in St. Paul's Chapel, the wonderful railway and steamship system of modern days was, in the first instance, due. Few, indeed, are the arts, crafts, and sciences of the last two centuries which cannot claim some representative in the Abbey. Thus, as we cross over to the west cloister door on our way out, we tread upon the graves of the father of English watchmakers, Thomas Tompion, and his clever apprentice, George Graham; near them lies Telford, the builder of the Menai Bridge; close to him is Robert Stephenson, the designer of the tubular bridge across the Menai Straits, who was buried beside Telford, twenty-five years later, at his own request.