WARWICK--STRATFORD-ON-AVON--LEAMINGTON--KENILWORTH--COVENTRY--BIRMINGHAM
--LICHFIELD.
When we started Sunday for Stratford we only thought of briefly
visiting Old Warwick on our way; but after a two hours' ride, arriving
here, we were tempted to remain over night, and were soon at a
comfortable hotel, a commercial-travellers' house, near the station. It
being but eight o'clock, and not yet sunset, we walked out for a view
of the historic place, which we soon decided was one of much interest.
Half the houses were picturesque, many of them built in the timbered
and plastered style. All sorts of thoroughfares were there, from broad
and level, to narrow crooked and hilly. Evening service being just
ended, an unusual number of well dressed people were in the streets,
and the hour reminded us of a New England Sunday.
Warwick is situated on the right bank of the Avon, and has a population
of 10,986.
The castle is one of the finest feudal structures in England. It is
grandly situated, its colossal rear making a bank of the river, and
there are meadows and groves near by. All is in most perfect repair,
and on Monday it was our good privilege to visit it and its remarkable
grounds. It is occupied by the Earl of Warwick, who kindly permits
strangers to examine the premises at certain times. One passes through
the arched gateway, on one side of which is a room containing a museum
of antiquities. A prim young miss, daughter of the matronly gatekeeper,
glibly but bashfully gives the history of an enormous punchbowl and
other interesting things. An optional fee makes things agreeable, and
we pass through the grand avenue, turning back now and then to look at
the high solid walls of the ivy-covered tower.
We go through a remarkable lawn and gravelled avenues, and not far in
the distance at our right, partially embowered in green,--at times on
a level with us, at others on the little hillsides,--we see the ruins
of monastic establishments. How scrupulously everything is cared for,
bearing evidence of constant watchfulness of the servants, such as only
the English aristocracy can secure.
Next we walk over the great lawn, to the greenhouse five hundred feet
away. We are invited there by the venerable gardener, but not without
hope of reward. Here is the celebrated Warwick Vase; and who, claiming
knowledge of art, has not heard of it? It stands on a pedestal six feet
high. It is of marble, now of yellowish tinge, but tolerably white. It
is remarkably rich in carvings, and of great age, its early history
being lost in antiquity. It appeared to be six feet in diameter, and
the same in height. It was years ago found in a lake near Tivoli, and
presented to the Earl of Warwick. All over the civilized world may be
seen copies of this vase, made by permission of the owner.
Standing at the door of this conservatory, and facing towards the
castle, a scene of wonderful beauty is presented. The spot is
somewhat elevated, and we look for miles over hills, velvet fields,
and woodlands. Conspicuous among the trees, making our picture's
foreground, are spreading cedars of Lebanon. The river meanders on
its quiet way; and the winding road, half hidden, adds its charm.
Bordering the lawn which makes our left foreground is the cheerful
castle, in color a sort of buff-tinged granite. It is by no means
ancient in appearance, but the reverse, except in its design. The
main tower is 128 feet high, and dates back full five hundred years.
There is another, 147 feet high, of uncertain date. Ivy has its way,
and covers parts of the great structure. The castle is colossal, its
outlines broken by octagonal and square towers. Let us visit the castle
itself. An additional shilling is to be paid to the young woman who
guides us, and who only commences her tour when the proper number of
visitors has accumulated. We pass through four or five large rooms,
of elegantly finished oak and pine, painted and gilded. The furniture
and upholstery are rich in design,--some ancient, some modern, but all
in keeping with the place. Pictures abound,--many of them are by the
Masters. Bric-a-brac is in profusion, much of it hundreds of years old,
presented to former earls by royalty. There is also a museum of armor.
In one room is a chimney, or open fireplace, with its cheerful fire.
It is some nine feet wide, projecting well into the room, and is high
enough to walk into.
What fine views from the rear windows! Beyond are the meadows and the
groves; and to the right, extending countryward, are the hills and
scenery before described.
The town was formerly walled, and there yet remains a gateway,
surmounted by a chapel. Half a mile up the main street is Leicester
Hospital, endowed centuries ago by the Earl of Leicester, and
charmingly described by Hawthorne. Here is the ancient chair, said to
be a thousand years old, accurate copies of which are for sale.
Near by is the church, built in 1693, with its massive tower of
delightful proportions. How charming are the old mansions with their
profusion of trees, all combining to make Warwick a most inviting place.
In the twilight, at the late hour of 9.30, the worshippers were coming
out of old St. Mary's Church, which is situated at the most public
centre, in the midst of a venerable churchyard. It is an ancient
Gothic edifice, having an end tower with a tall spire above it. The
dim-lighted interior carried us back into a distant age.
What ground have we gone over in a few hours!--hours not over-crowded
by any means.
Monday we are up early for a new ramble,--first to see the town
anew; next to visit the castle already described; and then to go
over the Old Hospital, and to hear its history from a guide-inmate.
