When we now behold the city of London, with its narrow lanes, lined with
lofty warehouses and gloomy stores, leading down to the banks of the
muddy Thames, whose waters are blackened with foul discharges from
gas-works and soap-boilers, while the air is darkened with the dense
smoke of chimneys rising high above the parish steeples, which mark the
site of some ancient church, destroyed in the great conflagration, it is
difficult to realize the existence of those venerable and beautiful
fabrics where the citizens of London assembled in daily worship, and
whose rood lofts shone so gloriously on Easter and Christmas feasts. But
this great and ancient city was inferior to none in noble religious
buildings; and in the sixteenth century the traveller who approached
London from the west, by the way called Oldbourne, and arriving at the
brow of the steep hill, must have had a most splendid prospect before
him; to the right the parish church of S. Andrew's, rising most
picturesquely from the steep declivity, and surrounded by elms, with its
massive tower, decorated nave, and still later chancel; on the left the
extensive buildings of Ely-house, its great gateway, embattled walls,
lofty chapel and refectory, and numerous other lodgings and offices,
surrounded by pleasant gardens, as then unalienated from the ancient see
after which it was called, it presented a most venerable and
ecclesiastical appearance. Further in the same direction might be
perceived the gilded spire of S. John's church of Jerusalem and the
Norman towers of S. Bartholomew's priory. Immediately below was the
Fleet river, with its bridge, and the masts of the various craft moored
along the quays. At the summit of the opposite hill, the lofty tower of
S. Sepulchre's, which though greatly deteriorated in beauty, still
remains. In the same line, and over the embattled parapets of the
Newgate, the noble church of the Grey Friars, inferior in extent only to
the cathedral of S. Paul, whose gigantic spire, the highest in the
world, rose majestically from the centre of a cruciform church nearly
seven hundred feet in length, and whose grand line of high roofs and
pinnacled buttresses stood high above the group of gable-houses, and
even the towers of the neighbouring churches. If we terminate the
panorama with the arched lantern of S. Mary-le-Bow, the old tower of S.
Michael, Cornhill, and a great number of lesser steeples, we shall have
a faint idea of the ecclesiastical beauty of Catholic London. But to
return to our more immediate subject, each of these fine churches was
provided with its screen and rood. Numerous are the entries in the old
churchwardens' accounts yet remaining of pious offerings made by the
citizens to beautify the devotional sculptures which decorated them, and
to provide tapers and branches to deck them for the returning festivals.
There were veils for Lent, when the glory of our Lord was partially
obscured by his approaching Passion; and there were garlands for Easter,
and paschal lights, and crowns, and diadems. The old parish church of S.
Mary-at-Hill was inferior to none in the beautiful partition of its
chancel; it was principally the work of a pious citizen, who, on the
decay of the older work, renewed the same; or, as the old chronicle
expresses it:—"For the love he bore to Jesu and his holy Modir did sett
up at his own proper costes and charges, and most artificially
dispensil, the image of Christ, Mary, and John, and many saynts and
aungels, with the loft whereon they stood: and for the due maintainyng
of a perpetual light to hang brenyng before the same, and for a priest
to synge at his anniversary he also left two tenements in the paryshe of
Barkynge; and when he died he was buried under a grey stone, over and
against the holy doors of the chancel, and till the sad time of the
civil wars, was his portraieture in brass, and that of his wife, and 3
sons and 5 daughters at their feet, and his shield of mark, and the arms
of the honourable Company of the Fishmongers, and round the bordure,
with an Evangelist at every corner, was this inscription: '✠ Good
Christen people, of your charitie pray for the soulys of John Layton,
citizen and fyshemonger of London, who deceeded on the feast of S.
