“All full of lawyers,” the clerk answered, smiling. “And there goes one of the lawyers. He is on his way to court, as you can tell by his wearing his wig. You know the barristers always wear a big wig in court. Do you see that little shop over there by the arches? That is the shop of a wig-maker who does business here and makes most of the wigs. He has to pay well for the privilege of doing business here, too.”
“But wigs!” Kit asked. “What do they wear wigs for? They’re not all bald, are they?”
“Oh, no!” Watkins laughed. “They wear them because that has been the custom for hundreds of years—wigs and long black gowns, whenever they appear in court. We never change old custom here, you know. If our great-grandfathers did a thing, we think that sufficient reason for our doing it too. But turn up this way; I want to show you the Temple Church. I think it will interest you, for it is the Church the old Templars used to worship in; it was built in 1185.”
They went through the big Gothic doorway of the Temple Church, where a guide took them in hand and pointed out all the curiosities. Under the dome at the front was a large open space, where there lay stretched full length on the floor a dozen or more life-size figures of men clad in armor, and all black like tarnished bronze.
“Some have their legs crossed, you will notice,” the guide explained, “and others lie out straight. Those with crossed legs were the Knights of the Cross, the others their squires and followers. The legs are crossed so as to make the sign of the cross, you know. You would hardly believe that the figures are made of white marble, would you? Yes, sir, all white marble; they are so old that they have turned black.”
In the other part of the church, nearer the pulpit, he showed them the handsomely carved pews that the lawyers sit in, and explained that after attending service on Sunday mornings the occupants go into the great hall to dine together in state. “It is always a fine banquet,” he added, “so they are pretty regular in their attendance at church. Do you see that little tower on the side, with just a slit for a window? That was once the Temple prison where unruly knights were confined; sometimes they were left there to starve.”
After inspecting the church they turned to the right into a narrow court between the church and some other large buildings, where a number of tombstones marked the graves of eminent persons. Most of the stones were carved with armorial bearings, showing that the persons beneath had been lords or dukes or other noblemen; but one tomb without any such pompous tracing attracted Kit’s attention.
“Why, look here!” he cried. “This says, ‘Here lies Oliver Goldsmith!’ One of the best books I ever read (it was called the ‘Vicar of Wakefield’) was by a man named Oliver Goldsmith. I don’t suppose it can be the same one, though.”
“It is the very one,” the Captain told him. “There may have been a thousand Oliver Goldsmiths in the world, but still there was only one. See what a beautiful inscription it is. All the coronets and coats-of-arms in the world could not make a tomb as interesting at those simple words, ‘Here lies Oliver Goldsmith.’ A man could hardly pass that tomb without stopping to look at it.”
“Well!” Kit exclaimed, “I never thought I should see his grave.”