Built and endowed by one of the old earls hundreds of years ago, it
has apartments of two or three rooms each, accomodating perhaps ten
families. These are for old soldiers, who are past a given age and
possess certain requisites. They must have wives, and on the death of
one soldier his place passes to another. About $350 a year is given
them for subsistence, out of an endowment fund, and of course the rent
is free. On the death of the husband, $100 is given to the widow, who
must vacate the premises. If the wife dies first, then the husband also
gives up the apartment and endowment, and goes into the common home, in
another part of the building. Great neatness prevails, and all is under
supervision of the chaplain, or Master.
STRATFORD-ON-AVON.
We arrived here at 2 P. M., after a ride of an hour, and took
coach to the famed Red Horse Hotel, made famous by Washington Irving's
"Sketch Book." The parlor, a low room some twelve feet square on the
first floor, fronting on the street, is used by visitors. This is the
room occupied for months by Irving, and his armchair is still in use.
The tongs and shovel, and the iron poker--Sir Geoffrey's Sceptre--are
still there, though the latter, having become classic, is on exhibition
and not for use.
The town is small, and is somewhat of a business place at the very
centre; but it is mostly rural, though a few of the streets are paved
and the buildings of some consequence. It is situated on the River
Avon, a small stream, and has a population of 3,833. It was a place of
some consequence as early as the eighth century.
It of course derives its principal interest from associations with the
great poet, born here, probably, April 23, 1564, and who died here
on his birthday in 1616. The house in which he died was torn down by
its proprietor many years ago, much to the regret of the inhabitants,
as well as the visitor; but that in which he was born, and lived for
many years, still stands. It is situated on a principal street, though
in a quiet locality, and stands close to the sidewalk, with no yard
in front. It is two stories high, having a pitched roof, with some
breaks in it for windows; and is now supposed to be as in Shakespeare's
early days. It is a timbered building, with bricks filling the spaces,
plastered over and painted a light-gray or steel color. Its extreme
length on the street may be forty-five feet. Like our Mount Vernon,
it is owned by an association, and kept for the inspection of those
interested in places of the kind. Two matrons--some sixty-five years
of age, genial in demeanor and at home in conversation, and having
the whole story at their tongues' end--take turns with each other in
doing the agreeable, which costs each visitor a modest shilling. We are
shown the kitchen, or living-room, into which the street door opens.
It has no furniture except a chair or two for the accomodation of
visitors. The fireplace is still there,--the worn hearth and the oak
floor. Next we see the dining-room, and the chamber in which tradition
says Shakespeare was born. The low ceilings and the saggy condition of
everything aid the imagination; it is easy to feel that probably he was
born here. In an adjoining room are collected many things once owned by
the great bard; letters written by him, and other writings with which
he was associated; portraits of him by various artists. The number of
daily visitors is large. After a walk of ten minutes we are at the
Church of the Holy Trinity, a Gothic structure, large and in thorough
repair. Situated in the centre of a burial-ground, and enclosed with
trees, it is very long, and has a tower and lofty spire. A source of
revenue to the parish are Shakespeare's remains. A shilling is paid,
and we enter on the side, near the west end, pass down the nave, and
come to the holy of holies. The chancel is perhaps thirty feet long and
twenty feet deep, enclosed by a simple altar rail at the front. On its
left end wall, some six feet up from the floor, is the celebrated bust
of the poet. It is painted, as described by Briton, in 1816:--
The bust is the size of life; it is formed out of a block of soft
stone, and was originally painted in imitation of nature. The hands
and face were of flesh color, the eyes of a light hazel, and the hair
and beard auburn; the doublet, or coat, was scarlet, and covered with
a loose black gown, or tabard, without sleeves; the upper part of
the cushion was green, the under half crimson, and the tassels gilt.
After remaining in this state above one hundred and twenty years,
Mr. John Ward, grandfather to Mrs. Siddons and Mr. Kemble, caused it
to be repaired and the original colors preserved, in 1784, from the
profits of the representation of "Othello."
In 1793 Malone foolishly caused it to be painted white. In his right
hand he holds a pen, and appears to be in the act of writing on a sheet
of paper lying on the cushion in front of him. Beneath is a tablet
containing the following inscription. The first two lines in Latin are
translated as follows:--
In judgment a Nestor, in genius a Socrates, in arts a Maro;
The earth covers him, the people mourn for him, Olympus has him.
And next are those in English:--
STAY, PASSENGER, WHY GOEST THOU SO FAST?
READ, IF THOU CAN'ST, WHOM ENVIOUS DEATH HATH PLAST
WITHIN THIS MONUMENT,--SHAKESPEARE; WITH WHOME
QUICK NATVRE DIDE; WHOSE NAME DOTH DECK YS TOMBE
FAR MORE THAN COST; SIETH ALL YT HE HATH WRITT,
LEAVES LIVING ART, BUT PAGE TO SERVE HIS WITT
OBIIT ANO. DEI. 1616; ÆTATIS 53, DIE. 23 AP.
Near the monument, and in the chancel, is a plain stone, beneath which
the body lies buried; and upon it is the following inscription said to
have been written by the poet himself:--
GOOD FREND, FOR IESVS SAKE FORBEARE
TO DIGG THE DVST ENCLOASED HEARE;
BLESETE BE YE. MAN YT. SPARES THES STONES,
AND CVRST BE HE YT. MOVES MY BONES.
