Round the old church are to be found Rouen-like streets, highly antique and picturesque, such as “Cloth Fair,” with old, overhanging houses, and space for but a single carriage to pass; the backs of most of which tenements are caked and crusted to the old fane. Overpowered as it is, we can see it struggling uneasily with these oppressive neighbours. By diving down
ST. HELEN’S.
strange lanes and passages and culs de sac we obtain stray peeps at its venerable figure. Here is an old dilapidated Gothic window sunk down in a pit, with a fragment of a chapel covered with fine mouldings. Indeed, this little quarter could scarcely be matched as a characteristic specimen of a certain phase of London life in the City, where the herd of workers cluster together thickly and economize every inch of space. At front, sides, and rear of the old fane, old and new wooden and brick houses are heaped together in disorder, according as the convenience of the site offered favourable opportunity. Close by is a little flagged square with a dozen alleys starting from it, with two or three old mansions of last century. No alley runs straight for a dozen yards together, but winds and twists, and perhaps brings you back, to your surprise, to the point from which you started.
A plan of restoration has been happily carried out, and within a very short time. So reverently and temperately has it been done, that this rare, desirable impression of age has not been disturbed. Before its restoration, the spectacle that this old fane presented was truly unique and astonishing. It was left to a grim and desolate abandonment, the old iron gates half hung from their hinges; all was ruin. The sense of desolation for the visitor was oppressive. One stared with a sort of awe as one wandered among the grimed and blackened columns—stumbling over the uneven floor. The shadows settled everywhere—we expected to see the ravens and night birds flitting about. The grimness and dilapidation were extraordinary, but still the effect was unique—the air of size was increased by the sense of “vast neglect” and desolation. No one seemed to care for it and its unutterable griminess, or indeed what became of it; you went away overcome by its gloom and the desolation of the whole.
But now what a change! The vicar has prompted and carried out the work with admirable discretion. The intruding fringe factory has been bought, the blacksmith’s forge will soon be disposed of, and the clang of hammer and anvil will no longer be heard within the church itself. The architect, Mr. Ashton Webb, has done his work in a judicious and effective way. There is none of that glaring effect of a dazzling new white stone, so painful in restored cathedrals; all is of a subdued and mellow buff, and old stones have been either left in their places, or others of sound condition have been worked in. The effect is really charming. At the altar end the apse has been restored, continuing the Norman arcade all round. The quaint old oak roof has been retained and repaired. The old altar-tombs of rich, well-coloured marbles, are in their place, and we gaze with astonishment at that noble and elaborate one of the Mildmay family (circa 1589), and at the eccentric little tablet of black marble that is perched high up on the side wall.
The architects speak with delight of the beautiful Norman arches and the sturdy cylindrical columns supporting the “triforium” or gallery, which was so long built out by a wall. The finest, almost overpowering, effect is produced by the grand central lantern, which leaves a sense of dignity and size.
Piquant, also, is the little projecting loggia with its mullions, whence old Abbot Bolton—his cipher, “a bolt,” is to be seen—used to look down on the devotions below. In short, there is nothing wanting in this interesting building that can attract. If objection may be taken, it is to the oak-work of the gallery and stalls, which is not bold enough to harmonize with the rest, and the same may be said of what Lamb would have called the rather “pimping” character of the leaded panes over the apse. These should have been bolder and even ruder. Such is this venerable old fane, to which the wholesale restorers and “trouble tombs” should repair to learn how to carry out their duty.