“Returning from the oratory, you proceed to the Parloir (as he calls it) of Padre Giovanni. The scriptural subjects represented on glass are suited to the destination of the place, and increase its sombre characters. The other works of intellectual and highly-gifted talent, combined with the statues, etc., impress the spectator with reverence for the monk. From Padre Giovanni’s room the ruins of a monastery arrest the attention. The interest created in the mind of the spectator on visiting the abode of this monk will not be weakened by wandering among the ruins of this once noble monastery. The tomb of the monk, composed from the remains of an old ornament, adds to the gloomy scenery of this hallowed place. The pavement, composed of the tops and bottoms of broken bottles found among the gravel dug out for the foundation of the monastery, furnishes an admirable lesson of simplicity and economy, and shows the unremitting assiduity of the pious monk. The stone structure at the head of the monk’s grave contains the remains of Fanny, the favoured companion, the delight, the solace of his leisure hours, whose portrait, painted by James Ward, R.A., may be seen in the breakfast-room.” All which nonsense about “Parloirs” and Padre Giovanni and his faithful dog can only cause a smile.
Leaving the “ruins,” turn we now, as the old guide book would put it, to the “monument court”: “in the centre is an architectural Pasticico, of about thirty feet high, composed of an extraordinary miscellaneous jumble, the pedestal upon which the cast of the Belvedere Apollo was placed, a marble capital of Hindoo architecture, a capital in stone like that at Tivoli, and another of a Gothic sort. These are surmounted by various architectural groups placed one upon the other, and the whole is terminated by a pineapple.”
This small, cramped, and inconvenient tenement is worth considering as a curiosity from the ingenuity with which the owner has contrived to make the most of his space and materials. One room has no less than seven doors, one communicating with the vestibule, the other with the front room, whilst that on each side of the fireplace opens into a small book cabinet lighted from above; these latter most happily contrived. The Picture Cabinet gives a happy effect to a vista from the gallery; one critic says “it is perfectly fascinating in its result.”
Passing into the inclosure of the old Inn adjoining, we cannot but admire the “elderly repose,” (Elia’s phrase), the old-fashioned air of the green, and the fine sound old houses over which the great tower of the Law Courts lifts itself. The line of houses that look on the small square—like an old-fashioned garden—have a pleasing air of tranquillity. A sort of low booth or shop projects here with odd effect, and serves as the headquarters of a volunteer corps. Turning by it into a narrow passage, we find ourselves in a little retired inclosure, with a tiny walled garden which belongs to an old sequestered house; and, going on further, we find some decrepit gabled mansions peering down at us; and beyond, some gloomy passages leading out into Chancery Lane, lined with finely-crusted mansions, the back of the old Inn, while an ancient tavern, the Old Ship, rears itself conspicuously. All this miscellany is oddly antique, and Dickens like.
At the other end of the Fields the unclean disorderly passages about Clare Market still “flourish”—if that term be appropriate. Here are two extraordinary old taverns: one black with age, its upper stories overhanging the pavement and propped up with rude beams of old wood serving as columns. This is the Old “George IV.” The other is “The Black Jack,” whose name is significant evidence of its antiquity. One or other of the taverns is associated with the immortal Pickwick, and is presumed to be the Magpie and Stump, where Lowten, Perker’s clerk, spent many convivial hours. These grimed old places are quite in harmony with the traditions of Jack Sheppard and Joe Miller, which haunt them. Both will soon be gone. In Chancery Lane, almost facing Carey Street, is an arch, through which we get a glimpse of the old Rolls Chapel, which seems a ghostly place and abandoned.
Lincoln’s Inn itself is an attractive building enough. The old heavy brick gateway, grimed and encrusted with the dirt of centuries, has an air of impressive gloominess. All the old buildings adjoining it on one side have been levelled and replaced by these Elizabethan gabled structures. The venerable gate itself is now menaced, it is said, by Lord Grimthorpe, and indeed, but for protests, would have been improved away. There is no reason, however, why it should not be restored. A consummation to be wished is, that some modified system of restoration could be introduced, that is, by introducing new bits here and there where there is weakness. But no—the work must be thorough, and from the ground.
OLD GATEWAY, LINCOLN’S INN.
The old, interior court of Lincoln’s Inn, daily traversed by hundreds of incurious clerks, is charming from the delicately-designed corner towers the little windows perched up and down, the pleasing irregularity, and general rusted tones of the old brick. Even the modern hall which faces the gate has a quaint and becoming air of old fashion, and is in keeping. But the plaster should be stripped away and the brick revealed. Close by, on the right, is the characteristic chapel, which rises so curiously on its arches, with fan-work of Inigo’s design, while beyond we have glimpses of the trees and sward of the “fayre gardens.” The new modern chambers are in an excellent Elizabethan style, and, through the obliging aid of London smut, already begin to harmonize with the rest; and though the stately “Stone Buildings” close by are of quite a different style and pattern, the mixture is not unpleasing. In half a century or so the whole mass will have been well blended together. The effect is extraordinary when one suddenly turns out of the narrow, crowded, noisy Chancery Lane, with its lines of omnibuses, cabs and carts, into this college-like seclusion, where scarcely a sound can be heard.