In the charnel house of this ancient church are many human bones. These
Shakespeare had doubtless often seen, and he probably shuddered at the
idea that his own might be added to this promiscuous heap. This thought
seems to have been present when he makes Hamlet ask: "Did these bones
cost no more i' the breeding, but to play at loggats with them? _Mine
ache to think on't._" This dislike perhaps influenced him to bestow a
curse or a blessing, as future authorities might disturb or respect his
remains. His wife lies beside him. On her gravestone is a brass plate,
with the following inscription by an unknown author:--
HEERE LYETH INTERRED THE BODY OF ANNE, WIFE OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE, WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE THE 6TH DAY OF AVGV: 1623, BEING
OF THE AGE OF 67 YEARES.
There is also a Latin verse, written by her daughter, and rendered into
English as follows:--
Thou, Mother, hast afforded me thy paps,--
Hast given me milk and life; alas! for gifts
So great, I give thee only stones. How would
I rather some good Angel should remove
This stone from hence; that, as Christ's body rose,
So should thy form! But wishes naught avail.
Com'st thou soon, O Christ! let my imprisoned
Mother, from this tomb soar to seek the star.
A brief outline of Shakespeare's[1] life is as follows:--
Tradition says that he was born April 23, 1564. The ancient parchment
parish register--which we were permitted to see--shows that he
was baptized three days after. At the age of nineteen, an unusual
proceeding took place in the quiet old town, for the authorities
were asked to permit the marriage of the young man to Anne Hathaway,
and after but one publication of the banns, instead of three, as
was both practice and law. A bond signed by Fulk Sandalls and John
Rychardson, for indemnity to the officers of the Bishop of Worcester's
ecclesiastical court,--for granting the questionable permission which
they did, and issuing the document,--bears date Nov. 28, 1582. The
marriage took place during the Christmas holidays, but the exact day is
to this time shrouded in mystery.
On the 26th day of May, 1583, six months after the hastened marriage
ceremony, the parish register has a record of the baptism of his first
child Susanna, and on the 2d day of February, 1585, of his second
daughter.
It is presumed that his first play, the "First Part of Henry VI." was
brought out at Blackfriars Theatre, London, in 1590, while its author
was at the age of twenty-seven; and it is reported that he produced
a play once in every six months afterwards, till the completion of
all attributed to him. On the burning of the Globe theatre of London,
(Southwark), which was simply a summer theatre and without a roof, he
removed back to the town of his nativity in 1613, where he died April
23, 1616, on his fifty-second birthday, and realizing his own lines,--
We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
We have no reliable account of the cause of his comparatively early
death; but the Rev. John Ward, vicar of Stratford-on-Avon, in 1662,
forty-six years after his death, writes as follows:--
Shakspeare, Drayton, and Ben Jonson had a merie meeting, and
drank too hard; for Shakspeare, it seems, died of a feavour there
contracted.
The next object of interest is the spot where was born and resided Anne
Hathaway, the wife of Shakespeare. This is in a cluster of farmhouses
called Shottery, situated within the parish of Holy Trinity, and about
a mile away from Shakespeare's birthplace. From a gateway on the common
road, a circuitous lane continues half a mile through gates or bars,
then resolves itself into a footpath, fenced in by light wirework. The
houses are of the usual rural style. At last we are at the cottage
where, three hundred years ago, the Shakesperian courting was done. It
stands endwise to a beautiful road, but some fifty feet from it, and
enclosed by a wall. No house in England is more picturesque, either in
itself, or its surroundings. It looks ancient, though in good repair.
It is not far from sixty feet long, a story and a half high, or fifteen
feet, with a pitched roof covered with thatch. The small upper windows,
cut into the eaves, show the thatch a foot and a half thick. The
building is of stone, plastered and whitewashed. It is entered from the
side, and occupied seemingly by two or three families. There are vines
climbing over it, and flowers in the long yard by the entrance; and
there is a museum in the Anne Hathaway part.
We have not ceased regretting that we did not go in there; let the
reader be admonished not to go and do likewise.
Children were at play in the old road, as they were three centuries
ago. We had come three thousand miles to look upon what they hardly
think of; but without the right kind of eyes one is blind. Another
says, and says well: "A dwarf, standing on a giant's shoulder, may see
more than the giant himself." There may be an undeveloped--_unevolved_,
perhaps we should say--Shakespeare among those boys. He was once
thoughtless and playful as they. Here Shakespeare walked and thought. A
good road extended from Shottery Village to his home, but the short-cut
across the fields alone would satisfy his mind. Philosophy and poetry
were at their best in the shorter footpath, away from the "busy haunts
of men." He could go quicker to the house he _would_ go to in the early
eve, and quicker also to the one to which he _must_ return at the early
morn! So it continued, until about Christmas of 1582, when hope ended
in fruition, and Richard Hathaway's daughter became Anne Shakespeare,
so to remain for forty-one years till 1623,--seven after her William
had been gathered to his fathers. It is a coincidence worthy of notice,
that Shakespeare's mother also survived her husband, John Shakespeare,
seven years.
