The great thick walls on each side display their blackened stones, and are pierced at the top with small, prison-like windows. These old walls seem to speak, for they are covered over as closely as possible with names—names of scholars, in large, well-cut, and very legible letters. There is something very significant in these records, some of very well known persons. The eye, almost at first, falls upon a bold, big-cut “E. IMPEY”—a boy who was to become Sir Elijah, and to figure so prominently with Warren Hastings. Formerly the boys used to climb up and cut their names anyhow and every how; now it is reduced to a prosaic and regular system: a payment of five shillings is made, and the appointed officer arrives with his tools and ladder, and does the job, which rather destroys the poetry of the thing.
Some pretty music is being played of a soft, winning kind—the performers unseen—which lends a regular theatrical tone to the place. A lad in cap and gown and white tie and kid gloves emerges from the curtain and bends down to whisper to the Head Master, it is presumed to obtain formal leave to begin. This ceremony was repeated at the beginning of every act. Then the curtains are drawn aside, revealing the beautiful view of Athens, painted with much grace and skill by Mr. Cockerell, a combination between interior and exterior, which I believe to be the true mode of presenting a drama. Nothing could be better, more correct or realistic than the dresses. With the discoveries of pictures, mosaics, medals, etc., we can really now dress a Greek or Roman with the minutest accuracy and faithfulness. The hair, beards, etc., are trained with such wonderful accuracy so as to suggest the true antique type of face. The style of declamation was spirited and animated, much beyond what might be expected from youths. There was a solidity and gravity, and a total absence of fear and shyness. It would be affectation to say the meaning was followed by the audience, though at professedly humorous passages volleys of applause came from above, betokening the presence, even here, of a disciplined claque, who must have applauded upon signal. There were some grave and reverend pundits, who really understood and followed every word—masters en retraite, perhaps—and who were convulsed at every jest—though these seemed mild enough. At the close there was the epilogue, full of allusions to current topics. Altogether a very pleasing and interesting entertainment. There was a suggestion, throughout of collegiate associations, from the presence of the many gowned professors, canons, and others, who had only to walk across from their numerous little quaint old residences either in “the quad,” or the antique College Street or Dean’s Yard.
As the crowd poured out we crossed the courts once again under the moonlight, everything still and remote, the great Tower of the Abbey dimly outlined, the huge Victoria Tower beetling over all, the many clocks, St. Margaret’s, the Abbey, “Big Ben,” and others of smaller degree, chiming vigorously one against the other. Ashburnham House, fast closed, was sleeping placidly in the moonlight. We passed the slow, old-fashioned rooms of the Head Master, where there was a cheerful restorative supper, not at all unwelcome after the long course of rather perplexing Latin, where the guests were hospitably entreated by this cordial host.
Towards midnight, as we came out from Dean’s Yard through the great entrance, and were once more greeted with cab and omnibus clatter and general hurly-burly, it really seemed again as though we had suddenly emerged from the tranquil University cloister. The gowns, plays, cloisters, old Latin, music, canons, etc., seemed part of a collegiate dream—now rudely broken.
CHAPTER III.
ASHBURNHAM HOUSE—THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT, ETC.
PASSING from Dean’s Yard, through a Gothic arch which leads through the Canons’ houses, we find ourselves in a large court, round which run the old buildings of the Westminster School and its familiar dormitory. Facing the school is a low building, within an inclosure, known as Ashburnham House, an old Tudor structure of much interest, which a few years ago was in serious peril. The valuable ground was coveted, and it was proposed to level it and erect large modern buildings in its stead. Happily public interest was aroused, pictures and sketches appeared in the illustrated papers, and the plan was arrested. The interest lay in the beautiful and elegant design of its interior, which though of modest scale is so exquisitely laid out and designed as to suggest an air of spaciousness. There is no doubt that it is the work of Inigo Jones, who is also credited with having designed the older dormitory of the school. On entering, a low hall presents itself, with a door facing us, through which can be seen a glimpse of the old garden behind.
Standing in the airy hall, which though of small size yet appears spacious, and is panelled round with delicately indicated mouldings, we see on the left a low arch over a slightly inclined stair of three or four steps, and beyond which the regular stair with its balustrade is seen. This of itself offers a highly original effect. The staircase itself has the most gentle ascent. The walls, generally white, are broken up by delicate mouldings and pilasters crowned at the top by an oval lantern of elegant shape, and there is a general architectural effect produced of the most pleasing kind. Neither is there anything elaborate, nor are the surfaces too much loaded. We feel that the groundwork is panelling, and therefore only suited to the lightest treatment. With the mouldings are combined stucco tracery of the best school.