Sauntering down the southerly side of Fleet Street, toward the historic
spot where once stood Temple Bar, crested with its ghastly array of
pike-pierced traitors' heads, the curious itinerant comes to an arched
gate-way of Elizabethan architecture. The narrow lane which it guards is
known as Inner Temple Street, and cleaves the Temple enclosure into
unequal parts, ending at the river. Standing in the shady archway, with
the roar and rattle, the glare and glitter, of Fleet Street at our backs,
we instinctively feel that we are about to enter a new and strange
locality, the quiet atmosphere and the cloister-like walks of which seem
redolent of books and the pursuits of bookish men.
We are on the threshold of the Temple,--a spot than which none in all this
historic metropolis is more replete with memories of the storied past. Nor
does its interest consist solely in its associations with the men and
manners of a by-gone epoch. Despite its antique architecture and its
quaint observances, the Temple still maintains its reputation for
scholarship and legal acumen. Its virility is fitly symbolized in the
venerable and vigorous trees whose branching boughs wave above its walls:
sound to the core, it sends forth new scions with perennial freshness.
The gray gate-way under which we have halted is one of the two chief
entrances to the Temple. It was built in the reign of James I., being
consequently nearly three centuries old. White-aproned porters, with
numbered pewter badge on lapel, stand on either side, ready--for a
consideration--to direct our transatlantic ignorance into veritable "paths
of pleasantness and peace." Access to the Middle Temple from Fleet Street
is had by way of another gate-house, built by Sir Christopher Wren in 1684,
soon after the Great Fire. It is in the style of Inigo Jones, of reddish
brick, with stone pointing. There are several other entrances,--many of
them known only to the initiated,--through intricate courts and passages
debouching on Fleet Street and the surrounding thoroughfares, and one from
the river at Temple Pier; but, chiefly because of their proximity to the
New Courts of Law, these two gate-ways are most frequented.
The boundaries of this famous abode of British wit and intellect may be
roughly sketched as follows: on the north, Fleet Street; on the south, the
Thames and the Victoria Embankment; on the east, Serjeants' Inn and the
Whitefriars region; on the west, Essex Street, Strand. These boundaries
remain substantially as they were six or seven centuries ago. The Middle
Temple lies nearest the river; the Inner Temple is nearer to Fleet Street,
and "inside"--that is, on the "city" side--of Temple Bar. Essex House and
its purlieus, once the abode of the powerful earls of that name, were
formerly a part of the Temple. It was called the Outer Temple, because
"outside" of Temple Bar.
In the reign of Henry II., about the year 1185, the ground now included in
the Temple area became the head-quarters in London of the crusading
Knights Templar. Removing from humbler quarters in Holborn, the order,
having become wealthy and ambitious, bought a tract of land extending from
the walls of Essex House to Whitefriars, and from the river to Fleet
Street. They erected a church, a priory, and other buildings clustered
around in the mediaeval fashion, and in imitation of the Temple near the
Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem.
Under the first Richard and the third Henry the Templars increased in pelf,
power, and pride. After a career commenced in zeal and purity,
culminating in valor and fanaticism, and closing in corruption and
indolence, in the year 1312, when the second Edward sat on the throne of
England, the now useless order was formally abolished by Clement V., the
reigning Pontiff. The Temple domain, by grant of the crown, then passed to
Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, who conveyed it to the Earl of
Lancaster, a cousin of Edward II. It was then rented to the professors and
students of the common law, who had recently become an incorporate body,
In 1333 the Temple had apparently reverted to the crown, for we find
Edward III. farming out the rents for twenty-five pounds a year.
The Knights Hospitallers of St. John, meantime, affected to be much
scandalized at what they deemed a desecration of holy ground, and claimed
the custody of the place. In 1340, in consideration of a hundred golden
guineas contributed toward the armament against France, the king made over
the Temple to the Hospitallers. They handsomely endowed the church with
lands, and gave "a thousand fagots yearly from Lillerton Wood to nourish
the church fires."
The records of the Temple date back no further than the reign of Henry
VII., so that the history of the previous period; is more or less obscure
and traditional: the precise manner in which the Temple passed from the
control of the sword to that of the wig and gown is not certain. The
Hospitallers of St. John, who already possessed a priory at Clerkenwell,
in the north of London, after having vindicated the sanctity of the church
and cloisters, are believed to have leased the buildings and the demesne
to the lawyers for the rent of ten pounds, payable yearly. Another account
says that the latter purchased the property outright. However this may
have been, in the reign of Richard II. we find the legal fraternity of the
metropolis securely domiciled in the locality they have ever since
tenaciously clung to.