The bond of indemnity--holding the magistrates safe from penalties
that might be imposed by the Bishop of Worcester or his consistory
court--was in the sum of $200. The signature of the bondsman bears the
mark of R. H., the initials of Richard Hathaway, the bride's father; so
he of course approved the proceeding.
At 8 P. M. we took cars for the beautiful town of
LEAMINGTON,
where we arrived after an hour's ride, and remained over night, much
enjoying our accommodation at the Avenue Hotel. Next morning, after
breakfast, took a stroll out over the town. It is a noted place of
aristocratic resort for pleasure, and for its springs--a sort of cross
between English Bath and American Saratoga. Everywhere were facilities
for the enjoyment of pleasure or health-seeking tourists. It would seem
as though one could hardly be sick here. It was in this place that Sir
Walter Scott wrote "Kenilworth," and as one breathes the exhilarating
air, he is inclined to reduce the honors usually accorded to the
great writer, and imagine that it is nothing strange that, with such
surroundings, he wrote as he did. A visit to Leamington, and one is
in the secret of Sir Walter's power when he wrote that smoothest of
romances.
Perhaps we ought to make a more economical use of adjectives in
describing the neatness of streets and the beauty of public and private
grounds, for this is the universal and not exceptional condition.
The pink hawthorn is in bloom, and such pansies as we never saw at
home. Remember, this is May 28. We have not anywhere in our travels
seen Indian corn growing, and think it is not raised. We have seen no
fields of potatoes, only small patches for family use; and these are
six inches out of the ground. Carrots and early cabbages are fully
grown and exposed for sale. We visited one grapery, where the Black
Hamburg vines were forty years old and in good bearing, the grapes
being about the size of peas. The vines were set in the borders of
the greenhouse, which were two and a half feet wide, and the vines
were three and a half feet apart,--the stocks, or trunks, being not
more than an inch and a half in diameter. On the outside of a small
conservatory was a fine heliotrope, one and a half inches in diameter,
nine years old, which had often been well pruned and was in profuse
bloom.
The town has a population of 22,730, and is very pleasantly situated on
the River Leam, a tributary of the Avon, and is one of the handsomest
towns in England, and more American in appearance than any other place
we saw on our journey. The spring waters are saline, sulphurous, and
chalybeate. They came into use in 1797, and are visited constantly by
the _élite_ of the land.
KENILWORTH.
"Kenilworth Castle!" says the reader. That and more! The station is
reached by a half-hour's ride from Leamington, being about five miles
in a direct line from Stratford, Leamington, and Coventry. The country
is hilly and abounds with fertile fields, on which are grazing sheep,
cows, and horses in countless numbers. Everything has an inhabited
look. Elms, oaks, horse-chestnuts, and poplars abound. There are fine
groves that might be called woods. The town itself is a small one of
4,250 inhabitants. It has manufactures of ribbons, gauzes, combs, and
chemicals, and is a market-town, to whose public square the farmers
bring their produce, while traders, from temporary stands, offer for
sale all kinds of wares. For centuries these market-days have been a
part of the weekly life of the people.
There is a very ancient church, and the ruins of an abbey, founded in
1122; but the great object of interest is the ruins of its celebrated
castle, made so familiar by Sir Walter Scott's romance. The spot was
reached by a pleasant walk of about a mile from the station. When we
had passed through a well shaded country road,--through the woods,
as we should say in America,--there was presented to view a most
enchanting scene. Ahead of us, say five minutes' walk, our road seemed
to terminate in a gently rising plain, a miniature common, on which
were three or four stone residences, partly public and partly private
in appearance. The scene reminded us of a New England common.
To the left, bounding the road, was a stone wall; from this, gently
sloping, for perhaps two hundred feet, was a grazing pasture. At the
upper end of this were the ruins, not of the castle proper, but of
some of its outbuildings. These massive and ivy-dressed ruins alone
would have satisfied us, and we mistook them for the castle itself,
but we went up to the little plateau, and round to the left hand, to
get admission to the grounds; for we were now somewhat educated on
the ruins question, and believed there was more in waiting for us.
Lads and lasses, and some very old women, offered their services and
guide-books. They told their story well, but we told ours better. We
found the gateway, paid our shillings, and decided to be our own guides.
First, there was a flower garden,--centuries ago cultivated as now,
but then only for the inmates of the castle. Here was also a museum,
containing many articles once used in the castle. We did not get up
enthusiasm enough to go in; and now content ourselves by saying, "Where
ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." Beyond another gate, we
find ourselves in a closely cropped sheep-pasture. No lawn in our
Boston suburbs equals this carpet of green, acres in extent. To our
left, five hundred feet away, were the ruins observed before. We don't
discount this beauty even now, and we never will. Put those ruins in
Brookline or Brighton, and we'd stand our ground even with Englishmen.
But what shall we say about the ruins of the castle itself,--there on
our right, two hundred feet away?