Stephen, in the yeare of our Lorde 1456, and of Margaret his wyffe, on
whose sowlys and the sowlys of Christen men may Jesu have mercy. Pater,
ave, Amen.'" And on the brestsumer of the rood loft were carved divers
devices, such as S. Peter's keys for his Patron, and dolphins and
sea-luces salterwise for the Company, and scrolls, with +Lays+ coming
out of tuns for the founder, and above all was a most artificial
bratishing, with large bowls of brass, with prickets for tapers on great
feasts, and there was a staircase of freestone, closed by an oak door,
set up on the south side of the aisle, for the convenience of ascending
to the same; and on each of the lower panels of the holy doors and of
the bays of the screen were pictures of saints and martyrs, on grounds
of gold diaper, each with their legend. For nearly a century this goodly
work had stood the pride and delight of the parishioners, who bestowed
much cost on sustaining its lights and ornaments, as the church books
yet testify. But a sad and fearful change was approaching—new and
heretical doctrines were circulated and even heard at Paul's Cross; men
became divided in heart and mind; the returning festivals exhibited no
unity of joy and devotion; many gloomily stayed away; and it was
currently reported that nocturnal meetings were privately held at some
citizens' houses, where preachers from beyond sea taught novel opinions,
and inveighed against altars and priests, and sacred images and ancient
rites; and soon there was a quest to examine into the ornaments of the
churches, and many a goodly pyx, and chalice, and chrismatory were
seized by the sacrilegious spoilers for the state; and shortly after the
ancient service was interrupted by scoffers and infidels, and they who
adhered to the old faith of England's church were filled with sorrow and
dismay, and they worshipped in fear and sadness, and every day brought
new troubles and greater sacrilege.
It was late in the evening, or rather the early part of the night, that
a number of persons, evidently of very varied ranks and conditions, were
crowded into a back chamber in the habitation of a citizen notoriously
disaffected to the ancient religion; they were listening with
considerable earnestness of attention, to the exhortations, or rather
ravings, of a man of sour aspect, whose dress and gestures announced him
as belonging to the class of unordained preachers called the New
Gospellers. The subject of his discourse was the extirpation of
idolatry; the triumphs of the Jewish people over the unbelieving nations
was the principal source from whence he drew his denunciations. The
texts relating to the destruction of the heathen idols he transferred to
the ancient images of the church, and succeeded in rousing the passions
of his hearers to the utmost frenzy. "But why," he exclaimed, "do we
waste time? Let us lay the axe to the root of the tree; the famous rood
of S. Mary-at-Hill standeth hard by, to the shame and reproach of
Christian men. Let us pluck it down and utterly deface it, so it perish
and be seen no more." Some of the most zealous of the fanatics instantly
acted on this suggestion. Descending to the street, they soon surrounded
the residence of the aged sacrist (who still retained his office, though
the duties were sadly curtailed), and rousing him from his rest,
demanded the keys of the church. Alarmed by the uproar, many casements
were opened; but the numbers of the clamouring party appeared so
considerable, and the prospect of any assistance from the watch (which
was then only perambulatory) so remote, that none ventured down to the
assistance of the old clerk, who, terrified by the menaces of his
assailants, and without any companion except a lad who acted as his
servant, at length surrendered the keys. A few links had by this time
been procured, and by their smoky and lurid light the southern door was
opened, and the whole party tumultuously crowded into the venerable
edifice. The lamp so liberally provided by John Layton had ceased to
burn for some time; its revenue had been sequestered as superstitious,
and the chancel was shrouded in impenetrable darkness. Against this
gloomy background the rood and its attendant images stood out in red
reflected light, but the Jews themselves that scoffed on Calvary's mount
were not more bitter in their scorn than the New Gospellers, who uttered
loud shouts and cries as they beheld the object of their sacrilegious
vengeance. The sound of hollow blows echoes through the church, the
lower door is forced: ascending footsteps are heard on the staircase;
then the rebounding tread of heavy feet on the loft itself, torches
appear—axes gleam—heavy blows fall thick; some cleave, some pierce, some
shout, and with one great crash it totters and falls—images, cross—all
lie a ruin on the ancient pavement. The work of destruction now
proceeds: some wrench the extended limbs from the sculptured cross;
broken and dismembered, the sacred image of the Redeemer is dragged down
the nave; while others deface and cleave the evangelistic symbols,
tossing the fragments in wild derision; some curse, some spit, some
foam, others exclaim, "Into the fire with it!" and a glare of light
striking through the western window, showed that the suggestion had been
followed; it crackled in the garth, and now the mangled images are piled
on the roaring mass, while furious cries, "Away with it! Destroy it
utterly!" break through the stillness of the night, and scare the
affrighted parishioners, who behold this horrible spectacle from their
gabled residences. Nearly three hundred years have elapsed, and the rood
was again raised in glory in this very city, and the cry "Away with it!"
was again heard. Came it from the blaspheming Jews? No. Came it from the
bitter Calvinists? No. Came it from the incarnate fiends? No. It
proceeded from a _modern Catholic ambonoclast_!!!!