Even so early as the time of Henry VI. the brotherhood of lawyers had
attained to an unwieldy growth, and it separated into two halls, the
original two halls of the Knights Templar forming the nuclei around which
the frequenters of each grouped themselves. Thus arose the Middle and
Inner Temple. Under the eighth Henry the two societies became direct
tenants of the crown once more. In 1609 James I. granted "letters patent
to the mansion of the Inner Temple," at a yearly rent of ten sovereigns;
and a like sum was exacted for the Middle Temple. The societies have not
been disturbed in their holdings since that time.
The Temple to-day comprises two of the four great Inns of Court,
--Lincoln's Inn, Gray's Inn, Inner Temple, Middle Temple,--which, taken
collectively, constitute the backbone of the legal polity of England. Ben
Jonson described them as "the noblest nurseries of humanity and liberty in
the kingdom." They are all of great age and the recipients of rich
revenues. The income of the Middle Temple alone (not the richest of the
four) from the single item of rents is about thirteen thousand pounds
yearly; but the affairs of the Inns are so shrouded in administrative
secrecy that exact information on this topic is not easily obtained.
Until recently there was a fifth,--Serjeants' Inn, the members of which
were lawyers who had risen to the rank of serjeant, or to the bench
itself. Formerly such promotions terminated membership in the original Inn;
but since the abolishment of the rank of sergeant at the English bar
Serjeants' Inn has ceased to exist,--the name surviving only in the
locality,--and the four Inns have readmitted those of their members on
whom judicial honors were bestowed.
Each Inn possesses certain smaller or subordinate Inns, which formerly
served as preparatory schools, but which are now mere collections of
chambers. There are thus attached to the Inner Temple Clement's Inn,
Clifford's Inn, and Lyon's Inn; to the Middle Temple, New Inn.
All the Inns of Court are unincorporated voluntary societies. In our
modern nomenclature the name "inn" may seem a strange one for an
institution of learning; but the term is a literal rendering of the
ancient title _hospitia_ applied to them in the Latin records, as
distinguished from public lodging-houses (_diversoria_).
Each Inn consists of a hall, a chapel, a law-library, a set of rooms for
the benchers, and a large number of houses, divided into small suites
known as "chambers," and occupied chiefly by barristers, solicitors, and
students, though tenancy is not restricted to these classes. The quiet,
the studious environment, and the freedom from certain social obligations
unavoidable in more fashionable quarters, have at all times rendered
residence in the several Inns peculiarly attractive to that large class in
England which consists in the main of young men of good family, moderate
fortune, and no particular occupation.
The Inns possess the exclusive right of "calling students to the bar,"[A]
also of "disbarring" a barrister for questionable practices,--a right
exercised by Gray's Inn in 1864 in the case of the late erratic but
brilliant Dr. Kenealy, counsel for the notorious Tichborne "claimant."
From their decision no court, as such, can give relief. The disbarred one
has only the right of appeal to and review by certain of the judges. The
Inns neither govern nor license attorneys, who are admitted to practice by
the courts.
[Footnote A: The origin of this term dates from the venerable custom of
calling students to the bar that divided the benchers' dais from the body
of the hall to bear their part in the "meetings" or discussions on knotty
legal topics. We are informed by Lord Campbell that Sir Edward Coke "first
evinced his forensic powers when deputed by the students to make a
representation to the benchers of the Inner Temple at one of the 'moots'
respecting the poor quality of the commons served in the hall. He argued
with so much quickness of penetration and solidity of judgment that he
gave entire satisfaction to the students and was much admired by the
benchers."]
The Middle Temple affiliates with the Universities of London and Durham. A
residence of three years and the keeping of twelve "commons" entitle a
gentleman to be called to its bar, after certain qualifying examinations,
if he be above twenty-three years of age. In the Inner Temple (by far the
richest and most popular of the two societies) the candidate for admission
must have taken his B.A. or passed an examination at the Universities of
Oxford, Cambridge, or London. No one in holy orders can be called, and
none are admitted without the consent of the benchers. The candidate must
also furnish a statement in writing, outlining his rank, age, and
residence, accompanied by a voucher as to his respectability signed by a
bencher or two barristers. In short, the Inns of Court may be described as
universities "with power to grant degrees in the municipal law of England,
which constitute indispensable qualifications for practice in the superior
courts of law." To secure these ends they have from time immemorial
enjoyed the protection of the crown.