This is Cæsar's Tower. Square in plan, the surface is broken with piers
and vertical projections of varying width; the top is perhaps sixty
feet from the ground, and made irregular by its decay. It is roofless,
of course, and has walls sixteen feet thick at the bottom; half the
surface is covered with dark-leaved ivy, precisely such as is grown in
our houses. We go nearer; now on our right, two hundred feet on our
front, and left, leaving a half enclosed square, are other portions of
this great castle. What variety of outline! What solidity! There are
patches of ivy fifty feet square. Measuring a single trunk, conformed
to the crevices of the wall, we found it to be 3 feet 10 inches wide,
and 16 inches thick at the centre, decreasing to a thickness of 3
inches at the edges. We should have been unable to believe this story,
had it been told by others, and will not find fault with any one who
now doubts our accuracy.
The castle was founded by Geoffrey de Clinton, treasurer to Henry I.;
and in 1286 it was the place of a great chivalric meeting, at which
it is said, "silks were worn for the first time in England." The very
gorgeous entertainment given here in 1575, to Queen Elizabeth, is
immortalized by Scott in "Kenilworth." Of the original castle, all now
remaining is the corner tower. All else, though to all appearances
as old looking, is of later date. The hall erected by John of Gaunt,
who died Feb. 3, 1399, is 86 feet long and 45 wide, having mullioned
windows on each side, and large fireplaces at each end.
The domain passed to the crown, and was bestowed by Henry III., who
died Nov. 16, 1272, on Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester. When he
was defeated and killed, his adherents held it for six months, but
at length made favorable terms of capitulation. Edward II., who was
murdered Sept. 21, 1327, was a prisoner in it for some time. It next
fell into the hands of Edward III., who died June 21, 1377. Then it
fell to John of Gaunt, who died twenty-two years afterwards, when it
passed to his son, Henry Bolingbroke (Henry IV.); and on his accession
to the throne, Sept. 30, 1399, it became again vested in the crown, and
so remained until Queen Elizabeth bestowed it on her favorite Dudley,
Earl of Leicester. She visited it three times, the last visit being so
graphically described by Sir Walter. It was dismantled and unroofed in
the time of Cromwell, and has never been repaired. At the Restoration
it fell to the Clarenden family, and is now the property of the family
of Eardley-Wilmot.
The ruin is more stately than most others, and was built on a grander
scale. There is no particle of wood about it; all is enduring masonry.
The floors are like its lawns, overgrown with beautiful grass,
interspersed with wild flowers. Birds build their nests in the
crevices; ivy hangs over it like a careless mantle.
The residence of kings and queens, of the bluest blood of the land, and
for a period of four hundred years,--could the old walls speak, what
tales would they tell! Intrigues, amours, sorrows, intenser than the
peasant ever dreamed of. The rise and fall of dynasties, the advancing
and receding of the waves of national life, were felt most definitely
here, and full four centuries were employed in the record.
A home, a prison, the Elizabethan house of love,--it is to-day a
marvellous curiosity-shop for the civilized world. Where young royalty
prattled and crept, the speckled reptile, with "a precious jewel in its
head," leaps and the snail crawls. The curtain of two centuries drops
its thick folds between our age and Kenilworth's royal activity.
COVENTRY.
We arrived here at 2.45 P. M. May 28, after a short ride from
Kenilworth. Few places in England are better known in history than
this quaint old town. It is situated on the River Sherbourne, and has
a population of 39,470. The town derives its name from a Benedictine
Priory, founded in 1044 by Leofric, Lord of Mercia, and his Lady
Godiva. The cellar of the old institution still exists, 115 feet long
and 15 feet wide. No place affords a better example of an old English
town than Coventry. In one section little if any change has been made,
and here are timber-and-plaster houses, in streets so narrow that the
projecting upper stories are but a few feet apart.
There are three churches, all with high towers and spires; and they are
so located as to form an apparent triangle when seen from almost any
point of view, and are seemingly an eighth of a mile apart. The steeple
of St. Michael's is 363 feet high, and Trinity is 237 feet. They are
of Gothic architecture, and two of them elaborately finished. There
is a free school, founded in the time of Henry VIII.; and St. Mary's
Hall was built in the fifteenth century. It is 60 feet long, 30 feet
wide, and 34 feet high, with a curiously carved oak ceiling, and has a
splendid colored window. It was built by Trinity Guild, and is now used
for public meetings. As long ago as the fifteenth century an active
trade was carried on in caps, bonnets, and camlet-cloth. These have
given place to silks, fringes, and watches, more of the latter being
made here than in London. Coventry was anciently defended by walls and
towers; but only a small portion of the former and three of the latter
remain, the others having been destroyed by Charles II., on account of
the favors shown by the citizens to his enemies. Twelve parliaments
were held here, which shows the ancient repute of the place. The
people were noted for their love of shows and processions. Religious
dramas, called mysteries, were performed here as early as 1416, and
often in the presence of royalty. Until the present century, an annual
pageant honored the memory of Lady Godiva, and is even now occasionally
revived. The story is, that she obtained from her husband, Leofric, the
remission of certain heavy taxes, of which the citizens complained, on
condition that she should ride naked through the streets at noonday.
