THE OLD CITY HALLS
One of the pleasantest surprises in our City wanderings is when we stray
into some unfrequented street with a _bizarre_ name, and pass by an
antique but sound old doorway, _porte-cochère_-like, but with an air of
solemn desertion which suggests a back street in some old-fashioned
French town. It seems a nobleman’s “Hôtel,” relic of former
magnificence. Thus we pause in Addle Street (odd name!) arrested by the
Brewers’ Hall, a really interesting place. Here is a fine, solid,
old-fashioned structure, with bold roof and oval windows, a flamboyant
gateway, floridly carved, and ancient massive wooden gates which open
with a “hatch,” really remarkable in its effect. Lifting the latch we
enter the silent inclosure, which might be one of the old retired
colleges at Cambridge, and not an antique survival in the heart of
London. The courtyard is original: the façade fronts us with its rows of
louvre windows, pierced in the ripe and red old brick; the long windows
below them, with their small leaded panes, furnish light to the great
Hall, and are framed in a rich mass of carving, flowers and fruits. To
the right a fine bold staircase leads to the Hall. Not a soul is to be
seen; and our footfalls echo in the deserted court.
In every direction we see old, flamboyant black oak. How imposing is the
entrance to the Banqueting Hall, and really monumental--a massive
ponderous gateway of black oak, with pillars and pediments and capitals,
and figures soaring and gesticulating aloft, and flanked by solid
panelling! Within there is the great oaken gallery, the tall windows,
with the leaded panes. There is nothing finer in London than the great
fireplace and mantel, which rises to the ceiling and offers an
extraordinary display of the carver’s art. Below, it takes the shape of
a sort of gateway, supported by solid pillars; while above there is a
stately shield and inscription set in flourishings, and garlands of
fruits and flowers, wrought in the most lavish and effective fashion.
A courteous superior official in charge shows us these things, and all
that there is to be shown, with a hearty interest, as though rarely
disturbed. The
[Illustration: Brewer’s Hall Court-yard.]
“Brewers” have now little _raison d’être_. The old kitchen below has its
interest--a vault-like place used once a month when the “Brewers”
feasted. It is interesting as retaining all the old culinary apparatus,
a venerable old table, and a curiously-florid leaden cistern, with a
seventeenth-century date and decorations, suspended in a corner. It is
in sooth an interesting old-world place, dating from 1673.
In a small and compact court in Monkwell Street we come upon the Hall of
“The Barber Surgeons.” On the right, as we enter, is an old portal, with
a capacious, elaborate, well-carved shell over the door, filled in with
the arms of the guild, very boldly wrought, and with abundance of
flowers. These pronounced and florid doorways are always pleasant to
see. But this is one of the places where the restorer has been at work,
pulling down or shifting. The old Hall has gone long since; but there is
a charming, exquisitely-proportioned chamber of small size, enriched in
all its details, as indeed is all the ceiling, with fine carvings or
stucco work. The lantern is peculiarly Inigo’s, and is to be seen at
Ashburnham House and in other mansions of his work. On the walls are of
course the famous Holbein--the Barbers receiving their charter from
Henry VIII.--and some choice characteristic portraits by Lely and
others. One admires, too, the old oaken stairs, broad, and of short
flights. The Barbers, it seems, give pensions to certain working folk,
beginning from about £6 a year: they have some thirty-six on their list;
and I noted a number of them waiting patiently in the offices to put
forward their claims.
The little descending streets and lanes that lead down out of Cannon
Street, with turns and intersecting lanes, make up quite an antique
quarter, so well stored are they with strange, gloomy old buildings and
corners of an old-world character. On Dowgate Hill, almost the first
house we meet is the old Hall of the Skinners’ Company, with its gate
and archway, and small courtyard. Within we are confronted with one of
those elaborately magnificent old doorways, porch rather, all
embroidered with massive and yet florid carvings, which make us all
wonder at the imagination and free hand of the worker. There is the
usual spacious and good hall, and broad oaken stair, solid oak balusters
and fine door-cases, with garlands and old mouldings; but upstairs we
are shown what is the pride of the place, the great “CEDAR ROOM,” a fine
long chamber, entirely panelled in this precious wood, believed, though
nothing is known, to have been a present from some Indian connection of
the Company. Much reasonable pride is taken in this unusual adornment;
the air, too, is scented with its fragrance. But here again the
improvers have been at their work. There is a fine architectural cornice
running round, intended to give support to a flat ceiling, but it was
thought that the effect would be heightened by raising the ceiling, and
accordingly a “coved” one has taken the place of the old one, which is
out of keeping and character. The whole, too, has been gaudily
decorated; the cedar everywhere copiously overlaid with gilding, panels
let into the coving and adorned with ’scutcheons, etc. Far better and
more appropriate had the old venerable panelling been left unadorned.