In former times the curriculum was comprehensive and the discipline
severe. The fare provided was frugal, and the chambers were sparsely
furnished. Luxury was tabooed, and the rules were rigidly enforced. From
early morning till the hour of five in the evening, when supper was served,
not an hour was wasted. Fortescue, writing in the time of Henry VI.,
gives a graphic account of these law-schools as they were in his day.
"Students resort hither in great numbers to be taught as in common
schools. Here they learn to sing and to exercise themselves in all kinds
of harmony. On the working days they study law, and on the holy days
Scripture, and their demeanor is like the behavior of such as are coupled
together in perfect amity. There is no place where are found so many
students past childhood as here." But in these degenerate days, when the
_jeunesse dorée_ decorate their "dens" with Queen Anne furniture, Turkish
rugs, and choice bric-Ã -brac, it has been jocosely said that "dining in
hall is the only legal study of Temple students." Of late years, however,
"the best professional sentiment" has strongly and successfully tended in
favor of keeping up the standard of these institutions as true seminaries
of learning. Ample courses of lectures have been introduced, also
subsequent searching examinations.
A glance at a map of the Temple shows conclusively that it has no
connected plan. Its growth has been the outcome of the needs of many
generations during the last half-dozen centuries, and it is at present a
picturesque conglomeration of buildings of all sizes and shapes and styles,
erected with no regard for architectural beauty or symmetry, and with no
very great adaptability to their past or present use. Aside from the halls
and libraries of the two societies, the Church of St. Mary, and one or two
blocks of chambers, like Paper Buildings, there is no salient feature to
impress the eye. Yet the uniform ugliness of some of the buildings
constitutes not the least of their attractions. A hard grayish stone
frequently appears, though there are a number of brick houses so mellowed
by age that it would be difficult to name their original hue.
The chambers are frequently massed around four sides of a stone-paved
court, from which direct entrance is had to the main staircases. In some
of these flagged spaces a fountain tinkles; in others, sturdy elm- or
plane-trees tower far above the red chimney-stacks; in the centre of
another is the famous Temple pump. The several courts have distinguishing
names, such as Garden Court, Pump Court, and Brick Court, and they connect
with each other sometimes by an arched passage under the houses, at two
sides of the square, or again by narrow alleys. Nor is the same level
always preserved. Small flights of time-worn steps continually surprise us
in our pilgrimage. The aggregate--barren courts, narrow passages, and
winding lanes--forms a perfect labyrinth, very trying to a stranger or to
one possessing a poor memory for localities.
The nomenclature of certain of these Temple courts possesses a breezy,
countrified sound, utterly unsuggestive of musty tomes and special
pleadings. Thus, we have Elm-Tree Court, Vine Court, Fig-Tree Court, and
Fountain Court. The reader will recall to mind the fact that it was in the
last-named locality, with its sprightly, sparkling, upward-springing
stream, that Ruth Pinch--"gentle, loving Ruth"--held tryst with her lover,
manly John Westlock. Letitia Elizabeth Landon, too, has embalmed this "pet
and plaything of the Temple" in some pleasant stanzas:
The fountain's low singing is heard on the wind,
Like a melody bringing sweet fancies to mind,--
Some to grieve, some to gladden: around them they cast
The hopes of the morrow, the dreams of the past.
Away in the distance is heard the vast sound
From the streets of the city that compass it round,
Like the echo of fountains, or the ocean's deep call;
Yet that fountain's low singing is heard over all.