She ordered the people to keep within doors, and to close their
shutters; and then, veiled by her long flowing hair, she mounted her
palfrey, and rode through the town unseen,--except by an inquisitive
tailor. He has been immortalized under the sobriquet of Peeping Tom,
and it is said that he was punished by instant blindness. This is the
story on which Tennyson founded his poem. It was first recorded by
Matthew of Westminster, in 1307, two hundred and fifty years after its
supposed occurrence. When the pageant takes place now, a strikingly
clad female is the leading character. There is a bust of Peeping Tom
at the junction of two streets, the angle of which is rounded, three
stories high, and painted drab. From an upper-story window, without
a sash, the figure of Tom leans out in an inquisitive attitude. He
is painted in the various colors of flesh and clothes, appears to be
about forty years old, and wears a sort of military cap and coat. He
has peeped out on the main street for centuries, the observed of all
observers. The spot is said to be the one from which the original Tom
was so rash as to look. We believe he is yet a source of revenue to the
stores in the neighborhood, for there are often groups of strangers
in the vicinity. To catch a share of the traffic, there are other
Peeping Toms. In the venturesome spirit of the veritable Tom, some of
these imitations are proclaimed, in painted placards, to be the great
_original_,--"original in that place!" somebody said!
At 9 A. M. of Wednesday we left for
BIRMINGHAM,
where we arrived at 11 o'clock, and found the place, as we had
anticipated, very smoky in atmosphere, and largely inhabited by poor
working-people. High taxes, lack of education, and hard usage keep the
people down. The public buildings and stores are spacious, but our
surroundings were uncomfortable and we made but a three hours' stay.
Birmingham is a city of immense manufactures, and may well be
considered the great workshop of England. Here John Bull everywhere has
on his workshop paper cap, and shows the brawniest of brawny arms, and
the smuttiest of smutty faces. A Birmingham dry-goods clerk, by reason
of the smoky atmosphere, is about as untidy as an average American
mechanic.
The city lies on ground sloping to the River Rhea, and canals radiate
to several railroads. It has three parks: Adderly, triangular in
shape, opened in 1856; Calthorpe, near the river, in 1857; and Ashton,
in 1858. The older portions are on low grounds. The Town Hall is of
Anglesea marble, 160 feet long, 100 feet wide, and 83 feet high, and
is of Corinthian architecture, in imitation of the temple of Jupiter
Stator at Rome. The public hall is 145 feet long, 65 feet wide, and 65
feet high,--that is, 30 feet longer than Boston Music Hall, 15 feet
narrower, and of the same height. The organ is one of the most powerful
in Europe, and has 78 stops.
The old church of St. Martin has a massive tower, and a spire 210 feet
high. This church contains monuments of the De Berminghams, the ancient
lords of the place. It has 343,696 inhabitants, is first mentioned in
Doomsday Book under the name of Bermingeham, and remained an obscure
village for centuries.
Its first impetus towards manufactures was given at the close of the
last century, by the introduction of the steam-engine,--especially
by the demand for muskets created by the American Revolution and the
French wars. There are many large factories, but more than elsewhere is
it customary for persons of limited means to carry on manufactures on
a small scale. They generally employ men to work by the piece and at
home; or, where steam is required, they hire rooms furnished with the
requisite power.
In 1865 there were 724 steam-engines in the place, with 9,910
horse-power. There were 1,013 smelting and casting furnaces, and
20,000 families were engaged in manufactures. The value of hardware
and cutlery exported in 1864 was $20,000,000. There were also exports
of firearms, glass, leather, machinery, iron and steel wire, plate,
copper, brass, zinc, tin, and coal, to the amount of $185,000,000.
History says that 5,000,000 firearms were furnished during the
Napoleonic wars; and during the first two years of the Civil War in
America, 1,027,336 were exported to the United States. 30,000 wedding
rings have in a single year passed through the assay office. This city
is noted for its steel pens. At the Gillott establishment 500 workmen
are employed, and 1,000,000 gross are produced annually. The whole
number of pens made in the city is 9,000,000 annually, and 500 tons of
steel are consumed in their manufacture. Every kind of manufacture in
metals is carried on here, and to name the items would bewilder us.
Birmingham is the workshop of Great Britain, and we may say of the
world, for no other place approaches it in the extent and variety of
metallic work. Our next move was for
LICHFIELD.
We reached it after an hour's ride from Birmingham, arriving at 3
P. M. Valises deposited at a very homelike chateau, not far
from the station, we were out for sights. Through a couple of short and
narrow streets, where the brick buildings were painted in light colors,
we passed into an opening dignified by the name of Square, measuring
perhaps a hundred feet on each side. On the right-hand corner is an
ancient Gothic church. On our left, making another corner, is the house
in which, on the 18th of September, 1709, was born Samuel Johnson, the
great lexicographer, son of "Michael Johnson, bookseller and stationer,
sometime magistrate of Lichfield," and who died, leaving his family
in poverty. The house is three stories in height, with a hipped roof.
It has nothing striking about it, and is forty feet or so square, of
stone or brick, plastered on the outside, and painted cream-color. In
the youth of Johnson, it contained a store, but has long since been
remodelled, and the store is now the common room of the dwelling-house.
The houses about it are closely built; no yard, garden, or tree is in
sight.
