ST. ETHELBURGA.
It is a strange effect, the looking down near London Bridge Station into the low-lying graveyard below, out of which rises the venerable old church of St. Saviour’s, Southwark. It is cathedral-like in its proportions, and grim and stark in its flint-built walls. Though well preserved, it has the usual air of solitariness and desolation common to most City churches.[21] It is really a grand, cathedral-like, old place. Inside it is “boxed up” and partitioned off in a curious way enough; but its tombs are full of touching interest. There is a simple stone in the floor inscribed with a name familiar to all, “Philip Massinger, a stranger.” “John Fletcher, died August, 1625,” is on a second stone; and “Edmond Shakespeare, died December, 1607,” says the stone under which the poet’s brother rests. And then we step across the piece of old Roman mosaic in the floor to that part of the church where John Gower’s memory is kept fresh by an imposing monument. A thorough restoration of this old fane is now in progress.
The old churches in the desolate portions of London, by Shoreditch and Whitechapel, Wapping and Southwark, though many were built by Wren, seem blighted by the squalid districts in which they stand. We may commiserate the fate of the vicars in charge, who pursue their calling under cheerless conditions. The old forlorn and disused Rolls Chapel, which always suggests some maltreated Dutch church, contains an artistic gem which is worthy of a special visit. “It is little known,” says the judicious Mr. Hare, “that within its walls is one of the noblest pieces of sculpture that England possesses—a tomb which may be compared for beauty with the famous monuments of Albergati at Bologna, and of Guigni at the Badia at Florence.” This praise is not a whit too extravagant; for elegance and beauty of design nothing can approach it. It is in memory of Dr. John Young, Master of the Rolls in the time of Henry VIII. A plain arch incloses a casket-shaped sarcophagus on which the figure reposes. On the surface within the arch is a representation of Our Saviour, flanked by cherubs wrought in delicate relief, after the fashion of Donatello, with exquisite pictorical effect. The graceful original design of the sarcophagus suggests one of those Florentine chests intended to hold trousseaux, and along the bottom runs an airy scroll as if carelessly cast down, and without the usual formality of such things. Much of the effect is due to the beautiful sense or instinct of proportion, and to the simple lines of the inclosing arch, which is not elaborated in any way: it is supported by short pillars and their capitals according to the usual form. This severity and reserve produce the happiest result in giving effect; while the beauty and mellowed richness of the tones of colouring and the air of gentle repose are extraordinary. The whole is the work of Torrigiano, Henry VII.th’s Italian artist, whose chef-d’œuvre is in Westminster Abbey.
One of the most picturesque and interesting streets in London is Bishopgate Street, which even now presents a very fair idea of how an old London street looked a couple of centuries ago. Many of its old wooden houses remain. Here are strange old churches that have never been altered or restored; curious, retired little courts and squares, old inns, an old hall or palace, like Crosby Hall, with a fine carved house, Sir Paul Pindar’s; while the traffic of the street and the general air seem to take insensibly the tone and complexion of an old-fashioned, obsolete kind. The course of the thoroughfare winds and bends in an original way, and it seems now to be, what it used to be, a busy highway, one of the great roads that led away out of London to the country. Still do the waggons and carriers depart in numbers, and the old inn yards whence the coaches used to set off, are used for kindred purposes.
How interesting are the old objects here clustered together! The Crosby Hall Palace, now a restaurant; the retired Crosby Square, into which you pass by an archway from the street; the quaint old church of St. Ethelburga, the truly interesting church of St. Helen’s, in Great St. Helen’s, also entered by an archway. From this a few winding turns lead us to the Ghetto, or Jew quarter, Bevis Marks, St. Mary Axe and Houndsditch, names that have, from association, a curious scent or flavour.
Anyone possessed of taste and curiosity, whether he be architect or amateur, should be glad to see Crosby Hall, one of the most graceful and pleasing buildings in London. It is curious to think that this busy, bustling eating-house was once the Palace of “Crook’d-back Richard.” The framed and gabled front hangs over the street, displaying the well-restored ’scutcheons. There is an abundance of painted windows: when we pass into the squares, one of which are on each side, and see the great towers and mullioned windows that stretch behind, sheltered from the street, then the extending beauty of the relic strikes one. Loud and noisy as is the hum and clatter of Bishopsgate, all becomes mysteriously still in the old-fashioned tranquil square, and if it be growing dark the light within will illuminate the “richly dight” panes, and the tall window is shown in all its beauty as it reaches from the ground almost to the top of the elegant tower. “We doubt,” says a good critic of these Lancastrian windows, “if there be any specimen, in any style, more graceful or more void of superfluities and affectations.” If we enter the other square on the left, the picturesque Great St. Helen’s, through the archway, we shall see the other end of the old hall, with an elegant window projecting, looking like a fragment of an old abbey.
Within the Hall we find, thriving and busy, a spacious restaurant, crowded to excess at lunching hour. The grand old hall, where King Richard is supposed to have feasted, is now crowded with an enormous multitude of hungry City men. The proportions of this grand chamber, its Lancastrian arched windows, placed high up, and the beautiful oriel recess or window, have always excited admiration. Many years ago it was used as the home of a literary society, but is now put to more practical uses. In spite of the vulgarizing associations of the public restaurant, there is imparted a sort of vitality and dramatic animation which seems in keeping, and at least makes the old building glow with health and vigour.