Entering the houses, we find them mostly of a stereotyped pattern. A
wainscoted, dark, and generally uncarpeted staircase gives access to
landings on which abut the outer doors of the "sets," or chambers. These
consist of two, three, or at most four rooms, in the style peculiar to the
domestic architecture of the earlier years of the present century. High
corniced ceilings, wainscoted walls, and shoulder-high chimney-pieces
abound. Here and there, however, some opulent tenant has modernized his
rooms; but the structures, inside and out, remain for the most part not
materially changed from the later Georgian era of their erection,--a time
when every gentleman sported a small-sword and ladies wore hoops and
patches. The famous garden forms one of the chief charms of the Temple
enclosure, and its beauty and atmosphere of quiet repose are justly
celebrated. Here Shakespeare is believed to have sat and thought out some
of his most masterly creations; here many of the great legal luminaries of
the last few centuries walked and talked; and here the infantile footsteps
of the subsequently famous "Elia" chased butterflies across the velvety
sward. "The Temple Garden," says Mr. Walter Thornbury, "has probably been
a garden from the time the white-robed Templars first came from Holborn
and settled by the river-side." It covers an expanse of three acres, and
its gay flower-beds, umbrageous trees, and emerald turf make it a
veritable oasis to the inhabitants, and especially to the children, of
that corner of the great metropolis. A pillar sundial in the centre of the
grass bears the date 1770, and the iron gate, surmounted by a winged horse,
which guards the entrance from the terrace, was erected in 1730. East of
the sundial is a hoary old sycamore, sole survivor of three sisters,
carefully protected by railings, under whose grateful shade, says local
tradition, Johnson and Goldsmith were wont to chat. In the Middle Temple
Garden stands a venerable catalpa-tree, planted by Sir Matthew Hale, "one
of the most eminent of lawyers and excellent of men." The scene in "King
Henry the Sixth,"[A] where the partisans of the rival houses of Lancaster
and York assume the distinctive badges of the white and red rose, is laid
in the Temple Garden. "Toward evening," says Dr. Dibdin, "it was the
fashion for the leading counsel to promenade during the summer months in
the Temple Gardens. Cocked hats and ruffles, with satin small-clothes, at
that time constituted the usual evening dress." Anciently, the "moots"
were held on the terrace of the Garden at five of the clock in the long
summer evenings.
[Footnote A: Part I., act 2, scene 4.]
The great hall of the Middle Temple is one of the finest Elizabethan
structures in the metropolis. It was commenced in 1562, when the old hall
was converted into chambers, consumed a decade in building, and is of
grand proportions. It is a hundred feet long, and the massive beauty of
the glossy oaken roof, almost black with age, is alone worth an Atlantic
voyage to see. The walls and windows are decorated with the arms of
various members of the Inn, and the paintings are numerous and of great
historical interest. Over the dais is a portrait of Charles I. on
horse-back, by Vandyke, one of the three original paintings of the unhappy
monarch by that great master. Another of the trio is at Windsor, while the
third adorns Warwick Castle. There are also copies of portraits of Charles
II., James II., William III., Queen Anne, and George II., and marble busts,
by Behnes, of "Doubting" Lord Eldon and Lord Stowell, the great Admiralty
judge. The screen and the music-gallery are marvels of the wood-carver's
art. Tradition says the screen was made of oak from the timbers of the
wrecked Invincible Armada; but this cannot be, inasmuch as it was set up a
dozen years before the doomed squadron sailed out of Lisbon harbor.
The Middle Temple Library, a handsome building of recent erection,
situated on the river side of the Inn, at the southwest corner of the
Temple Gardens, was opened by the Prince of Wales, October 31, 1861. While
it is of nobler proportions than the library of the Inner Temple, it does
not seem to be so well suited for the purposes of the student. Its
location, however, is far more pleasant, on the margin of the
flower-mantled garden, and within sight of the busy Victoria Embankment
and of the panoramic river scenery. From the great oriel window a noble
vista is unrolled. In the distance, the twin-towered Houses of Parliament
are outlined against the sky, while the massive proportions of the "water
front" of Somerset House, the motley groupings of the structures that
crowd the intervening water-side, and the flashing river hound by
many-arched bridges, fill the middle distance.
Aside from the lustre shed around its history by many eminent lawyers and
jurists, the Middle Temple has numbered among its students several great
poets and dramatists, notably John Ford, William Congreve, Nicholas Rowe,
Thomas Shadwell, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, and Thomas Moore. But, as
their literary remains prove, few or none of them prosecuted their legal
studies with that sedulous devotion which the law, proverbially a jealous
mistress, demands. Sir William Blackstone, who immortalized his name by
his "Commentaries on the Laws of England," was educated in the Middle
Temple, where he was entered as a student, November 20, 1741, and by which
he was called to the bar, April 26, 1750. In his Temple chambers, ere he
finally consecrated his massive intellect to the legal profession,
Blackstone wrote the famous "Farewell to the Muses:"
Lull'd by the lapse of gliding floods,
Cheer'd by the warbling of the woods,
How blest my days, my thoughts how free,
In sweet society with thee!
Then all was joyous, all was young,
And years, unheeded, roll'd along;
But now the pleasing dream is o'er,--
These scenes must charm me now no more.