In front, in the centre of the square, is a statue of Johnson, on a
pedestal much too high. The statue is in a sitting posture, and looks
too young for a man who did not come into public notoriety until
much beyond the age represented by this sculpture. The unpretentious
birthplace is more interesting than the monument. These streets,
through which he so many times walked,--the church in which he so many
times attended worship, and in which he was baptized,--these were too
real not to make their impression. We could see the scrofulous boy of
ten years, with his disfigured face and injured sight and hearing, his
education already begun, and he a student of Latin at the Lichfield
free school. He was five years there, then one at Stourbridge; and
at the age of sixteen desired to enter Oxford, but was prevented by
poverty. Going as assistant to one more fortunate in worldly affairs
than himself, at length, in 1728, he was admitted to Pembroke, where,
the record says, "he was disorderly, but not vicious." He died in
London, Dec. 13, 1784. What incidents and great events go to make up
his history for those intervening years! Wherever the English language
is spoken it is influenced by his labors.
Not much antiquity is anywhere apparent in Lichfield. Take Johnson and
the cathedral away, and there would be nothing of moment, for it has
little business.
We soon arrive in the vicinity of the cathedral, and the scene changes
as by magic.
The cathedral, with its centre and two western towers and spires, is of
vast length and good height, built of a very red sandstone. It is about
an eighth of a mile off, and well embowered with trees, with the river
between us and them. The lower portions of the cathedral are hid from
view. To the left, and not as far up, is another group of buildings,
among them the Lichfield Museum.
On the second floor we find the place in charge of a matronly lady,
who is at home in her work, and admirably fitted for the position. We
look at old armor, at pictures, and relics "brought over the sea and
from foreign parts," but better remains behind. In a glass case are
exhibited things once owned and handled by the great writer who, next
to the cathedral, gives Lichfield its interest and renown. Here are his
silver shoe-buckles, the blue and white pint-mug from which he drank,
the favorite saucer on which his wife Tetty used to put his morning
breakfast biscuit; and here also are letters written by him. This was
one of the especial treats of our tour.
We found the great cathedral in perfect repair. A small close surrounds
it, with lawns, trees, and rooks. After a general look at it we take a
turn along the river, and off to the rear and right of the cathedral,
to walk around the promenade enclosing, like Chestnut Hill, the city
reservoir.
Encircling the water, we come upon an exquisite little Gothic church
and burial-ground. The area of the reservoir and its avenues is perhaps
fifty acres,--the size of Boston Common,--and as one stands on the
rear avenue, facing the town, the scene is most enchanting. The place
is surrounded by a mixed landscape, in which fine trees abound; at
the extreme left is the village, seen partially through the trees. On
the right is the cathedral, nearly hid by the trees. Along the entire
line are fields, gardens, and mansion-houses; and, behind all, are
high lands, extending towards us, and around back of the little gem of
a church. Behind us are aristocratic residences with intensely rural
surroundings. On to our left, and behind, is the venerable St. John's
Church, whose bell is plaintively tolling for evening prayers. From
this to the town are brick buildings, and homes with their little
gardens. When other scenes are forgotten, this evening in Lichfield
will be as charming as now. Johnson would have been even more uncouth,
but for the good influence of scenes like this; and his early removal
hence deprived him of visions of daily and educating beauty.
In these churches--in St. Michael's near his home--he worshipped, and
seeds were planted which in after life bore their pious fruit. He was
not wholly rough in nature, nor entirely given to a love of literary
gossip and coffee-house ease. Not solely inclined to entertainment by
Garrick or Boswell, he loved the clergy as well, for he was a deeply
religious man in his own way.
The cathedral is 400 feet long, 187 feet wide at the transepts, and
has three spires,--the central 353 feet high, and the others, at the
west end, 183 feet each. The western front is the best in England.
No cathedral suffered more, in the destruction of its monuments at
the time of the Reformation, than this. With the exception of the
stone effigies of two prelates, and a few others of less importance,
all were destroyed. There are, however, monuments of later date. One
of the most noted is that to Lady Mary Wortley Montague,--a figure
in marble, with an inscription recording her agency in introducing
into England inoculation for smallpox. She was a native of Lichfield,
and Dr. Smollett says: "Her letters will be an important monument to
her memory, and will show, as long as the English language endures,
the sprightliness of her wit, the solidity of her judgment, and the
excellence of her real character."
The bust of Dr. Johnson was placed in the cathedral, as the inscription
states, as "a tribute of respect to the memory of a man of extensive
learning, a distinguished moral writer, and a sincere Christian." Near
by is a cenotaph erected by Mrs. Garrick to the memory of her husband,
the eminent dramatist and actor, who was the pupil and friend of
Johnson, and died at London, Jan. 20, 1779.
The bishops of this cathedral have been men of especial note. Among
them may be named Bishop Schrope, who was translated from this See to
that of York, and was celebrated for his resistance to the usurpations
of Henry IV., in consequence of which he was beheaded in 1405, and was
long revered as a martyr.
Rowland Lee was appointed bishop of Lichfield in 1534. He solemnized
the marriage of Henry VIII. with Anne Boleyn, in the nunnery of
Sopewell, near St. Alban's. During the establishment of the reformed
religion he was mortified to see his cathedral at Coventry entirely
destroyed, notwithstanding his earnest endeavors to save it.