In one of the little steep darkened lanes that descend towards Thames
Street from Queen Victoria Street, Little Trinity Lane, we are attracted
by a very remarkable doorway, richly carved and elaborate, yet strangely
out of keeping with the poor mean house to which it is attached. This is
The Painter-Stainers’ Hall, one of the most retired and least
pretentious of the Halls, and yet, like many an unassuming person,
recommended by extraordinary gifts. Entering a shabby room to the left,
we find, as usual, a widow-like woman waiting her turn, while some one
else is pressing her claims at the desk. The whole seems to have the air
of a discounting office in a rather small way of business. The Painter
“Stayners” have a legacy of £80,000 to administer, the interest of which
supports some two hundred pensioners. Going up a rather rickety stair,
we are introduced to the old Hall itself, a genuine thing enough, of
suitable dinginess and subdued old fashion. It has unhappily been spoilt
by thrusting an adjoining room into it, the wall being supported by
pillars and arches. A quaint feature, too, is the door through which we
have entered, a little low arch supported by pillars, over which
projects a small balcony, where, as I was informed, the ladies sit
during festivals. The panelled walls are covered with pictures, which
are made to suit the panels, and thus seem to belong to the walls. There
is a dark monastic air over the whole, and a curious, old-world,
sequestered look. Here are held the little dinners of the society, “the
Worshipful Company of Painters, otherwise Painter Stainers,” as they are
careful to describe themselves, though, if not careful, one is apt to
use the phrase “Paper Stainers.” The modest Hall was formerly more
attractive than it is now, and the glories of its ceiling have long ago
disappeared. The little corporation is highly interesting, as, previous
to the founding of the Royal Academy, it was the body that represented
the interests of English painters. Decorative painting, such as was
largely employed in ornamenting carriages, ceilings, and barges, seems
to have come under their supervision, and the society was occasionally
invited to give a certificate as to whether such work was fitly
executed.[20]
Few could imagine what is the number of these City Companies; there are
close upon eighty, each with its funds, officers, charities, and
dinners. Only about one half are provided with Halls; the rest dine at
restaurants or at one of the noted City taverns, where the invariable
“Ring and Brymer” cater. Turtle is of course the City luxury, and one of
the sights of the city is the aquarium at “The Ship and Turtle,” where
may be seen through the glass from fifty to a hundred turtles at a time,
paddling lazily about and waiting unconsciously the hour of sacrifice.
On Dowgate Hill also, we find another of these quaint Halls. A rather
elegant, modern, pierced gate of ironwork closes up an archway, and,
looking through, we see an inviting Court within. Entering through the
arch, which passes under a deep mass of houses, we find ourselves in a
charming little courtyard with quite an Italian air, set round with an
arcade supporting a rubicund brick building with elegant windows and
airy carvings; some modern additions and renovations have been combined,
with excellent taste. There is mural painting too. Such is Dyers’
Hall--a pleasing, piquant little place.
While lamenting the loss of the old patterns of Hall, pulled down, or
destroyed by fire, we must admire the sumptuous, and even magnificent,
buildings which have taken their place; such as the massive, floridly
decorated façade of the Drapers’ Hall in Throgmorton Street. This
street, as it bends or winds, has a majestic, almost Genoese, air; its
great gloomy buildings rise solemnly on each side of the narrow street,
foreign in tone; towards the close of the business day, the street
becomes filled with crowds of animated noisy figures pouring out of the
Stock Exchange, and debating their bargains in the open air. This
scene--the narrow street, the stately shadowy buildings frowning down on
the figures--suggests one of the retired picturesque streets in Ghent,
or even in some Italian city. The busy, substantial negotiators have a
burgher-like air, and the whole is utterly different from anything to be
seen in the trivial West End. The Drapers’ Hall is a vast and ponderous
mass, already blackened with age, though young in years, but very
striking in character, with its enormous and richly florid cornice, bold
windows, and heavily arched portals. As we look through the iron rails,
we can see a retired court, curious contrast to the noisy scene without.
The old “Drapers’ Gardens” used to stretch down the whole street that
turns out of Throgmorton Street, and were admired for their tranquil air
of old fashion. Gradually they have been encroached upon; warehouses
have been reared, and a fragment only now remains. Even this remnant,
however, is welcome, and the promenade down the alley leaves an
impression as of something old-fashioned and rural. Such are a few of
these very striking “survivals.”