Lost to the field and torn from you,
Farewell! a long, a last adieu.
Edmund Burke was entered at the Middle Temple in 1747, and kept his terms
in 1750. But the great tribune was never called to the bar. Had he been,
what a powerful advocate, what a pitiless adversary, he would have made!
Porson, the brilliant but bibulous classicist, has left behind him many
sad stories of his pranks during his residence in Essex Court, where he
had chambers immediately above those occupied by the future Baron Gurney,
whom, in one of his debauches, he came near burning in his bed. Chaucer is
believed to have entered as a student of the Middle Temple, where he is
supposed to have formed a friendship with the "moral Gower." Sir Walter
Raleigh, Sir Thomas Overbury, Sir Edward Bramston, Lord-Keeper Guildford,
Edmund Plowden,--perhaps the greatest lawyer of the Elizabethan epoch,
--"Ugly" Dunning, who afterward became Lord Ashburton, and Lord Eldon, are
among the ornaments of the British bench and bar who sprung from the
Middle Temple.
Now, however, the glories of the Middle Temple rest chiefly in the past.
It has decreased in wealth and in numbers. There is an old proverb which
says, "The Inner Temple for the rich, the Middle Temple for the poor;" and
a famous wit emphasized this saying by a happy _mot_. After one of its far
from _recherché_ dinners, he compared a gritty salad, of which he had been
unlucky enough to partake, to "eating a gravel walk and meeting an
occasional weed."
The hall of the Inner Temple is a modern building, and was opened by the
Princess Louise on May 4, 1870. More spacious than the one it replaced, it
contains a number of cosy offices and ante-rooms. There is also attached a
lunch-room for the use of members, much frequented in term-time, when at
the mid-day hour one may meet many of the great practitioners at the
English bar. Passable portraits of William and Mary, Queen Anne, Lord
Chief-Justice Coke, and Sir Thomas Littleton look upon the visitor, and
the arms of the successive treasurers of the Inn are blazoned on the walls.
The Inner Temple Library is the most attractive, quiet, and convenient of
any in the four Inns. Its plan comprises a series of book-lined apartments
leading one into another. Besides a valuable and voluminous collection of
authorities on legal topics, it possesses a unique array of works on
general subjects. It stands on the terrace, and commands a view of the
river. The noble hammer-beam roof is a fine specimen of its kind, spanning
a chamber forty-two feet wide and ninety-six feet long. One of the
stained-glass windows is emblazoned with the Templars' escutcheon. The
debating-hall is in the Tudor style, and cost not far from seventy-five
thousand dollars.
Several great jurists and a number of men equally eminent in other walks
of life were connected with the Inner Temple, pre-eminent among whom stand
Sir Christopher Hatton, Lord-Chancellor of England in 1587, and nicknamed
the "Dancing Chancellor," Lord Tenterden, "one of the greatest Englishmen
who ever sat in the seat of Gamaliel," who was admitted in 1795, and John
Selden, who took up residence in Paper Buildings in 1604. The latter were
consumed in the great fire of 1666. Audley, chancellor to the eighth Henry,
Nicholas Hare, privy councillor to the latter monarch and Master of the
Rolls under Mary, who resided in the court which now bears his name, the
eminent lawyer Littleton and his no less famous commentator Coke, Lord
Buckburst, Beaumont the poet, Sir William Follett, and Judge Jeffries of
infamous memory, were all students within the Temple precincts.
Charles Lamb, whose father, John Lamb, was clerk to Mr. Salt, a bencher of
the Inner Temple, was born in Crown Office Row. In 1809 he took chambers
at No. 4, Inner Temple Lane, where some of the delightful "Elia" essays
were penned. In one of these he says, "I was born and passed the first
seven years of my life in the Temple. Its church, its halls, its gardens,
its fountains, its river, I had almost said,--for in those young years
what was the king of rivers to me but a stream that watered our pleasant
places?--these are of my oldest recollections. I repeat to this day no
verses more frequently or with kindlier emotion than those of Spenser
where he speaks of this spot. Indeed, it is the most elegant spot in the
metropolis. What a transition for a countryman visiting London for the
first time,--the passing from the crowded Strand or Fleet Street by
unexpected avenues into its magnificent ample squares, its classic green
recesses! What a cheerful, liberal look hath that portion of it which,
from three sides, overlooks the greater garden, that goodly pile