Having thus concluded our exploration of the Adelphi, we may fairly ask the Londoner who passes through the Strand a dozen times in the day, could he be prepared to find so much that is novel in this familiar district?
ENTRANCE TO THE ROMAN BATH.
CHAPTER VI.
THE ROMAN BATH.—COVENT GARDEN.
BUT in this exceedingly modern Strand, where we are so eager to clear off the only bit of antiquity left us—the graceful church of St. Mary—what Monkbarns would think of looking for his “ancient Romans,” or anything connected with them? It is an astonishing surprise to find that we have only to turn out of the Strand hard by St. Mary’s Church, and see staring at us an invitation to come and look at a genuine, recognizeable, Roman work, in sound condition. We pass under a sort of archway, down a steep paved lane, lined with low white-washed walls and a few old houses, with a glimpse of the river beyond, and see the board before us, with directions “☛ To the Old Roman Bath.” On the left rises the towering wall of the New Strand Theatre (and it is wonderful they did not sweep the Romans away), and we come to a sort of shanty of a house such as we would see in a village, white-washed, a languid green creeper overgrowing it, which imparts quite a rural look. At the iron gate we are met by a showman of the place, who does his work intelligently enough, and communicates such details as he has picked up. Opening a door to the left and descending a few steps, he suddenly plunges us into a low cellar-like chamber. As we grow accustomed to the dim light, there is a sense of astonishment on looking round and finding ourselves before a genuine unmistakeable bath. It is a fairly sized, vaulted chamber, solidly built, with curved ceiling lit by a little semi-circular window perched high on the left. The bath is in the centre, rounded at one end and square at the other. On the opposite side are two or three stairs or tiers, and where it touches the water we can recognize the true fashion of Roman workmanship—the thin tiles of cheerful red, hard as iron, and the imperishable cement which has stood and resisted the water for centuries. The stately Roman look of the whole, even the massive grace in decay, is extraordinary. Extraordinary too is the volume of water, the purest and most delicious in London, which pours up at the rate of some ten tons a minute, and is recherché in the district, being sold at a fixed tariff. It is remarkable that this interesting relic, rare in any capital, should be so little known and so little esteemed. It is highly desirable that the bath should be secured to the City without loss of time, and its destruction thereby saved.
On the other side is another bath, known as “Lord Essex’s” plunge-bath, which has its interest also. It is elegantly designed, with rather original little steps for descending into the water. The bath is of a sort of buff-coloured marble, and is known to have been made, and perhaps used, by the Earl of Essex some three centuries ago. Our cicerone goes so far as to affirm that the Good Queen Bess was fond of taking an occasional “dip” here, and rather illogically points to a sort of darkened window or passage in proof of his assertion. But without introducing this august lady at all, or the Earl, the bath is sufficiently old and interesting to stand, if we may use the metaphor, on its own bottom. Holywell Street, close by, is evidence of the traditions of a holy source in the neighbourhood, and Essex Street is not far away. But how many who pass through the Strand daily for years have ever been to see the Old Roman Bath?
“Within memory of man,” says Mr. Roach Smith, “huge masses, with trees growing upon them, were to be seen at London Wall opposite to what is now Finsbury Circus. They were probably—like what may still be seen opposite Sion College, and in various places with warehouses, in obscure courts and in cellars, near Cripplegate—the core of the Roman wall denuded of the facing stones. In 1852 was discovered a portion which the Corporation had given to the Church Building Society to be pulled down, but it was happily saved; it had been preserved so long owing to a buttress built against it in the Middle Ages. But though saved, owing to earnest representations, it was built into a stable.”
There are indeed scarcely any of the associations of London more impressive or overpowering than its connection with the Roman Empire. There is of course the common vague and popular idea of “Roman remains” found all over England, and the “local museum” can generally boast some well-grimed vessels of various shapes, which are labelled “Roman.” There is often, too, the “incised” slab on which may be deciphered some “Roman” lettering, as ambiguous as that discovered by Mr. Pickwick. Nothing, however, is so astonishing to the casual spectator as the abundance and splendour of the real Roman remains found in London. The Guildhall Museum, where they are stored in quantities, might be a portion of the Vatican Museum. The Roman glass and pottery alone would fill a warehouse, and their variety and beautiful shapes and materials are perfectly astonishing. We say nothing of the tablets and statues, etc., and fragments of brickwork found about Blackfriars, but what really recalls the Roman domination in the most forcible and practical way is the superb Roman pavement, about 14 feet long, with its round end, which must have covered a goodly sized vestibule. The