Ralph Bayne was one of the foremost persecutors of Queen Mary's
reign, and caused women to be burnt at the stake. On the accession of
Elizabeth to the throne, he refused to administer the sacrament to her,
for which refusal an act of parliament deprived him of his See.
William Lloyd was one of the seven bishops committed to the Tower
by James II., for refusing to read the Declaration of Liberty of
Conscience, as it was called; although the real intention of it was to
undermine the Protestant religion, and to set up popery again in its
place.
John Hough, who was made bishop of this See in 1699, was, at the
time of the Reformation, Master of Magdalen College at Oxford, and
in like manner resisted the royal order. He was elected head of the
college against the king's will, and so was forcibly ejected by the
commissioners; but he was restored the next year.
One of the most memorable of all the bishops is Hackett, who came here
in 1661. It was he who did so much in the way of restorations, after
the destructive work of Cromwell, who dealt roughly with the Lichfield
Cathedral. All churches, as well as abbeys, monasteries, and priories,
were Roman Catholic institutions, and they suffered greatly in the
suppression of papal worship. Statuary was destroyed, no matter what
its value. Pictures and frescoes were defaced, altars torn down, and
everything reduced to Cromwell's ideas of a Protestant level. This
involved the destruction of a vast number of shrines and monuments,
those of bishops and prelates suffering especial desecration. The
iconoclasm was thorough. Roofs were taken off, buildings dismantled,
and their rebuilding or occupancy prohibited under severe penalties.
This accounts for the many fine ruins in Great Britain; Melrose Abbey,
Furness Abbey, and a thousand others, are now in decay in consequence
of these desecrations.
We deplore the loss of works of art and antiquity, but we must not
judge from a nineteenth-century and American standpoint. Had papist
institutions been left where for centuries they had been entrenched,
Protestantism could have made little headway. People of low intellect,
with its accompanying ignorance and superstition, are best reached
through the senses. Pageants, images, pictures, devout genuflections,
were powerful then as now. The authorities of the Roman Church knew
this as they now know it. The new Protestant government of England
realized that these religious emblems were great obstacles in its way,
and was uncompromising in their extermination. The next generation,
coming up under a new administration, was more tractable. This was
unavoidable, if the rulers would prevent friction in the new machinery.
Let us not speak ill of the bridge that carried freedom and toleration
safely over.
This cathedral was for various causes an object of hostility. The
adjacent green was fortified, and was alternately in possession of each
party; and of course the cathedral suffered the injuries of a constant
siege. History has it that two thousand cannon-shot and fifteen hundred
hand-grenades were discharged against it. The central spire was
battered down, and the others shared nearly the same fate. The statuary
of the west front, around these towers, was shattered; the painted
windows were broken; the monuments were mutilated; and the mural stones
were stripped of their brasses. Dugdale says:--
It was greatly profaned by Cromwell's soldiers, who hunted a cat
every day in it with hounds, and delighted themselves with the echo
of their sport along the vaulted roofs. Nor was this all; they
profaned it still further by bringing a calf into it, wrapt in linen,
which they carried to the font, and there sprinkled it with water,
and gave it a name in scorn and derision of the holy sacrament.
When Bishop Hackett was appointed to the See in 1661 he found
the cathedral in this hopeless confusion; but, in spite of such
discouraging conditions, on the very morning after his arrival he
prepared for improvements. With laudable zeal he aroused his servants
early, set his coach-horses, with teams and laborers, to removing the
rubbish, and himself laid the first hand to the work. A subscription
soon amounted to $45,000, of which the bishop contributed $10,000. The
dean and chapter contributed a like sum; and the remainder was raised
by the bishop, who solicited aid from every nobleman and gentleman in
the diocese, and of almost every stranger who visited the cathedral.
He obtained from Charles II. a grant of one hundred timber-trees out
of Needwood Forest, and in eight years saw his cathedral perfectly
restored. With joy and great solemnity it was re-consecrated Dec. 24,
1669.
The next year Bishop Hackett contracted for six bells, only one of
which was hung in his lifetime. His biographer Plume says:--
During his last illness he went out of his bed-chamber into the next
room to hear it; seemed well pleased with the sound, blessed God who
had favored him in life to hear it, and observed at the same time
that it was his "own passing-bell." He then retired to his chamber,
and never left it again till he was carried to his grave.
That bell still sounds from the tower. The same decorations present
themselves, and by these the good bishop yet speaketh. Unfortunate are
the visitors who, amid scenes and sounds like these, having eyes, see
not, and having ears, do not hear.
The war history of one cathedral is the history of all, for each was
desecrated, and each has had some Bishop Hackett; though not every
restorer was as capable as he in purse and brain. Restorations were
everywhere begun, and in many instances the new work exceeded the old;
but superstition and ignorance were common even among the high clergy,
and oppression accompanied their daily life, as it did that of our New
England ancestry.
At 10.20 A. M. of Thursday, May 30, we left for that
peculiarly named town, Stoke-upon-Trent.